Jumble's coat was
covered with little pieces of horsehair, as though from the interior
of a chair. William's jersey was torn from shoulder to hem. He looked
stern and indignant.
[Illustration: WILLIAM'S JERSEY WAS TORN FROM SHOULDER TO HEM. HE
LOOKED STERN AND INDIGNANT.]
"A nice thing to do!" he began bitterly. "Shuttin' me up in that ole
van. How d'you expect me to breathe, shut in with ole bits of
furniture. Folks can't live without air, can they? A nice thing if
you'd found me _dead_!"
Emotion had deprived his audience of speech for the time being.
With a certain amount of dignity he walked past them into the house
followed by Jumble.
It took another quarter of an hour to replace the piano. As they were
making the final effort William came out of the house.
"Here, _I'll_ help!" he said, and laid a finger on the side. His
presence rather hindered their efforts, but they succeeded in spite of
it. William, however, was under the impression that his strength alone
had wrought the miracle. He put on an outrageous swagger.
"I'm jolly strong," he confided to Mr. Blake. "I'm stronger than most
folk."
Here the removers decided that it was time for their midday repast and
retired to consume it in the shady back garden. All except Mr. Jones,
who said he would go down the road for a drink of lemonade. William
said that there was lemonade in the larder and offered to fetch it,
but Mr. Jones said hastily that he wanted a special sort.
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