"I can't jus' to-morrow," he said. "I'm puttin' it off. I'm puttin' it
off for a year or two."
CHAPTER XIII
WILLIAM AND THE ANCIENT SOULS
The house next William's had been unoccupied for several months, and
William made full use of its garden. Its garden was in turns a jungle,
a desert, an ocean, and an enchanted island. William invited select
parties of his friends to it. He had come to look upon it as his own
property. He hunted wild animals in it with Jumble, his trusty hound;
he tracked Red Indians in it, again with Jumble, his trusty hound; and
he attacked and sank ships in it, making his victims walk the plank,
again with the help and assistance of Jumble, his trusty hound.
Sometimes, to vary the monotony, he made Jumble, his trusty hound,
walk the plank into the rain tub. This was one of the many unpleasant
things that William brought into Jumble's life. It was only his
intense love for William that reconciled him to his existence. Jumble
was one of the very few beings who appreciated William.
The house on the other side was a much smaller one, and was occupied
by Mr. Gregorius Lambkin. Mr. Gregorius Lambkin was a very shy and
rather elderly bachelor. He issued from his front door every morning
at half-past eight holding a neat little attache case in a
neatly-gloved hand. He spent the day in an insurance office and
returned, still unruffled and immaculate, at about half past six.
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