Mr. Blank was obviously flattered.

“I may be round ’ere agine this arter, though I mike no promise.  See?  I’ve gotter be careful, I ’ave.  I’ve gotter be careful ‘oo sees me an’ ’oo ’ears me, and where I go.  That’s the worst of ’aving no ears.  See?”

William did not see, but he was thrilled to the soul by the mystery.

“An’ you don’t tell no one you seen me nor nothing abart me,” went on Mr. Blank.

Pulling his cap still farther over his head, Mr. Blank set off unsteadily down the road, leaving William to pay for his lemonade with his last penny.

He walked home, his heart set firmly on a lawless career of crime.  Opposition he expected from his father and mother and Robert and Ethel, but his determination was fixed.  He wondered if it would be very painful to have his ears cut off.

He entered the dining-room with an air of intense mystery, pulling his cap over his eyes, and looking round in a threatening manner.

“William, what do you mean by coming into the house in your cap?  Take it off at once.”

William sighed.  He wondered if Mr. Blank had a mother.

When he returned he sat down and began quietly to remodel his life.  He would not be an explorer, after all, nor an engine-driver nor chimney-sweep.  He would be a man of mystery, a murderer, fighter, forger.  He fingered his ears tentatively.  They seemed fixed on jolly fast.  He glanced with utter contempt at his father who had just come in.  His father’s life of blameless respectability seemed to him at that minute utterly despicable.

“The Wilkinsons over at Todfoot have had their house broken into now,” Mrs. Brown was saying. “All her jewellery gone.  They think it’s a gang.  It’s just the villages round here.  There seems to be one every day!”

William expressed his surprise.

“Oh, ’ell!” he ejaculated, with a slightly self-conscious air.

Mr. Brown turned round and looked at his son.

“May I ask,” he said politely, “where you picked up that expression?”

“I got it off one of my fren’s,” said William with quiet pride.

“Then I’d take it as a personal favour,” went on Mr. Brown, “if you’d kindly refrain from airing your friends’ vocabularies in this house.”

“He means you’re never to say it again, William,” translated Mrs. Brown sternly. “Never.”

“All right,” said William.  “I won’t.  See?  I da—­jolly well won’t.  Strike me pink.  See?”

He departed with an air of scowling mystery and dignity combined, leaving his parents speechless with amazement.

That afternoon he returned to the White Lion.  Mr. Blank was standing unobtrusively in the shadow of the wall.

“’Ello, young gent,” he greeted William, “nice dorg you’ve got.”

William looked proudly down at Jumble.

“You won’t find,” he said proudly and with some truth, “you won’t find another dog like this—­not for miles!”