glance and sniffed as she followed.
"It was the fridge, mum. I couldn't get it open. That fridge'z never been right since William was at it last week."
"What on earth was he doing with it?"
"He wanted to make an igloo out of ice cubes."
Mrs. Brown laughed. "Never mind, Emily. He goes back to school next week."
Emily's expression of weary resignation intensified. "You never know, mum," she said darkly. "He might catch something."
"Who might catch something?" said Mr. Brown irritably, coming out of the kitchen. "All I want to catch is that fast train."
"All right, dear," said Mrs. Brown. "Breakfast's just ready, isn't it, Emily? Oh, here's Robert. Good morning, Robert."
Robert, spruce and cheerful, all traces of shoe cream removed from his face, was coming downstairs, humming to himself.
"Morning, Mother. Morning, Father."
"Good morning, Robert," said Mr Brown heavily. Then his heaviness lightened. "You shaved with shoe cream, I hear?"
"That's right," said Robert airily. "Hope your shoes enjoyed their shave."
The smile faded from Mr. Brown's face.
"I'll have an explanation of this from someone, my boy, or know the reason why," he said.
"Well, we all know who the someone is," said Robert, "and--"
The end of his sentence was drowned by a shattering salvo on the dinner gong. Emily's state of mind could always be gauged by the way she sounded the dinner gong. On her good days it had a restrained, cheerful note, almost like an old-fashioned musical box.
On her bad days it crashed like thunder... it held a threat... it challenged the whole universe.
"Come along, both of you," said Mrs. Brown, leading the way into the dining-room.
"Morning, Mother,", said Ethel, slipping into her seat.
"Good morning, dear."
"Morning, Pop."
Mr. Brown continued to frown at a letter he had just opened.
"Cheer up, Pop," said Ethel, taking her coffee from Mrs. Brown.
"What's this bill for repairing the geyser?" said Mr. Brown. "We only bought the darn thing a month ago."
"It blew up," said Mrs. Brown simply.
"Blew up?" said Mr. Brown, as if the words were unintelligible to him. "How do you mean, blew up?"
"Just blew up," said Mrs. Brown in fuller explanation. "They mended it the same day. I meant to tell you, dear, but I kept put--forgetting."
"The man said it couldn't blow up," said Mr. Brown.
"Well, William heard him say it," said Ethel, "and he tried to prove it."
"In a spirit of pure scientific research," added Robert.
"It wasn't altogether William's fault," said Mrs. Brown.
"It never is, is it?" said Mr. Brown, then, with mounting irritation, "Where is the boy? Why doesn't he come in to breakfast? I won't have the place treated as an hotel."
"Eat your breakfast, John dear," said Mrs. Brown. "You'll be missing the late train, too, if you don't hurry."
But the flood of parental wrath was beyond stemming.
"Go and fetch your brother, Robert," said Mr. Brown sternly.
Robert looked up from his bacon with an air of amazed aggrievance. "Me?" he said.
"Yes," said Mr. Brown.
"I haven't had my breakfast, yet."
Mr. Brown's eye became steely. Thunder clouds enveloped his brow.
"Do as your father tells you, Robert dear," said Mrs. Brown hastily. "William's probably in the old barn."
Robert rose with an air of mingled dignity and suffering and went slowly from the room.
Mr. Brown cleared his throat and, in order to tide over the slightly awkward moment, got up from his seat and made his way to the sideboard to cut himself a piece of bread. He had successfully asserted his position as master of his household, but friendly converse immediately after such an assertion is always a little difficult.
"Going to be a fine day," he said, with perhaps over-done heartiness, then, with faint but unmistakable signs of a fresh uprising of irritation: "Where's the bread-knife?"
"Emily," said Mrs, Brown, as Emily entered with a hot-water jug, "you've forgotten the bread-knife."
"No, I haven't," said Emily, in the voice of the camel receiving the last straw on to its load. "I've not forgot nothing. It's disappeared. I'm not one to complain, but"
"Disappeared?" said Mrs. Brown.
"Nonsense!" said Mr. Brown. "Bread-knives don't disappear."
"Why not?" put in Ethel. "Lipsticks do."
"We aren't talking about lipsticks, dear," said Mrs. Brown.
"No, but if William can do away with lipsticks, he can do the same with bread-knives."
"I think that's very unfair, dear," said Mrs. Brown. "William isn't responsible for everything that goes wrong in this house."
"Well, if he isn't, it's not for want of trying," said Mr. Brown bitterly.
"Now, John dear, do be sensible. What on earth could William want with a bread-knife?"
William, the cause of most of the troubles in the Brown household, stood in the old barn, brandishing a bread-knife.
Henry, one of his boon companions, sat on an up-turned packing-case. Douglas, another boon companion, sat on the floor. Ginger, the fourth of the quartet, known collectively as the Outlaws, had not yet arrived.
"Well, then, this man called Arthur," said William, "found the sword
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