The Outlaws were, outwardly, at least, still sceptical.
“Soppy fairy-tale stuff,” said William once more with masculine superiority. “I tell you there aren’t any.”
But there was a fascination about the sight and they were loth to go far from it.
“Let’s go back an’ see what he’s doin’ now,” said Ginger, and eagerly they accepted the proposal. The hole in the hedge was conveniently large, the bushes by the window afforded a convenient shelter and all would have gone well had not Mr. Galileo Simpkins been engaged on the simple task of washing out some test tubes in a cupboard just outside the Outlaws’ line of vision. This was more than they could endure.
“What’s he doin’?” said William in a voice of agonised suspense.
But none of them could see what he was doing.
“I’ll go out,” said Ginger with a heroic air. “I bet he won’t see me.”
So Ginger crept out of the shelter of the bushes and advanced boldly to the window. Too boldly—for Mr. Galileo Simpkins, turning suddenly, saw, to his great surprise and indignation, a small boy with an exceedingly impertinent face standing in his garden and staring rudely at him through his window. Mr. Galileo Simpkins hated small boys, especially small boys with impertinent faces. With unexpected agility he leapt to the window and threw it open. Ginger fled in terror to the gate. Mr. Galileo Simpkins shook his fist after him.
“All right, you wait, my boy, you wait!” he called.
By this time he wanted the boy with the impertinent face to understand that he was going to find out who he was and tell his father. He was going to put a stop to that sort of thing once and for all. He wasn’t going to have boys with impertinent faces wandering about his garden and looking through his windows. He’d frighten them off now—at once. “You wait!” he shouted again with vague but terrible menace in his voice.