“Oh, William!”
William sighed as he recognised his mother’s voice. This was followed by his mother’s head which appeared at the open drawing-room window.
“I’m busy jus’ now——” said William sternly.
“William, Mrs. Frame next door has a godson staying with her and he is so anxious to mix with boys and learn colloquial English. I’ve asked him to tea this afternoon. Oh here he is.”
The owner of the thin lugubrious face—a young man of about eighteen—appeared behind William.
“I made a way—’ow say you?—through a ’ole in ze fence. I weeshed to talk wiz ze boy.”
“Well, now, William,” said Mrs. Brown persuasively, “you might spend the afternoon with Henri and talk to him.”
William’s face was a study in horror and indignation.
“I shan’t know what to say to him,” he said desperately. “I can’t talk his kind of talk.”
“I’m sure that’ll be quite all right,” said Mrs. Brown, kindly. “He speaks English very well. Just talk to him simply and naturally.”