But it was Robert who snatched ’Erb’s cap from his head and stripped his apron from him, and said: “You young devil!” and Ethel who said: “Goodness, just look at his clothes,” and Mrs. Brown who said: “Oh, my darling little William, and I though I’d lost you”; and the lady of the coffee-stall who said: “Well, yer can ’ave ’im fer all ’e knows abaht washin’-up.”
And William returned sad but unrepentant to the bosom of outraged Respectability.
CHAPTER VIII
WILLIAM ADVERTISES
A NEW sweetshop, Mallards by name, had been opened in the village. It had been the sensation of the week to William and his friends. For it sold everything a halfpenny cheaper than Mr. Moss.
It revolutionised the finances of the Outlaws. The Outlaws was the secret society which comprised William and his friends Ginger, Henry, and Douglas. Jumble, William’s disreputable mongrel, was its mascot.
The Outlaws patronised Mallards’ generously on the first Saturday of its career. William spent his whole threepence there on separate halfpennyworths. He insisted on the halfpennyworths. He said firmly that Mr. Moss always let him have halfpennyworths. In the end the red-haired young woman behind the counter yielded to him. She yielded reluctantly and scornfully. She took no interest in his choice. She asked him in a voice of bored contempt not to finger the Edinburgh Rock. She muttered as she did up his package—“waste of paper and time”—“never heard such nonsense”—“ha’porths indeed.”
William went out of the shop, placing his five minute packets in already over-full pockets and keeping out the sixth for present consumption.
“I’m not sure,” he said darkly to Ginger and Henry, who accompanied him—Douglas was away from home—“I’m not sure as I’m ever going there again—— Have a bull’s eye?—I didn’t like the way she looked at me nor spoke at me—an’ I’ve a jolly good mind not to go to Mallards next Saturday.”
“But it’s cheap,” said Ginger, taking out his package. “Have an aniseed ball?—an’ it’s cheap that matters in a shop, I should think.”