"Ole Frenchy we calls 'im," said Sam. "An' don' 'e think 'e's clever? Not 'arf. Ho my!"
Into William's inscrutable countenance had come a gleam of light. For a moment his thoughts worked silently and daringly.
"Would you like," he said at last, "to b'long to a secret serciety?"
Sam put his cap on one side and chewed a blade of grass ruminatively.
"Dunno," he said. "Never tried. Leastways, not as I can call to mind."
"Well," said William, persuasively, "you can try now. I want to start one an' you can b'long. I want you to b'long 'cause you're his gardener's boy an' can do things—'cause he's awful mean an' made me eat all the ole pie an' burnt my tale an' said lots of things an' I want to make a secret serciety for payin' him out."
Sam seemed to grasp the situation.
"Orl right," he said, "an' wot do I get fer it?"
This slightly nonplussed William.
"Oh," he said vaguely, "it's a serciety—you jus' b'long—you—er—well, you jus' b'long."