"William," he repeated, and smiled.
William felt strangely flattered.
"He's getting a bit simple," sighed Aunt Lilian, "poor darling!"
She was firm after tea.
"You'll go to bed now, dear, won't you? You always like to go to bed early after a journey, don't you? He always likes to go to bed early after a long journey," she explained to the company.
She helped him upstairs tenderly and left him in his room.
William was despatched to bed at half-past seven as usual. They were surprised at his meekness. They thought he must have forgotten about the circus. They carefully avoided all mention of it. But William's silence was the silence of the tactician. Open attack had failed. He was now prepared to try secrecy.
Up in his room he sat down to consider the most unostentatious modes of exit from the house. There was the possibility of going downstairs and through the hall on stockinged feet so quickly as to escape notice. But there was always the chance of somebody's coming out into the hall at the critical minute, and then all would be lost. Or there was the possibility of climbing down from his window, but his room was on the third storey, and he had never yet attempted a descent from that height. Just beneath his room was Grandfather Moore's room. From the window of Grandfather Moore's room an old fig-tree afforded a convenient ladder to the ground. Grandfather Moore had gone to bed directly after tea. He would surely be asleep now. Anyway, William decided to risk it. He crept down the steps to Grandfather Moore's room and cautiously opened the door. The room was lit up, and before the fire sat Grandfather Moore, fully dressed. It was now impossible to withdraw. The bright little eyes were fixed on him, and Grandfather Moore smiled.
"William!" he said with pleasure. Then, "I've not gone to bed yet." He was obviously revelling in his wickedness.
William came in and shut the door.