Just -- William | Page 5

they had brought some cold potatoes, a handful of oatmeal, some lemonade powder and a sardine tin, from which the sardines had been removed but which still contained a generous supply of moisture.
"Come on," said William, eyeing the feast with anticipatory relish. "It looks jolly good. Let's start with the apple thing an' spread the potted meat on it--to give it more of a taste. Then we can mix the potato an' lemonade powder and sardine juice. I bet that'll taste jolly good. It's a jolly sight better than an ordin'ry breakfast. We'll leave the bread to the last."
They sat down on the floor, and William carefully divided the remnant of apple flan into three, spreading each slice thickly with meat paste. They munched happily and in silence for some moments.
"It is jolly good," said Henry at last. "I don't know why grown-ups don't mix things more. Funny how they like things dull."
"It's 'cause they're dull themselves," said Douglas indistinctly..
"Well, about this Arthur man," said William (for the trouble with William was that, having once started a subject, he never knew when to stop). "They made him King and he started knights."
"What d'you mean, started nights?" said Douglas. "There've been nights an' days ever since the world began."
"Don't be a chump," said William. "I mean knight spelt with a g, same as gnat and gnaw. He called 'em Knights of the Round Table, an' they went about righting wrongs and rescuing women."
"Oh, I know about those," said Henry. "I read about 'em in a book. They brought succour to damsels in distress."
"They may've done that, too," said William vaguely.
A sudden shrill barking cut through the air.
"That's Jumble givin' the alarm," said William, springing to his feet. "Someone's comin'. I bet it's an enemy. Action stations!"
Douglas went to a side window, and Henry, falling on to his stomach, put an eye to a spot in the wall near the ground, where a broken plank afforded a convenient peep-hole.
William peered cautiously, out of the barn door, on which hung a crooked notice: "Keep out. Privit." "Good ole Jumble!" he said approvingly.
Jumble--to ordinary eyes a villainous-looking mongrel but to William's the quintessence of dog perfection--was tied by a piece of rope to a fence, on which hung two notices: "Bewair wotch dog" and "Danger. He Bights." He wagged his stumpy tail in ecstatic acknowledgment of the compliment and, straining hard on his rope, stood on his hind legs, pawing the air in an effort to reach his master.
"Good ole-" began William again, then his jaw dropped open, and he gazed in horror at the figure of a young man striding across the field.
"Gosh!" he said, retreating hastily into the barn. "It's Robert! Quick! Put the food away."
He crammed the last of the apple flan into his mouth, and together the three put the loaf, potted meat jar, potatoes and sardine tin under the packing-case. Then they turned to face Robert, who was now framed in the doorway. Robert entered the barn and, ignoring his young brother's friends, looked down at William with an expression of grim disapproval.
"What on earth have you been doing to yourself?" he said.
"Me?" said William innocently, removing the effects of his struggle with Douglas and Henry as best he could by brushing the dust from his suit with his hands and depositing it in his hair as he tried ineffectually to smooth it down.
"Yes, you!" snapped Robert. "And what d'you mean by not coming in to breakfast?"
"Breakfast?" repeated William inanely, playing for time and trying to think of some convincing reason for his absence. "Oh, you mean--breakfast."
"Yes," said Robert impatiently. "Don't make yourself out more of a half-wit than you are. Not that you could, when one comes to think of it."
"Well, I--I jus' wasn't hungry this mornin', Robert," said William, assuming a not very convincing air of wistfulness, and moving the packing-case with his foot so as to hide a corner of the loaf of bread that was sticking out. "I jus' didn't feel like food. There isn't any lor about people eatin' if they don't feel like it, is there?
"P'raps"--with a vague and not very hopeful idea of staving off retribution-- "p'raps I'm not very well. That's what people do, you know, when they're not very well. They don't feel like food."
"You'd better see the doctor, then," said Robert unsympathetically.
"Oh, no, I'm not ill in that way," said William hastily. "Besides, that doctor never understands my sort of illnesses."
"The trouble is that he does," said Robert dryly. "Anyway, Father says you're to come straight back home to breakfast."
"All right," said William gloomily.
"And what d'you mean by messing about with my shaving cream?"
"That was a mistake, Robert," said William earnestly. "That was jolly annoying for me, too. You see, I wanted some of that white shoe cream an'--"
"Oh,