They crept into the hall and then guiltily into the drawing-room. William looked at the plates of dainty food with widening eyes.
“Shu’ly,” he remarked plaintively, “’f they’ve been an’ gone they can’t mind us jus’ finishin’ up what they’ve left. Shu’ly.”
William made this statement less at the dictates of truth than at the dictates of an empty stomach.
“Jus’—jus’ look out of the window, Ongry,” he said, “an’ tell us if anyone comes.”
Henri obligingly took up his position at the window and the Outlaws gave themselves up whole-heartedly to the task of “finishing up.”
They finished up the buttered scones and they finished up the bread and butter and they finished up the sandwiches and they finished up the biscuits and they finished up the small cakes and they finished up the two large cakes.
“I’m jus’ a bit tired of this ole Jasmine Villas game,” said William, his mouth full of sugar cake. “I votes we go back to Pirates an’ Red Injuns to-morrow.”
The Outlaws, who were still busy, agreed with grunts.
“I think——” began Douglas, but just then Henri at the window ejaculated shrilly, “Oh, ze ’oly aunt.”
The Outlaws hastily joined him. Four people were coming down the road. The General—could it be the General? (the drain pipe had been very dirty)—Mr. Graham Graham, his collar open, his tie awry, Henri’s godmother with her hat on one side, and Mrs. Brown, her usual look of placid equanimity replaced by a look that was almost wild. They were certainly coming to the Browns’ house. William looked guiltily at the empty plates and cakestand. Except upon the carpet (for the Outlaws were not born drawing-room eaters) there was not a crumb to be seen.