"Either you jus' give us something nice an' big to eat or we'll tell your father."
William, though rather pale, laughed scornfully.
"Yes, you jus' come home with me," he said. "I guess you've not seen our dog, have you? Nearly as big as a horse. I guess there won't be much of you left when our dog sees you. Huh!"
With what was meant to be a sinister laugh he turned on his heel and strolled off. With sinking heart he saw that they were accompanying him, Leopold and his projecting teeth walking by his side, Sam and Albert behind. With a slight swagger and humming airily to himself, but with apprehension at his heart, William slowly wended his homeward way.
At the gate stood Jumble, his dog, small and friendly and rapturously glad to see them all. Jumble was no snob. Having assured William of his lifelong devotion and ecstatic joy at seeing him again, he went on to extend a tempestuous welcome to Sam, Albert and Leopold. William looked at him with affectionate sorrow. Though he adored Jumble, he thought he'd ask for a bloodhound for his next birthday present—a really savage one that would recognise his enemies at a glance. He walked, still with his careless swagger, but with his heart sinking lower at every step, round to the side door. Sam, Albert and Leopold still accompanied him.
"Now," whispered Sam. "You go and get us something real slap-up to eat, or we'll tell your father what you made us do."
William entered the side door and shut it firmly.
He went first to the kitchen. Cook was lifting a large pie out of the oven. His gloomy expression lifted.
"Wot's that for, cook?" he enquired, politely.
"For some people as is coming to supper to-night, an' none of your business, Master William."