He was deep in the throes of it the next afternoon when the shrill sound of William's distant whistle reached him.
William entered cheerfully.
"Hello," he said. "You writin'?"
The victim raised his face from his hands.
"I was," he said pointedly.
"I thought you was," said William. "I saw you through the window with your head in your hands, like as if you couldn't think wot to write nex'. So I knew you'd be glad to see me."
As he spoke, his rare smile overspread his freckled face.
The young man was dumb.
"I used to write a bit myself," went on William modestly, "an' often I can't think wot to write nex'. I remember once I wrote an orfully good tale about a man wot was a pirate an' he was run after by a dastardly cannibal round an' round a desert island an' then the dastardly cannibal caught him an' was jus' goin' to cook him when some frens of the dastardly cannibal came up, an' while the dastardly cannibal was saying 'good afternoon' to them the pirate got up a tree an' waved his pocket handkerchief to another pirate wot was on the sea as a sign that he was in deadly danger."
William stopped. "Yes?" said his unfortunate hearer in a dull voice. William plunged on.