said to Ginger.
Ginger remembered the pangs of hunger, of which excitement had momentarily rendered him oblivious, and, deciding that there was no time like the present, took a cake from the stand and began to
consume it in silence.
‘You’d better be careful,’ said the young lady to her hostess; ‘he might have escaped from the asylum. He looks mad. He had a very mad look, I thought, when he was
standing at the window.’
‘He’s evidently hungry, anyway. I can’t think why Father doesn’t come.’
Here Ginger, fortified by a walnut bun, remembered his mission.
‘It’s all right now,’ he said. ‘You can go home. He’s shut up. Me an’ William shut him up.’
‘You see!’ said the young lady, with a meaning glance around. ‘I said he was from the asylum. He looked mad. We’d better humour him and ring up the asylum. Have
another cake, darling boy,’ she said in a tone of honeyed sweetness.
Nothing loath, Ginger selected an ornate pyramid of icing.
At this point there came a bellowing and crashing and tramping outside and Miss Priscilla’s father, roaring fury and threats of vengeance, hurled himself into the room. Miss
Priscilla’s father had made his escape by a small window at the other end of the shed. To do this he had had to climb over the coals in the dark. His face and hands and clothes and once-white
beard were covered with coal. His eyes gleamed whitely.
‘An abominable attack . . . utterly unprovoked . . . dastardly ruffians!’
Here he stopped to splutter because his mouth was full of coal dust. While he was spluttering, William, who had just discovered that his bird had flown, appeared at the window.
‘He’s got out,’ he said reproachfully. ‘Look at him. He’s got out. An’ all our trouble for nothing. Why di’n’t someone stop him
gettin’ out?’
William and Ginger sat on the railing that separated their houses.
‘It’s not really much fun bein’ a knight,’ said William slowly.
‘No,’ agreed Ginger. ‘You never know when folks is oppressed. An’ anyway, wot’s one afternoon away from school to make such a fuss about?’
‘HE’S GOT OUT,’ WILLIAM SAID REPROACHFULLY. ‘WHY DI’N’T SOMEONE STOP HIM GETTIN’ OUT?’
‘Seems to me from wot Father said,’ went on William gloomily, ‘you’ll have to wait a jolly long time for that drink of ginger ale.’
An expression of dejection came over Ginger’s face.
‘An’ you wasn’t even ever squire,’ he said. Then he brightened.
‘They were jolly good cakes, wasn’t they?’ he said.
William’s lips curved into a smile of blissful reminiscence.
‘ Jolly good!’ he agreed.
CHAPTER 5
WILLIAM’S HOBBY
U ncle George was William’s godfather, and he was intensely interested in William’s upbringing. It was an interest with which William
would gladly have dispensed. Uncle George’s annual visit was to William a purgatory only to be endured by a resolutely philosophic attitude of mind and the knowledge that sooner or later it
must come to an end. Uncle George had an ideal of what a boy should be, and it was a continual grief to him that William fell so short of this ideal. But he never relinquished his efforts to make
William conform to it.
His ideal was a gentle boy of exquisite courtesy and of intellectual pursuits. Such a boy he could have loved. It was hard that fate had endowed him with a godson like William. William was
neither quiet nor gentle, nor courteous nor intellectual – but William was intensely human.
The length of Uncle George’s visit this year was beginning to reach the limits of William’s patience. He was beginning to feel that sooner or later something must happen. For five
weeks now he had (reluctantly) accompanied Uncle George upon his morning walk, he had (generally unsuccessfully) tried to maintain that state of absolute quiet that Uncle George’s afternoon
rest required, he had in the evening listened wearily to Uncle George’s stories of
Ginger remembered the pangs of hunger, of which excitement had momentarily rendered him oblivious, and, deciding that there was no time like the present, took a cake from the stand and began to
consume it in silence.
‘You’d better be careful,’ said the young lady to her hostess; ‘he might have escaped from the asylum. He looks mad. He had a very mad look, I thought, when he was
standing at the window.’
‘He’s evidently hungry, anyway. I can’t think why Father doesn’t come.’
Here Ginger, fortified by a walnut bun, remembered his mission.
‘It’s all right now,’ he said. ‘You can go home. He’s shut up. Me an’ William shut him up.’
‘You see!’ said the young lady, with a meaning glance around. ‘I said he was from the asylum. He looked mad. We’d better humour him and ring up the asylum. Have
another cake, darling boy,’ she said in a tone of honeyed sweetness.
Nothing loath, Ginger selected an ornate pyramid of icing.
At this point there came a bellowing and crashing and tramping outside and Miss Priscilla’s father, roaring fury and threats of vengeance, hurled himself into the room. Miss
Priscilla’s father had made his escape by a small window at the other end of the shed. To do this he had had to climb over the coals in the dark. His face and hands and clothes and once-white
beard were covered with coal. His eyes gleamed whitely.
‘An abominable attack . . . utterly unprovoked . . . dastardly ruffians!’
Here he stopped to splutter because his mouth was full of coal dust. While he was spluttering, William, who had just discovered that his bird had flown, appeared at the window.
‘He’s got out,’ he said reproachfully. ‘Look at him. He’s got out. An’ all our trouble for nothing. Why di’n’t someone stop him
gettin’ out?’
William and Ginger sat on the railing that separated their houses.
‘It’s not really much fun bein’ a knight,’ said William slowly.
‘No,’ agreed Ginger. ‘You never know when folks is oppressed. An’ anyway, wot’s one afternoon away from school to make such a fuss about?’
‘HE’S GOT OUT,’ WILLIAM SAID REPROACHFULLY. ‘WHY DI’N’T SOMEONE STOP HIM GETTIN’ OUT?’
‘Seems to me from wot Father said,’ went on William gloomily, ‘you’ll have to wait a jolly long time for that drink of ginger ale.’
An expression of dejection came over Ginger’s face.
‘An’ you wasn’t even ever squire,’ he said. Then he brightened.
‘They were jolly good cakes, wasn’t they?’ he said.
William’s lips curved into a smile of blissful reminiscence.
‘ Jolly good!’ he agreed.
CHAPTER 5
WILLIAM’S HOBBY
U ncle George was William’s godfather, and he was intensely interested in William’s upbringing. It was an interest with which William
would gladly have dispensed. Uncle George’s annual visit was to William a purgatory only to be endured by a resolutely philosophic attitude of mind and the knowledge that sooner or later it
must come to an end. Uncle George had an ideal of what a boy should be, and it was a continual grief to him that William fell so short of this ideal. But he never relinquished his efforts to make
William conform to it.
His ideal was a gentle boy of exquisite courtesy and of intellectual pursuits. Such a boy he could have loved. It was hard that fate had endowed him with a godson like William. William was
neither quiet nor gentle, nor courteous nor intellectual – but William was intensely human.
The length of Uncle George’s visit this year was beginning to reach the limits of William’s patience. He was beginning to feel that sooner or later something must happen. For five
weeks now he had (reluctantly) accompanied Uncle George upon his morning walk, he had (generally unsuccessfully) tried to maintain that state of absolute quiet that Uncle George’s afternoon
rest required, he had in the evening listened wearily to Uncle George’s stories of
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