Her poor man replied with simple, manly directness that he "was dam'd if he was. See?" Mr. Lewes began to discuss The Drama with Robert.
Mrs. de Vere Carter raised her voice.
"_How_ you must have suffered! Yes, there is suffering ingrained in your face. A piece of shrapnel? Ten inches square? Right in at one hip and out at the other? Oh, my poor man! _How_ I feel for you. How all class distinctions vanish at such a time. How----"
[Illustration: "ARE YOU LOOKING FOR WORK, MY POOR MAN?" ASKED MRS. DE VERE CARTER.]
She stopped while Mr. Blank drank his tea. In fact, all conversation ceased while Mr. Blank drank his tea, just as conversation on a station ceases while a train passes through.
Mrs. Brown looked helplessly around her. When Mr. Blank had eaten a plate of sandwiches, a plate of bread and butter, and half a cake, he rose slowly, keeping one hand over the pocket in which reposed the silver ornaments.
"Well 'm," he said, touching his cap. "Thank you kindly. I've 'ad a fine tea. I 'ave. A dam' fine tea. An' I'll not forget yer kindness to a pore ole soldier." Here he winked brazenly at William. "An' good day ter you orl."
Mrs. de Vere Carter floated out to the front door with him, and William followed as in a dream.
Mrs. Brown found her voice.
"We'd better have the chair disinfected," she murmured to Ethel.
Then Mrs. de Vere Carter returned smiling to herself and eyeing the young editor surmisingly.
"I witnessed a pretty scene the other day in a suburban drawing-room...." It might begin like that.
William followed the amazing figure round the house again to the library window. Here it turned to him with a friendly grin.
"I'm just goin' to 'ave that look round upstairs now. See?" he said.
"An' once more, yer don't need ter say nothin' to no one. See?"
With the familiar, beloved gesture he drew his old cap down over his eyes, and was gone.
William wandered upstairs a few minutes later to find his visitor standing at the landing window, his pockets bulging.
"I'm goin' to try this 'ere window, young gent," he said in a quick, business-like voice. "I see yer pa coming in at the front gate. Give me a shove. Quick, nar."
Mr. Brown entered the drawing-room.
"Mulroyd's had his house burgled now," he said. "Every bit of his wife's jewellery gone. They've got some clues, though. It's a gang all right, and one of them is a chap without ears. Grows his hair long to hide it. But it's a clue. The police are hunting for him."
He looked in amazement at the horror-stricken faces before him. Mrs.
Brown sat down weakly.
"Ethel, my smelling salts! They're on the mantel-piece."
Robert grew pale.
"Good Lord--my silver cricket cup," he gasped, racing upstairs.
The landing window had been too small, and Mr. Blank too big, though William did his best.
There came to the astounded listeners the sound of a fierce scuffle, then Robert descended, his hair rumpled and his tie awry, holding William by the arm. William looked pale and apprehensive. "He was there," panted Robert, "just getting out of the window. He chucked the things out of his pockets and got away. I couldn't stop him. And--and William was there----"
William's face assumed the expression of one who is prepared for the worst.
"The plucky little chap! Struggling with him! Trying to pull him back from the window! All by himself!"
"I _wasn't_," cried William excitedly. "I was _helping_ him. He's _my friend_. I----"
But they heard not a word. They crowded round him, praised him, shook hands with him, asked if he was hurt. Mrs. de Vere Carter kept up one perpetual scream of delight and congratulation.
"The _dear_ boy! The little _pet_! How _brave_! What _courage_! What an _example_ to us all! And the horrid, wretched man! Posing as a _hero_. Wangling himself into the sweet child's confidence. Are you hurt, my precious? Did the nasty man hurt you? You _darling_ boy!"
When the babel had somewhat subsided, Mr. Brown came forward and laid a hand on William's shoulder.
"I'm very pleased with you, my boy," he said. "You can buy anything you like to-morrow up to five shillings."
William's bewildered countenance cleared.
"Thank you, father," he said meekly.
CHAPTER IV
THE KNIGHT AT ARMS
"A knight," said Miss Drew, who was struggling to inspire her class with enthusiasm for Tennyson's "Idylls of the King," "a knight was a person who spent his time going round succouring the oppressed."
"Suckin' wot?" said William, bewildered.
"Succour means to help. He spent his time helping anyone who was in trouble."
"How much did he get for it?" asked William.
"Nothing, of course," said Miss Drew, appalled by the base commercialism of the twentieth century. "He helped the poor because he _loved_ them, William. He had a lot of adventures and fighting and he helped beautiful, persecuted damsels."
William's respect for the knight rose.
"Of course," said Miss Drew hastily, "they needn't necessarily be beautiful, but, in most of the stories we have, they were beautiful."
Followed some stories of fighting and adventure and the rescuing of beautiful damsels. The idea of the thing began to take hold of William's imagination.
"I say," he said to his chum Ginger after school, "that knight thing sounds all right. Suckin'--I mean helpin' people an' fightin' an' all that. I wun't mind doin' it an' you could be my squire."
"Yes," said Ginger slowly, "I'd thought of doin' it, but I'd thought of _you_ bein' the squire."
"Well," said William after a pause, "let's be squires in turn. You first," he added hastily.