“The poor child had come for his whistle.”
“What whistle?” said Mr. Morgan still more sharply.
“He said you’d borrowed a whistle from him and promised to give it back that day. We looked all over the place for it, but couldn’t find it so he had to go away without.... What’s the matter, Uncle?”
Mr. Morgan was staring into space, his complexion changing from pink to a dull red. He’d thought there was something familiar about that boy though he hadn’t been able to see him plainly in the darkness. There came to him memories of that curious snigger he’d heard as the boy disappeared in the darkness with the whistle. The red deepened to an apoplectic purple.
He gave a sudden furious bellow of rage.
William, chuckling to himself, crept away again through the night....
CHAPTER VI
WILLIAM FINDS A JOB
PROBABLY if she hadn’t been so pretty the Outlaws would not have noticed her at all. But as it was they not only noticed her but noticed also that she was crying. She was sitting on the doorstep of a small house and her hair was a mass of auburn curls, and her eyes were blue and her mouth—well, the Outlaws were not poetic but they dimly realised that her mouth was rather nice. They looked at her and passed on sheepishly, then they hesitated, and, still more sheepishly, returned. William was the spokesman.
“What’s the matter?” he said gruffly.