William straightened himself.
“I’m a Nanshunt——” he began, but at sight of his red and muddy face, surmounted by its crest of muddy hair, the little girl fled screaming.
“Come on, Algy, ’e’ll get yer an’ eat yer if yer don’t——”
Algy’s screams reinforced hers, and William disconsolately returned to the ditch as the screams, still lusty, faded into the distance.
“I’m jus’ getting a bit sick of this,” muttered the Ancient Briton.
*****
They reached Parks’. William lay concealed behind the hedge, and Ginger wandered round the shop, reconnoitring.
“Go in!” goaded William, in a hoarse whisper from the hedge. “Go in an’ gettem. Say you’ll fetch a policeman—make ’em give ’em you—fight ’em—take ’em—you lettem go—I can’t stand this much longer. I’m cold an’ I’m wet. I feel as if I’d been a Nanshunt Briton for years an’ years—hurry up—Are-you-goin’-to-get-me-my-clothes?”
“Oh, shut up!” said Ginger miserably. “I’m doin’ all I can.”
“Doin’ all you can, are you? Well, you’re not doin’ much but walkin’ round an’ round the shop. D’you think ’f you go on walkin’ round and round the shop my clothes’ll come out of themselves—come walkin’ out to you? ’Cause if you think that——”