William sat on an old packing-case in a disused barn.
Before him stood Ginger, who shared the same classroom in school and pursued much the same occupations and recreations out of school. They were not a popular couple in the neighbourhood.
William was wearing a mask. The story had not stated what sort of a mask Rudolph of the Red Hand had worn, but William supposed it was an ordinary sort of mask. He had one that he’d bought last Fifth of November, and it seemed a pity to waste it. Moreover, it had the advantage of having moustachios attached. It covered his nose and cheeks, leaving holes for his eyes. It represented fat, red, smiling cheeks, an enormous red nose, and fluffy grey whiskers. William, on looking at himself in the glass, had felt a slight misgiving. It had been appropriate to the festive season of November 5th, but he wondered whether it was sufficiently sinister to represent Rudolph of the Red Hand. However, it was a mask, and he could turn his lips into a sinister smile under it, and that was the main thing. He had definitely and finally embraced a career of crime. On the table before him stood a bottle of liquorice water with an irregularly printed label: GROG. He looked round at his brave.
“Black-hearted Dick,” he said, “you gotter say, ‘Present.’”
He was rather vague as to how outlaws opened their meetings, but this seemed the obvious way.
“Present,” said Ginger, “an’ it’s not much fun if it’s all goin’ to be like school.”
“Well, it’s not,” said William firmly, “an’ you can have a drink of grog—only one swallow,” he added anxiously, as he saw Black-hearted Dick throwing his head well back preparatory to the draught.
“That was a jolly big one,” he said, torn between admiration at the feat and annoyance at the disappearance of his liquorice water.
“All right,” said Ginger modestly. “I’ve gotter big throat. Well, what we goin’ to do first?”
