There was no love lost between William and cook. William wandered casually over to the larder door and opened it gently. Cook wheeled sharply round.
"Please come away from that door and go out of my kitchen, Master William. Your tea's laid in the dining-room."
William uttered his famous scornful laugh.
"Huh! If I wanted anything to eat, I wun't come here for it. I wun't care to eat anything out of this larder. My goodness! I'd sooner starve than eat stuff out of this larder, if I make myself quite clear."
Cheered by these crushing remarks, but still apprehensive of what the next few hours might bring him, he went into the dining-room. His spirits rose still further at the sight of a lavish meal, but dropped as he noticed the presence of his mother and grown-up sister, Ethel. He would have preferred a clear field for his operations.
He uttered the mumbling sound with which he generally greeted his family.
"You're rather late, dear," said his mother. "Are your hands clean?"
William replied by the same non-committal grunt, pushed back his untidy hair with his hands, then hastily sat down, keeping his hands beneath the tablecloth till public interest in their colour should have waned. Through the window he could plainly see the forms of Sam, Albert and Leopold standing outside, and his apprehension increased.
"Mother," he said faintly, "it feels kind of stuffy in here. May I take my tea out into the garden? I think I could eat it better there."
Mrs. Brown looked at him anxiously.