Ginger borrowed them for the afternoon and got all his sums wrong because he could not see the figures, but that was a trifling matter compared with the joy of wearing horn-rimmed spectacles. Douglas bagged them for the next day and Henry for the day after that. William had many humble requests for the loan of them from other boys which he coldly refused. The horn-rimmed spectacles were to be the badge of superiority of the Outlaws.
On the third day one of the masters who discovered that the horn-rimmed spectacles were the common property of William and his boon companions and were, optically speaking, unnecessary, forbade their future appearance in school. The Outlaws then wore them in turn on the way to school and between lessons.
“My father,” said Douglas proudly, as he and William and Ginger strolled through the village together, “’s got a pair of spectacles an’s gotter wear ’em always.”
“Not like these,” objected William who was wearing the horn-rimmed spectacles. “Not great thick ’uns like these.”
“Well, anyway,” said Ginger. “I’ve gotter aunt what’s got false teeth.”
“That’s nothin’,” said William. “False teeth isn’t like spectacles. They look just like ornery teeth. You can’t see they’re false teeth.”
“No, but you can hear ’em,” said Ginger. “They tick.”
“Well, anyway,” said Douglas, “my cousin knows a man what’s gotter false eye. It stays still while the other looks about.”
“Well,” said William determined not to be outdone, “my father knows a man what’s gotter false leg.”
“I think I remember once hearin’,” said Ginger somewhat vaguely, “’bout a man with all false arms an’ legs an’ only his body real.”