“It’ll take us weeks probably to put whatever he’s done to-day right,” she said hysterically to her husband. “I do hope you’ll be severe with him.”
But Mr. Brown, freed from the horrible spectacle of William robed as a Fairy Queen, had given himself up to undisturbed and peaceful enjoyment of the fire and his armchair and evening paper.
“To-morrow,” he promised pacifically. “Not to-day. You forget. To-day doesn’t count.”
“Eavesdropping,” burst out Robert suddenly. “Simply eavesdropping. I don’t know how he can reconcile that with his conscience.”
“Let’s all be thankful,” said Mr. Brown, “that February 29th only happens every four years.”
“Yes, but William doesn’t,” said Robert gloomily. “William happens all the year round.”
CHAPTER XII
WILLIAM ENTERS POLITICS
WHEN William at the Charity Fair was asked to join a sixpenny raffle for a picture, and shown the prize—a dingy oil painting in an oval gilt frame, his expression registered outrage and disgust.
It was only when his friend Ginger whispered excitedly: “I say, William, las’ week my aunt read in the paper about someone what scraped off an ole picture like that an’ found a real valuable ole master paintin’ underneath an’ sold it for more’n a thousand pounds,” that he hesitated. An inscrutable expression came upon his freckled face as he stared at the vague head and shoulders of a lightly clad female against a background of vague trees and elaborate columns.