“Well, grog, an’ then you don’t know who we’ve gotter kidnap. I like that. Might as well be rat hunting or catching tadpoles or chasin’ cats, if you don’t know what we’ve gotter do.”
William snorted and smiled sneeringly beneath his bilious-looking mask.
“Huh!” he said. “You come with me and I’ll find someone for you to kidnap right enough.”
Ginger cheered up at this news, and William took another draught of liquorice water. Then he hung up his mask behind the barn door and took out of his pocket a battered penknife.
“We may want arms,” he said; “keep your dagger handy.”
He pulled his school cap low down over his eyes. Ginger did the same, then looked at the one broken blade of his penknife.
“I don’t think mine would kill anyone,” he said. “Does it matter?”
“You’ll have to knock yours on the head with something,” said Rudolph of the Red Hand grimly. “You know we may be imprisoned, or hung, or somethin’, for this.”
“Rather!” said Ginger, with the true spirit of the bravado, “an’ I don’t care.”
They tramped across the fields in silence, William leading. In spite of his occasional exasperation, Ginger had infinite trust in William’s capacity for attracting adventure.