Singing "Christians Awake!" at the top of his lusty young voice, he
went along the landing, putting his gifts outside the doors of his
family, and pausing to yell "Happy Christmas" as he did so. From
within he was greeted in each case by muffled groans.
He went downstairs into the hall, still singing. It was earlier than
he thought--just five o'clock. The maids were not down yet. He
switched on lights recklessly, and discovered that he was not the only
person in the hall. His four-year-old cousin Jimmy was sitting on the
bottom step in an attitude of despondency, holding an empty tin.
Jimmy's mother had influenza at home, and Jimmy and his small sister
Barbara were in the happy position of spending Christmas with
relations, but immune from parental or maternal interference.
"They've gotten out," said Jimmy, sadly. "I got 'em for presents
yesterday, an' they've gotten out. I've been feeling for 'em in the
dark, but I can't find 'em."
"What?" said William.
"Snails. Great big suge ones wiv great big suge shells. I put 'em in a
tin for presents an' they've gotten out an' I've gotten no presents
for nobody."
He relapsed into despondency.
William surveyed the hall.
"They've got out right enough!" he said, sternly. "They've got out
right _enough_. Jus' look at our hall! Jus' look at our clothes!
They've got out _right_ enough."
Innumerable slimy iridescent trails shone over hats, and coats, and
umbrellas, and wall-paper.
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