“What are you goin’ to do, then?” said Bertram, taken aback.
“I’m goin’ to have adventures.”
“You’ll—you’ll miss geography,” said Bertram.
“Geography!” said the hero of adventures scornfully.
Leaving Bertram gaping over the school wall, his Latin grammar under one arm and his geography book under the other, William walked up the hill and into the wood in search of adventures.
*****
It was most certainly a gipsy encampment. There was a pot boiling on a camp fire and a crowd of ragged children playing around. Three caravans stood on the broad cart track that led through the wood.
William watched the children wistfully from a distance. More than anything on earth at that moment William longed to be a gipsy. He approached the children. All of them fled behind the caravans except one—a very dirty boy in a ragged green jersey and ragged knickers and bare legs. He squared his fists and knocked William down. William jumped up and knocked the boy down. The boy knocked William down again, but overbalanced with the effort. They sat on the ground and looked at each other.
“Wot’s yer nyme?” said the boy.
“William. Wot’s yours?”