“Well, he cert’n’ly knows his name now,” said William with a sigh of satisfaction. “It’s took enough trouble to teach him that. I’ll go on with tricks now.”
He went to school after that. Albert accompanied him, but was confiscated by the French master just as William and Ginger were teaching it a trick. The trick was to climb over a pencil, and Albert, who was labouring under a delusion that freedom lay beyond the pencil, was picking it up surprisingly well. William handed him to the French master shut up in his box, and was slightly comforted for his loss by seeing the master on opening it get his fingers covered with Albert’s marmalade ration for the day, which was enclosed in the box with Albert. The master emptied Albert out of the window and William spent “break” in fruitless search for him, calling “Albert!” in his most persuasive tones ... in vain, for Albert had presumably returned to his mourning family for a much-needed “rest cure.”
“Well, I call it stealin’,” said William sternly, “takin’ beetles that belong to other people.... It’d serve ’em right if I turned a Bolshevist.”
“I don’t suppose they’d mind what you turned,” said Ginger unfeelingly but with perfect truth.
It was a half-holiday that afternoon, and to the consternation of his family William announced his intention of staying at home instead of as usual joining his friends the Outlaws in their lawless pursuits.
“But, William, some people are coming to tea,” said Mrs. Brown helplessly.
“I know,” said William. “I thought p’raps you’d like me to be in to help with ’em.”
The thought of this desire for William’s social help attributed to her by William, left Mrs. Brown speechless. But Ethel was not speechless.
“Well, of course,” she remarked to the air in front of her, “that means that the whole afternoon is spoilt.”
William could think of no better retort to this than, “Oh, yes, it does, does it? Well, I never!”