After a spirited quarrel which culminated in a scuffle which culminated in an involuntary descent of both of them into the ditch, the matter was allowed to rest. Ginger had in secret been somewhat relieved at the housemaid’s reception of his offer as he did not possess one-and-six and would have been at a loss had it been accepted.
An informal meeting was then held to consider their next step.
“I votes,” said Douglas who was the one of the Outlaws least addicted to dangerous exploits, “I votes that we jus’ go back to the Fête. We’ve done our best,” he added unctuously, “an’ if the ole coat’s sold, well, it’s just sold. P’raps she’ll be able to get it back by goin’ to a lawyer or to Parliament or somethin’ like that.”
But William, having once formed a purpose, did not lightly relinquish it.
“You can go back,” he said scornfully. “I’m jolly well not goin’ back without that ole coat.”
“All right,” said Douglas in a resigned tone of voice, “I’ll stay an’ help.”
To Douglas’ credit be it said that having uttered his exhortation to caution he was always content to follow the other Outlaws on their paths of lawlessness and hazard.
“Tell you what I’m goin’ to do,” said William suddenly, “I’ve asked for it polite an’ if they won’t give it me then it’s their fault, in’t it? Well I’ve asked for it polite an’ they wun’t give it me so now I’m jolly well goin’ to take it.”
“I’ll go with you, William,” volunteered Ginger.
“I think,” said William frowning and assuming his Commander-in-Chief air, “I’d better go on alone. But you jus’ stay near an’ then if I’m in reel danger—sort of danger of life or death—I’ll shout an’ you come in an’ rescue me.”