William looked round desperately.
"Here, have a drink of nice milk," he said.
They obeyed. They fought for the milk-jug, and spilt some upon their labels and some upon their coats, but they both managed to drink a fair amount. Finally, they put down the empty jug between them and beamed complacently upon the world again.
"Let's leave 'em and go an' spend the shilling," said William. "An' then come back an' rescue them."
"Oh, yiss!" said the twins.
William and Ginger went slowly down the drive. At the end they turned round. The twins were sitting side by side on the doorstop, smiling and waving fat hands. Their labels were milky and slightly awry, but still they adhered to their persons. William and Ginger turned into the road. William took out the shilling.
"I say," said Ginger, "I—I suppose it's honest?"
"Honest!" said William scornfully. "'S more than honest. We've give them a penny. The slaves was sixpence halfpenny each—proper price—an' we've only took a shilling."
The shilling was successful. It provided them with liquorice, bull's eyes, two surprise packets, and an indiarubber ball. In their bliss they forgot the flight of time. It was Ginger who remembered it first.
"I say," he said, "we'd better be doin' that rescuin' quick. Their mother'll be here soon."