In the fight William lost his overcoat, his Eton coat was torn from top to bottom, and his waistcoat ripped open. But his tribe won the day; the rival tribe dropped off, hurling ineffectual taunts and insults, and on sailed William and his gang, half-running, half-riding, with an exhilarating mixture of physical exercise and joy-riding unknown to the more law-abiding citizen.
And in the midst was William—William serene and triumphant, William dirty and ragged, William acclaimed leader at last. The motor-van put on speed. There was a ride of pure breathless joy and peril before, at last exhausted, they dropped off.
*****
Then ’Erb turned to William: “Wot you doin’ to-night, maite?” he said.
“Maite!” William’s heart glowed.
“Nothin’, maite,” answered William carelessly.
“Oi’m goin’ to the picshers,” said ’Erb. “If you loike ter ’elp my o’d woman with the corfee-stall, she’ll give yer a tanner.”
A coffee-stall—Oh, joy! Was the magic of this evening inexhaustible?
“Oi’ll ’elp ’er orl roight, maite,” said William, making an effort to acquire his new friend’s accent and intonation.
“Oi’ll taike yer near up to it,” said ’Erb, and to the gang: “Nah, you run orf ’ome, kids. Me an’ Bill is busy.”