"Well, there's this evening," said William.
"You know Grandfather and Aunt Lilian are coming," said Mrs. Brown, "and they'd be most hurt if we went out the first evening."
"Well, they're comin' to stay a week," said William with the air of one who exercises superhuman patience; "shurly they won't mind if I'm out for one night? Shurly they aren't as fond of me as all that? I should think Aunt Lilian would be glad I'm out from the things she said about me last time she came. You know she said——"
"You can't go alone," said Mrs. Brown wearily. "It doesn't begin till eight. It's an absurd hour to begin. You can't stay up so late, for one thing, and you can't go alone, for another——"
"Why NOT?" said William with growing exasperation. "Aren't I eleven? I'm not a child. I——"
William's father lowered his newspaper.
"William," he said, "the effect upon the nerves of the continued sound of your voice is something that beggars description. I would take it as a personal favour if it could kindly cease for a short time."
William was crushed. The fact that he rarely understood his father's remarks to him had a good deal to do with the awe in which that parent was held. Clowns, he thought to himself smoulderingly, didn't say things that no one knew what they meant. Anyway, he was going to that circus. He finished his breakfast in dignified silence with this determination fixed firmly in his mind. He was going to that circus. He was going to that circus.
"Fold up your table napkin, William."
Slowly and deliberately he performed the operation.