Just -- William | Page 7

direction it dries beautifully."
"What does?" said Robert.
"The wind, dear. Dries, clothes on the line. Which reminds me, I must do the laundry directly after breakfast. Don't stick your elbows out like that, William."
"Yes, it almost breaks your ribs sitting next to him," said Ethel. "He needs the whole side of a table to himself."
"He needs a whole room," said Robert.
"A whole house," said Ethel.
"What am I doin" wrong now?" said William withan air of outraged virtue. "I'm jus' sittin' qui'tly eatin'my breakfast."
"Ouietly!" groaned Ethel.
"Well, I've got to chew, haven't I? I can't swallow things whole. An' I can't help it if my elbows are a diffrent shape to other people's. You oughter be sorry for me havin' stickin'-out elbows 'stead of goin' on at me about it. I must've been born with stickin'-out elbows, and that's not my fault, is it? You can't help the way you're born. At least I never heard you could. It's news to me if you can help the way you're born."
He gave a short sarcastic laugh and attacked his fourth piece of bread and marmalade with gusto.
"Now, listen to me, William," said Mr. Brown, doggedly clinging to his position as head of the house and upholder of discipline. "I pass over the disgraceful way you meddled with the shoe cream and shaving cream"--his glance flickered at Robert for a second, but Robert was apparently lost in his own thoughts and unaware of the implication of the flicker--"but I must ask you if you know anything about the disappearance of the bread-knife."
William looked up, and a blank look came over his face.
"The bread-knife?" he said in the wondering tone of one who has never heard of the implement before.
"Yes, the bread-knife," said Mr. Brown. "You know what a bread-knife is, don't you?"
"Oh, that!" said William, playing for time again. "A bread-knife. Yes. I see what you mean now."
"A BREAD KNIFE," spelt Robert.
"That won't convey anything to him," said Ethel. "He probably spells it BRED N-I-F-E."
"I think his spelling's improving a little," said Mrs. Brown. "He wrote me a very nice letter when I was away at Bognor. On the whole, I mean."
"He spelt "showers" s-h-a-r-s, didn't he?"
"Well, it's not an easy word," said Mrs. Brown, "and I knew what it meant when I'd said it aloud several times."
"You had good weather there, didn't you, Mother?" said William trailing the red herring across the path without much real hope.
"The bread-knife, William," said Mr. Brown relentlessly.
William, with an effort, retained his look of wondering innocence.
"An implement," explained Ethel, "used for cutting bread."
"And bread, in case you've never heard of it," said Robert, "is a substance compounded of, I believe, flour, water and yeast."
"What's yeast?" said William.
"Yeast," said Robert, "is a substance that ferments sugar."
"Why?" said William.
"I don't know whether it's the yeast that's wrong with it these days," said Mrs. Brown, "but the bread keeps no time at all. I gave the last one back to the baker. It had turned bright green overnight."
"Probably it's the baker that's wrong with it," said Ethel. "He's just got engaged, hasn't he?"
"Yes," said Mrs. Brown. "To that dreadful woman in the post office. I can't think what he sees in her. She was most disagreeable to me over that postal order. I'm sure she dyes her hair."
"She's a terrible gossip," said Ethel. "Some of the things she says are absolute libel."
"Slander," corrected Robert.
"Libel," said Ethel.
"Slander," persisted Robert.
"May I ask you," said Mr. Brown politely, "to give me your attention for a moment. Kindly look at me, William."
William transferred his innocent wondering gaze to his father.
"Are you, or are you not," said Mr. Brown, "responsible for the disappearance of the bread-knife?"
William looked round. There was no escape.
Four pairs of eyes were fixed on him accusingly.
Red herrings could no longer serve him. Knitting his brow, he appeared to ponder deeply.
"Come along," said Mr. Brown impatiently. "We haven't got all day."
"Well," said William slowly, with the air of one remembering with difficulty an incident almost hidden by the mists of time, "now I come fo think of it, I b'lieve I did jus"--jus' borrow it. I didn't think you'd be wantin' it till later. I forgot about breakfast. I didn't think it'd do it any harm jus'--jus' to use it. Well, that's what they're made for, isn't it? Knives. To be used, I mean... He looked round the circle again, trying to think of some argument that would postpone the inevitable moment of reckoning, and ended lamely. "Well, if you don't use them, they--they sort of rot, don't they?"
"What exactly have you used that bread-knife for, William?" said Mrs. Brown anxiously.
"I pulled it out of solid rock," said William.
"You what?" said Mr Brown.
"Pulled it out of solid rock," said William
"What on earth are you talking about?"
"Well, it was this Excelsior thing. He had