With infinite care but little
success as far as the shape of the blanc-mange was concerned, he
removed it from its dish on to his soap-dish. He forgot, in the
excitement of the moment, to remove the soap, but, after all, it was
only a small piece. The soap-dish was decidedly too small for it, but,
clasped to William's bosom inside his coat, it could be partly
supported by his arm outside. He descended the stairs cautiously. He
tip-toed lightly past the dining-room door (which was slightly ajar),
from which came the shrill, noisy, meaningless, conversation of the
grown-ups. He was just about to open the front door when there came
the sound of a key turning in the lock.
William's heart sank. He had forgotten the fact that his father
generally returned from his office about this time.
William's father came into the hall and glanced at his youngest
offspring suspiciously.
"Hello!" he said, "where are you going?"
William cleared his throat nervously.
"Me?" he questioned lightly. "Oh, I was jus'--jus' goin' a little walk
up the road before I went to bed. That's all I was goin' to do,
father."
Flop! A large segment of the cream blanc-mange had disintegrated
itself from the fast-melting mass, and, evading William's encircling
arm, had fallen on to the floor at his feet. With praiseworthy
presence of mind William promptly stepped on to it and covered it with
his feet. William's father turned round quickly from the stand where
he was replacing his walking stick.
Pages:
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42