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respectability seemed to him at that minute utterly despicable.
    ‘The Wilkinsons over at Todfoot have had their house broken into now,’ Mrs Brown was saying. ‘ All her jewellery gone. They think it’s a gang. It’s just the
villages round here. There seems to be one every day!’
    William expressed his surprise.
    ‘Oh, ’ell!’ he ejaculated, with a slightly self-conscious air.
    Mr Brown turned round and looked at his son.
    ‘May I ask,’ he said politely, ‘where you picked up that expression?’
    ‘I got it off one of my fren’s,’ said William with quiet pride.
    ‘Then I’d take it as a personal favour,’ went on Mr Brown, ‘if you’d kindly refrain from airing your friends’ vocabularies in this house.’
    ‘He means you’re never to say it again, William,’ translated Mrs Brown sternly. ‘Never.’
    ‘All right,’ said William. ‘I won’t. See? I da—jolly well won’t. Strike me pink. See?’
    He departed with an air of scowling mystery and dignity combined, leaving his parents speechless with amazement.
    That afternoon he returned to the White Lion. Mr Blank was standing unobtrusively in the shadow of the wall.
    ‘’Ello, young gent,’ he greeted William, ‘nice dorg you’ve got.’
    William looked proudly down at Jumble.
    ‘You won’t find,’ he said proudly and with some truth, ‘you won’t find another dog like this – not for miles !’
    ‘Will ’e be much good as a watchdog, now?’ asked Mr Blank carelessly.
    ‘Good?’ said William, almost indignant at the question. ‘There isn’t any sort of dog he isn’t good at!’
    ‘Umph,’ said Mr Blank, looking at him thoughtfully.
    ‘Tell me about things you’ve done ,’ said William earnestly.
    ‘Yus, I will, too,’ said Mr Blank. ‘But jus’ you tell me first ’oo lives at all these ’ere nice ’ouses an’ all about ’em. See?’
    William readily complied, and the strange couple gradually wended their way along the road towards William’s house. William stopped at the gate and considered deeply. He was torn between
instincts of hospitality and a dim suspicion that his family would not afford to Mr Blank the courtesy which is a guest’s due. He looked at Mr Blank’s old green-black cap, long, untidy
hair, dirty, lined, sly old face, muddy clothes and gaping boots, and decided quite finally that his mother would not allow him in her drawing-room.
    ‘Will you,’ he said tentatively, ‘will you come roun’ an’ see our back garden? If we go behind these ole bushes and keep close along the wall, no one’ll see
us.’
    To William’s relief Mr Blank did not seem to resent the suggestion of secrecy. They crept along the wall in silence except for Jumble, who loudly worried Mr Blank’s trailing boot
strings as he walked. They reached a part of the back garden that was not visible from the house and sat down together under a shady tree.

    WILLIAM DEPARTED WITH AN AIR OF SCOWLING MYSTERY, LEAVING HIS PARENTS SPEECHLESS WITH AMAZEMENT.
    ‘P’raps,’ began Mr Blank politely, ‘you could bring a bit o’ tea out to me on the quiet like.’
    ‘I’ll ask Mother—’ began William.
    ‘Oh no,’ said Mr Blank modestly. ‘I don’t want ter give no one no trouble. Just a slice o’ bread, if you can find it, without troublin’ no one.
See?’
    William had a brilliant idea.
    ‘Let’s go ’cross to that window an’ get in,’ he said eagerly. ‘That’s the lib’ry and no one uses it ’cept Father, and he’s not in till
later.’
    Mr Blank insisted on tying Jumble up, then he swung himself dexterously through the window. William gave a gasp of admiration.
    ‘You did that fine,’ he said.
    Again Mr Blank closed one eye.
    ‘Not the first time I’ve got in at a winder, young gent, nor the larst, I bet. Not by a long way. See?’
    William followed more slowly. His eyes gleamed with pride. This hero of romance and adventure was now his guest, under his roof.
    ‘Make yourself quite at home, Mr