“No, William dear, it’s very kind of you, but what I need is something I can stroke—and I don’t want anything but my Luky—and I—I don’t like its expression—it looks as if it might bite. I couldn’t stroke that!”
Greatly relieved, William took it back.
That afternoon, perched on the garden fence, his elbows on his knees, his chin in his hands, he watched the antics of Jumble round the baby tortoise. Though William had had the tortoise for three days now, Jumble still barked at it with unabated fury, and William watched the two with unabated interest. But William’s thoughts were still occupied with the Twinkie-Luky problem. The ethics of the case were difficult. It belonged to Miss Blake, but Miss Cliff had paid for it. Then suddenly the solution occurred to him—a week each. They should have it a week each—that would be quite easy to manage. His heart lightened. He jumped down, put his tortoise into his pocket, called “Hi, Jumble!”, took a stick, jumped (almost) over the bed in the middle of the lawn, and went whistling down the road followed by Jumble.
The covered basket was very old and very shabby, and it did not need much persuasion on William’s part to induce Mrs. Brown to give it to him.
“Jus’ to keep my things in an’ carry ’em about in, mother,” he said plaintively, “so as I won’t be so untidy. I shan’t be half as untidy if I have a basket like that to keep my things in an’ carry ’em about in.”
“All right, dear,” said Mrs. Brown, much pleased.
She was eternally optimistic about William.
William spent an entire Saturday morning stalking Luky in the neighbourhood of Miss Cliff’s garden (Miss Cliff went into the town to do her shopping on Saturday mornings). Finally he caught him, put him in the basket, and secretly deposited Luky in Miss Amelia Blake’s garden. Miss Blake was overjoyed.
“He’s come back, Mrs. Brown! Mrs. Brown, he’s come back. William, he’s come back—Luky’s come back.”
Miss Cliff was distraught.