It was decided to hide the traces of the crime as far as possible from
William's father. It was felt--and not without reason--that William's
father's feelings of respect for the sanctity of Christmas Day might
be overcome by his feelings of paternal ire.
Half-an-hour later William, dried, dressed, brushed, and chastened,
descended the stairs as the gong sounded in a hall which was bare of
hats and coats, and whose floor shone with cleanliness.
"And jus' to think," said William, despondently, "that it's only jus'
got to brekfust time."
William's father was at the bottom of the stairs. William's father
frankly disliked Christmas Day.
"Good-morning, William," he said, "and a happy Christmas, and I hope
it's not too much to ask of you that on this relation-infested day
one's feelings may be harrowed by you as little as possible. And why
the deu--dickens they think it necessary to wash the hall floor before
breakfast, Heaven only knows!"
William coughed, a cough meant to be a polite mixture of greeting and
deference. William's face was a study in holy innocence. His father
glanced at him suspiciously. There were certain expressions of
William's that he distrusted.
William entered the dining-room morosely. Jimmy's sister Barbara--a
small bundle of curls and white frills--was already beginning her
porridge.
"Goo' mornin'," she said, politely, "did you hear me cleanin' my
teef?"
He crushed her with a glance.
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