"Do thumthing elth," he urged him. "Go on, do thumthing elth."
"Oh, William," said Joan anxiously, "you'd better not."
But the gods had sent madness to William. He was drunk with the sense
of his own prowess. He was regardless of consequences.
[Illustration: "I CAN CLIMB UP THAT AN' SLIDE DOWN THE COAL INSIDE.
THAT'S WHAT I CAN DO. THERE'S NOTHIN' I CAN'T DO!" SAID WILLIAM.]
He pointed to a little window high up in the coal-house.
"I can climb up that an' slide down the coal inside. That's what I can
do. There's _nothin'_ I can't do. I----"
"All right," urged Cuthbert, "if you can do that, do it, and I'll
believe you can do anything."
For Cuthbert, with unholy glee, foresaw William's undoing.
"Oh, William," pleaded Joan, "_I know_ you're brave, but don't----"
But William was already doing it. They saw his disappearance into the
little window, they heard plainly his descent down the coal heap
inside, and in less than a minute he appeared in the doorway. He was
almost unrecognisable. Coal dust adhered freely to the moist
consistency of the mud and lichen already clinging to his suit, as
well as to his hair and face. His collar had been almost torn away
from its stud. William himself was smiling proudly, utterly
unconscious of his appearance. Joan was plainly wavering between
horror and admiration. Then the moment for which Cuthbert had longed
arrived.
"Children! come in now!"
Cuthbert, clean and dainty, entered the drawing-room first and pointed
an accusing finger at the strange figure which followed.
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