"Yes," said William, eagerly, "they did."
"One would 'ave expected to see you—well, p'raps dressed in a sail or something." His eye narrowed, and he pointed to the ragged tablecloth fluttering in the breeze. "That 'ud do fine for a sail."
William's eyes were alight with enthusiasm.
"Yes—it would," he said, "fine."
"If I was you an' bein' shipwrecked," said the man, deftly taking the table-cloth from the line, "I'd nip into that there summer-house, an' take off that ordinary-like suit an' rig up myself in this here sail ... then you'd feel like as if you was shipwrecked, eh?"
He threw the table-cloth into the summer-house, and William, all excitement, followed. Friday lay on the bank by the river, smoked a foul pipe and winked at the landscape.
Soon William emerged proudly wearing the table-cloth in the fashion of a Roman toga.
"That," said Friday, "looks a bit of orl right—if I was you I'd go an' show it to the hother one wots lookin' at the wreck. I'll stay an' look hafter that there suit of yours so's no one runs off with it."
As William swaggered slowly towards the house, Friday rose, spat into the river, winked at the tree and went into the summer-house again.
Joan was sitting on the step of the house with the cat on her knee.