He entered the house in a dazed fashion. His mother was in the hall.
"_William!_" she said impatiently. "Another shirt torn! You really are
careless. You'll have to stop being a scout if that's the way you
treat your clothes. And _look_ at your knees!"
Pale and speechless, he went towards the stairs. His father was coming
out of the library smoking a pipe. He looked at his son grimly.
"If you aren't downstairs _cleaned_ by the time the lunch-bell goes,
my son," he said, "you won't see that bugle of yours this side of
Christmas."
William swallowed.
"Yes, father," he said meekly.
He went slowly upstairs to the bathroom.
Life was a rotten show.
CHAPTER X
THE HELPER
The excitement began at breakfast. William descended slightly late,
and, after receiving his parents' reproaches with an air of weary
boredom, ate his porridge listlessly. He had come to the conclusion
that morning that there was a certain monotonous sameness about life.
One got up, and had one's breakfast, and went to school, and had one's
dinner, and went to school, and had one's tea, and played, and had
one's supper, and went to bed. Even the fact that to-day was a
half-term holiday did not dispel his depression. _One_ day's holiday!
What good was _one_ day? We all have experienced such feelings.
Half abstractedly he began to listen to his elders' conversation.
"They promised to be here by _nine_," his mother was saying.
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