He's mad. He's----"
William turned his calm gaze upon him.
"_I_ wasn't playin' Rugger with the boots, Father," he said,
patiently.
Mrs. Brown laid her hand soothingly upon her husband's arm.
"You know, dear," she said, gently, "a house is always full of noises
at night. Basket chairs creaking----"
Mr. Brown's face grew purple.
"_Basket chairs----!_" he exploded, violently, but allowed himself to be
led unresisting from the room.
William finished his bed-making with his usual frown of concentration,
then, lying down, fell at once into the deep sleep of childish
innocence.
But Cousin Mildred was lying awake, a blissful smile upon her lips.
She, too, was now one of the elect, the chosen. Her rather deaf ears
had caught the sound of supernatural thunder as her ghostly visitant
departed, and she had beamed with ecstatic joy.
"Honk," she murmured, dreamily. "Honk, Yonk, Ponk."
* * * * *
William felt rather tired the next evening. Cousin Mildred had
departed leaving him a handsome present of a large box of chocolates.
William had consumed these with undue haste in view of possible
maternal interference. His broken night was telling upon his spirits.
He felt distinctly depressed and saw the world through jaundiced
eyes. He sat in the shrubbery, his chin in his hand, staring moodily
at the adoring mongrel, Jumble.
"It's a rotten world," he said, gloomily.
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