Here William found his voice. “Crumbs!” he ejaculated. Then, feeling the expletive to be altogether inadequate to the occasion, quickly added: “Gosh!”
“Take the kid round, someone,” said the shirt-sleeve man wearily, “and fix on his togs, and let’s get on with the show.”
Here a Fairy Queen appeared from behind the hut.
“I don’t see how I’m possibly to go through with this here performance,” she said in a voice of plaintive suffering. “I had toothache all last night——”
“If you think,” said the shirt-sleeve man, “that you can hold up this blessed show for a twopenny-halfpenny toothache——”
“If you’re going to be insulting——” said the Fairy Queen in shrill indignation.
“Aw, shut up!” said the shirt-sleeve man.
Here Father Christmas, who had finished his ale, led William into the hut. A bear’s suit lay on a chair.
“The kid wot was to wear this not having turned up,” he said by way of explanation, “and you by all accounts bein’ willin’ to oblige for a small consideration, we shall have to see what can be done. I suppose,” he added, “you have no objection?”
“Me?” said William, whose eyes and mouth had grown more and more circular every minute. “Me—objection? Golly! I should think not.”