"Which is Mr. Jones? The one that walks funny?"
They shook with herculean laughter, so much so that a china cream jug slipped from Mr. Blake's fingers and lay in innumerable pieces round his boot. He kicked it carelessly aside.
"Yus," he said, bending anew to his task, "'im wot walks funny."
"Why's he walk funny?" persisted William. "Has he hurt his legs?"
"Yus," said Blake with a wink. "'E 'urt 'em at the Blue Cow comin'
'ere."
Mr. Jones' sheepish smile broadened into a guffaw.
"Well, you rest," said William sympathetically. "You lie down on the sofa an' rest. _I'll_ help, so's you needn't do _anything_!"
Mr. Jones grew hilarious.
"Come on!" he said. "My eye! This young gent's all _roight_, 'e is.
You lie down an' rest, 'e says! Well, 'ere goes!"
To the huge delight of his companions, he stretched himself at length upon the chesterfield and closed his eyes. William surveyed him with pleasure.
"That's right," he said. "I'll--I'll show you my dog when your legs are better. I've gotter _fine_ dog!"
"What sort of a dog?" said Mr. Blake, resting from his labours to ask the question.
"He's no _partic'lar_ sort of a dog," said William honestly, "but he's a jolly fine dog. You should see him do tricks!"
[Illustration: WILLIAM SURVEYED HIM WITH PLEASURE. "I'LL SHOW YOU MY DOG WHEN YOUR LEGS ARE BETTER," HE SAID.]
"Well, let's 'ave a look at 'im. Fetch 'im art."
William, highly delighted, complied, and Jumble showed off his best tricks to an appreciative audience of two (Mr. Jones had already succumbed to the drowsiness that had long been creeping over him and was lying dead to the world on the chesterfield).
Jumble begged for a biscuit, he walked (perforce, for William's hand firmly imprisoned his front ones) on his hind legs, he leapt over William's arm. He leapt into the very centre of an old Venetian glass that was on the floor by the packing-case and cut his foot slightly on a piece of it, but fortunately suffered no ill-effects.
William saw consternation on Mr. Johnson's face and hastened to gather the pieces and fling them lightly into the waste-paper basket.
"It's all right," he said soothingly. "She _said_ things get broken removin'."
When Mrs. Brown entered the room ten minutes later, Mr. Jones was still asleep, Jumble was still performing, and Messrs. Blake and Johnson were standing in negligent attitudes against the wall appraising the eager Jumble with sportsmanlike eyes.
"'E's no breed," Mr. Blake was saying, "but 'e's orl _roight_. I'd loik to see 'im arfter a rat. I bet 'e'd----"
Seeing Mrs. Brown, he hastily seized a vase from the mantel-piece and carried it over to the packing case, where he appeared suddenly to be working against time. Mr. Johnson followed his example.
Mrs. Brown's eyes fell upon Mr. Jones and she gasped.
"Whatever--" she began.
"'E's not very well 'm," explained Mr. Blake obsequiously. "'E'll be orl roight when 'e's slep' it orf. 'E's always orl roight when 'e's slep' 'it orf."
"He's hurt his legs," explained William. "He hurt his legs at the Blue Cow. He's jus' _restin'_!"
Mrs. Brown swallowed and counted twenty to herself. It was a practice she had acquired in her youth for use in times when words crowded upon her too thick and fast for utterance.
At last she spoke with unusual bitterness.
"Need he rest with his muddy boots on my chesterfield?"
At this point Mr. Jones awoke from sleep, hypnotised out of it by her cold eye.
He was profuse in his apologies. He believed he had fainted. He had had a bad headache, brought on probably by exposure to the early morning sun. He felt much better after his faint. He regretted having fainted on to the lady's sofa. He partially brushed off the traces of his dirty boots with an equally dirty hand.
"You've done _nothing_ in this room," said Mrs. Brown. "We shall _never_ get finished. William, come away! I'm sure you're hindering them."
"Me?" said William in righteous indignation. "_Me?_ I'm _helpin'_!"
After what seemed to Mrs. Brown to be several hours they began on the heavy furniture. They staggered out with the dining-room sideboard, carrying away part of the staircase with it in transit. Mrs. Brown, with a paling face, saw her beloved antique cabinet dismembered against the doorpost, and watched her favourite collapsible card-table perform a thorough and permanent collapse. Even the hat-stand from the hall was devoid of some pegs when it finally reached the van.
"This is simply breaking my heart," moaned Mrs. Brown.
"Where's William?" said Ethel, gloomily, looking round.
"'Sh! I don't know. He disappeared a few minutes ago. I don't know _where_ he is. I only hope he'll stay there!"
The removers now proceeded to the drawing-room and prepared to take out the piano. They tried it every way. The first way took a piece out of the doorpost, the second made a dint two inches deep in the piano, the third knocked over the grandfather clock, which fell with a resounding crash, breaking its glass, and incidentally a tall china plant stand that happened to be in its line of descent.
Mrs. Brown sat down and covered her face with her hands.
"It's like some dreadful _nightmare_!" she groaned.
Messrs. Blake, Johnson and Jones paused to wipe the sweat of honest toil from their brows.
"I dunno _'ow_ it's to be got out," said Mr. Blake despairingly.
"It got in!" persisted Mrs. Brown. "If it got in it can get out."
"We'll 'ave another try," said Mr. Blake with the air of a hero leading a forlorn hope. "Come on, mites."
This time was successful and the piano passed safely into the hall, leaving in its wake only a dislocated door handle and a torn chair cover. It then passed slowly and devastatingly down the hall and drive.
The next difficulty was to get it into the van. Messrs. Blake, Johnson and Jones tried alone and failed. For ten minutes they tried alone and failed. Between each attempt they paused to mop their brows and throw longing glances towards the Blue Cow, whose signboard was visible down the road.
The gardener, the cook, the housemaid, and Ethel all gave their assistance, and at last, with a superhuman effort, they raised it to the van.
They then all rested weakly against the nearest support and gasped for breath.
"Well," said Mr. Jones, looking reproachfully at the mistress of the house, "I've never 'andled a pianner----"