“Clothes an’ things. I thought I wun’t look at ’em prop’ly till you came. They was wrapped up in that ole paper we brought our food in last week.”
The Ancient Briton looked at him sternly and accusingly.
“Yes—well, they were my clothes wot I’d changed out of, that’s what they were. You’re jus’ a bit too clever takin’ people’s clothes for smugglers’ things. Anyway, I’m jus’ gettin’ cold with only a skin on, so jus’ please give me those smugglers’ things, so’s I can put ’em on.”
Ginger’s jaw dropped.
“I—I took ’em home. I didn’t want to leave ’em about here case someone else found ’em. I hid ’em behind a tree in our garden.”
The Ancient Briton’s gaze became still more stern.
“Well, p’raps you’d kin’ly gettem for me out of your garden ’fore I die of cold, dressed in only a skin. I should think the Anshunt Britons all died of cold if they felt like wot I feel like. You’re jus’ a bit too clever with other people’s smugglers’ things; an’ s’pose Miss Carter comes down for her skin an’ wot d’you think I’ll look like then, dressed in nothin’?”
“All right,” said Ginger. “I’ll gettem. I won’t be a minute. If you will leave your clothes all about the cave lookin’ exactly like smugglers’ things——”
He was gone, and William sat shivering in a corner of the cave, dressed in his Ancient Briton costume. The glamour of the cave was gone. William felt that he definitely disliked smugglers. The only people he disliked more than he disliked smugglers were Ancient Britons, for whom he now felt a profound scorn and loathing.
In about ten minutes’ time Ginger returned. He was empty handed, and there was a look of consternation on his face.