“’Ello!” sighed William.
“Zey talk to me,” said Henri sadly, “’ow zey talk to me jus’ because I tell ’em about your leetle game.”
“Yes,” said William bitterly, “and ’ow they talk to me jus’ ’cause we finished up a few ole cakes and things left over from tea. You’d think to hear ’em that they’d have been glad to come home and find me starved dead.”
Henri leant yet further over the fence.
“But zey looked ... ’ow zey looked!”
There was silence for a moment while the mental vision of “’ow zey looked” came to both. Then William’s rare laugh—unmusical and penetrating—rang out. Mrs. Brown, who was suffering from a severe headache as the result of the events of the afternoon, hastily closed the drawing-room window. Followed Henri’s laugh—high-pitched and like the neighing of a horse. Henri’s godmother tore herself with a groan from the bed on which she was indulging in a nervous breakdown and flung up her bedroom window.
“Henri, are you ill?” she cried. “What is it?”
“Oh, ze nosings,” replied Henri.
Then, leaning yet more dangerously over the fence, “What ze game you goin’ to play to-morrow, Willem?”
“Pirates,” said William, regaining his usual calm. “Like to come?”