The boy stared at him again first in pure amazement and finally with speculation.
“Yus,” he said at last, “an’ you pinch my screw. Not much!”
“No, I won’t,” said William with great emphasis. “I won’t. Honest I won’t. I’ll give it you. I don’t want it. I only want,” again he gazed enviously at the boy’s engaging pastime, “I only want to clean silver same as you’re doin’.”
“Then there’s the car to clean with the ’ose-pipe.”
William’s eyes gleamed.
“I bet I can do that,” he said, “an’ what after that?”
“Dunno,” said the boy, “that’s all they told me. The ole cook’ll tell you what to do next. I specks,” optimistically, “she won’t notice you not bein’ me with me only comin’ this mornin’ an’ her run off her feet what with her ringin’ her bell all the time an’ givin’ no one no peace an’ them bein’ away. Anyway,” he ended defiantly, “I don’t care if she does. It ain’t the sort of place I’ve bin used to an’ for two pins I’d tell ’em so.”
He took a length of string from his pocket, a pin from a pincushion which hung by the fire-place, a jam jar from a cupboard, then looked uncertainly at William.
“I c’n find a stick down there by the stream,” he said, “an’ I won’t stay long. I bet I’ll be back before that ole cook comes down from her an’—well, you put these here on an’ try’n look like me an’—I won’t be long.”
He slipped off his overalls and disappeared into the sunshine. William heard him run across the paved yard and close the door cautiously behind him. Then evidently he felt safe. There came the sound of his whistling as he ran across the field.