"Do—you—want—a—slave?" repeated William slowly.
"Speak up! Speak up!" said the old man irritably. "Can't you see I'm deaf? What do you want? What do you want?"
William, whose nerves were suffering from the repetition of the question, cleared his throat and shouted again hoarsely:
"Do—you—want—a—slave?"
The old man snorted.
"Want a shave? Want a shave?" he said angrily. "No, I don't want a shave. You impudent little boy! You little rascal!"
He made a feint at William with his stick, then went off, muttering to himself.
William, slightly shaken by the encounter, returned to his friends.
"It's no good doin' it this way," he said despondently. "We shall have to take 'em round to people's houses, like wot they do brushes an' things."
The twins gave a scream of delight at the suggestion. Then they trotted off happily—George holding Ginger's hand and John William's, both wearing their labels.