do.’
‘The human boy,’ said the guest, ‘is given us as a discipline. I possess one. Though he is my own son, I find it difficult to describe the atmosphere of peace and relief that
pervades the house when he is out of it.’
‘I’d like to meet your son,’ said the host.
‘You probably will, sooner or later,’ said the guest gloomily. ‘Everyone in the neighbourhood meets him sooner or later. He does not hide his light under a bushel. Personally,
I prefer people who haven’t met him. They can’t judge me by him.’
At this moment the butler came in with a note.
‘No answer,’ he said, and departed with his slow dignity.
‘Excuse me,’ said the lady as she opened it, ‘it’s from my sister. “I hope,” she read, “that you aren’t inconvenienced much by the non-arrival of
the Boots I engaged for you. He’s got flu.” But he’s come,’ she said wonderingly.
There came the sound of an angry shout, a distant scream and the clattering of heavy running footsteps . . . growing nearer . . .
‘A revolution, I expect,’ said the guest wearily. ‘The Reds are upon us.’
At that moment the door was burst open and in rushed a boy with a blacking brush in one hand and an inflated balloon in the other. He was much dishevelled, with three buttons off the front of
his uniform, and his face streaked with knife-powder and blacking. Behind him ran the fat butler, his face purple with fury beneath a large smear of blacking. The boy rushed round the table,
slipped on the polished floor, clutched desperately at the neck of the guest, bringing both guest and chair down upon the floor beside him. In a sudden silence of utter paralysed horror, guest and
boy sat on the floor and stared at each other. Then the boy’s nerveless hand relaxed its hold upon the balloon, which had somehow or other survived the vicissitudes of the flight, and a
shrill squeak rang through the silence of the room.
The master and mistress of the house sat looking round in dazed astonishment.
As the guest looked at the boy there appeared on his countenance amazement, then incredulity, and finally frozen horror. As the boy looked at the guest there appeared on his countenance
amazement, then incredulity and finally blank dejection.
‘Good Lord!’ said the guest. ‘It’s William !’
‘Oh, crumbs!’ said the Boots. ‘It’s Father !’
CHAPTER 4
THE FALL OF THE IDOL
W illiam was bored. He sat at his desk in the sunny schoolroom and gazed dispassionately at a row of figures on the blackboard.
‘It isn’t sense ,’ he murmured scornfully.
Miss Drew was also bored, but, unlike William, she tried to hide the fact.
‘If the interest on a hundred pounds for one year is five pounds,’ she said wearily, then, ‘William Brown, do sit up and don’t look so stupid!’
William changed his position from that of lolling over one side of his desk to that of lolling over the other, and began to justify himself.
‘Well, I can’t unner stand any of it. It’s enough to make anyone look stupid when he can’t unner stand any of it. I can’t think why people go on
givin’ people bits of money for givin’ ’em lots of money and go on an’ on doin’ it. It dun’t seem sense. Anyone’s a mug for givin’ anyone a hundred
pounds just ’cause he says he’ll go on givin’ him five pounds and go on stickin’ to his hundred pounds. How’s he to know he will? Well,’ he warmed to his
subject, ‘what’s to stop him not givin’ any five pounds once he’s got hold of the hundred pounds an’ goin’ on stickin’ to the hundred
pounds—’
Miss Drew checked him by a slim, upraised hand.
‘William,’ she said patiently, ‘just listen to me. Now suppose,’ her eyes roved round the room and settled on a small red-haired boy, ‘suppose that Eric wanted a
hundred pounds for something and you lent it to him—’
‘I wun’t lend Eric a hundred pounds,’ he said firmly, ‘’cause I ha’n’t got it.
‘The human boy,’ said the guest, ‘is given us as a discipline. I possess one. Though he is my own son, I find it difficult to describe the atmosphere of peace and relief that
pervades the house when he is out of it.’
‘I’d like to meet your son,’ said the host.
‘You probably will, sooner or later,’ said the guest gloomily. ‘Everyone in the neighbourhood meets him sooner or later. He does not hide his light under a bushel. Personally,
I prefer people who haven’t met him. They can’t judge me by him.’
At this moment the butler came in with a note.
‘No answer,’ he said, and departed with his slow dignity.
‘Excuse me,’ said the lady as she opened it, ‘it’s from my sister. “I hope,” she read, “that you aren’t inconvenienced much by the non-arrival of
the Boots I engaged for you. He’s got flu.” But he’s come,’ she said wonderingly.
There came the sound of an angry shout, a distant scream and the clattering of heavy running footsteps . . . growing nearer . . .
‘A revolution, I expect,’ said the guest wearily. ‘The Reds are upon us.’
At that moment the door was burst open and in rushed a boy with a blacking brush in one hand and an inflated balloon in the other. He was much dishevelled, with three buttons off the front of
his uniform, and his face streaked with knife-powder and blacking. Behind him ran the fat butler, his face purple with fury beneath a large smear of blacking. The boy rushed round the table,
slipped on the polished floor, clutched desperately at the neck of the guest, bringing both guest and chair down upon the floor beside him. In a sudden silence of utter paralysed horror, guest and
boy sat on the floor and stared at each other. Then the boy’s nerveless hand relaxed its hold upon the balloon, which had somehow or other survived the vicissitudes of the flight, and a
shrill squeak rang through the silence of the room.
The master and mistress of the house sat looking round in dazed astonishment.
As the guest looked at the boy there appeared on his countenance amazement, then incredulity, and finally frozen horror. As the boy looked at the guest there appeared on his countenance
amazement, then incredulity and finally blank dejection.
‘Good Lord!’ said the guest. ‘It’s William !’
‘Oh, crumbs!’ said the Boots. ‘It’s Father !’
CHAPTER 4
THE FALL OF THE IDOL
W illiam was bored. He sat at his desk in the sunny schoolroom and gazed dispassionately at a row of figures on the blackboard.
‘It isn’t sense ,’ he murmured scornfully.
Miss Drew was also bored, but, unlike William, she tried to hide the fact.
‘If the interest on a hundred pounds for one year is five pounds,’ she said wearily, then, ‘William Brown, do sit up and don’t look so stupid!’
William changed his position from that of lolling over one side of his desk to that of lolling over the other, and began to justify himself.
‘Well, I can’t unner stand any of it. It’s enough to make anyone look stupid when he can’t unner stand any of it. I can’t think why people go on
givin’ people bits of money for givin’ ’em lots of money and go on an’ on doin’ it. It dun’t seem sense. Anyone’s a mug for givin’ anyone a hundred
pounds just ’cause he says he’ll go on givin’ him five pounds and go on stickin’ to his hundred pounds. How’s he to know he will? Well,’ he warmed to his
subject, ‘what’s to stop him not givin’ any five pounds once he’s got hold of the hundred pounds an’ goin’ on stickin’ to the hundred
pounds—’
Miss Drew checked him by a slim, upraised hand.
‘William,’ she said patiently, ‘just listen to me. Now suppose,’ her eyes roved round the room and settled on a small red-haired boy, ‘suppose that Eric wanted a
hundred pounds for something and you lent it to him—’
‘I wun’t lend Eric a hundred pounds,’ he said firmly, ‘’cause I ha’n’t got it.
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