The subsequent discovery of the real meaning of the term White Elephant filled William with such disgust that he announced that nothing would now induce him to attend the Fête in any capacity whatsoever. The unconcern with which this announcement was received by his family further increased his disgust. The disappointment of the Outlaws at the disappearance of that glorious vision of William and themselves in sole charge of a herd of snowy mammals caused them to sympathise with William rather than jeer at him.
“If there isn’t no white elephants,” said William bitterly, “then why did they say there was goin’ to be some?”
Ginger kindly attempted to explain.
“You see that’s the point, William—there isn’t white elephants.”
“Then why did they say there was?” persisted William. “Fancy callin’ rubbish white elephants. If you’re going to have a stall of rubbish why don’t they say they’re goin’ to have a stall of rubbish ’stead of callin’ it White Elephants? Where’s the sense of it? White elephants! An’ all the time it’s broken old pots an’ dull ole books an’ stuff like that. What’s the sense of it ... callin’ it white elephants!”
Ginger still tried to explain.
“You see there isn’t any white elephants, William,” he said.
“Well, why do they say there is?” said William finally. “Well I’m jus’ payin’ ’em out by not helpin’—that’s all.”
But when the day of the Fête arrived William had relented. After all there was something thrilling about serving at a stall. He could pretend that it was his shop. He could feel gloriously important for the time being at any rate, taking in money and handing out change....
“I don’t mind helpin’ you a bit this afternoon, mother,” he said at breakfast with the air of one who confers a great favour.