“Dear great great Uncle George!” he mimicked in a shrill falsetto. “We’re all so glad to see you—we love you so much.”
Emmeline gave a howl of anger and ran down the road holding her horn-rimmed spectacles on as she ran.
“Boo-hoo!” she sobbed. “Nasty William Brown! Comin’ into our garden an’ breathin’ our air an’ runnin’ over our beds an’ makin’ Uncle George cross an’ wastin’ our fruit salad an’ bein’ nasty to me—Nasty William Brown—they’re my spectacles, they is—Boo-hoo!”
“I say, what happened yesterday?” said Ginger when she had disappeared.
“Oh, I almost forget,” said William evasively. “I growled at ’em an’ scared ’em no end an’ I didn’t get any tea an’ he threw somethin’ at me—Oh, a lot of things like that—I almost forget—But,” with sudden interest, “how much did she give you?”
“Sixpence,” said Ginger proudly, taking it out of his pocket.
“Come on!” said William joyfully, giving a cheerful little limp forward. “Come on an’ let’s spend it.”
CHAPTER XIV
WILLIAM AND SAINT VALENTINE
William was, as not infrequently, under a cloud. His mother had gone to put some socks into one of his bedroom drawers and had found that most of the drawer space was occupied by insects of various kinds, including a large stag beetle, and that along the side of the drawer was their larder, consisting of crumby bits of bread and a little pool of marmalade.