“Now, William dear,” continued his mother, “begin again and no one shall interrupt you.”

William again went through the preliminaries of coughing and clearing his throat.

     “It was the schooner Hesperus that sailed the wintry seas.”

He stopped again, and slowly and carefully straightened his collar and smoothed back the lock of hair which was dangling over his brow.

“The skipper had brought——­” prompted Aunt Jane, kindly.

William turned on her.

“I was goin’ to say that if you’d left me alone,” he said.  “I was jus’ thinkin’.  I’ve got to think sometimes.  I can’t say off a great long pome like that without stoppin’ to think sometimes, can I?  I’ll—­I’ll do a conjuring trick for you instead,” he burst out, desperately.  “I’ve learnt one from my book.  I’ll go an’ get it ready.”

He went out of the room.  Mr. Brown took out his handkerchief and mopped his brow.

“May I ask,” he said patiently, “how long this exhibition is to be allowed to continue?”

Here William returned, his pockets bulging.  He held a large handkerchief in his hand.

“This is a handkerchief,” he announced.  “If anyone’d like to feel it to see if it’s a real one, they can.  Now I want a shilling,” he looked round expectantly, but no one moved, “or a penny would do,” he said, with a slightly disgusted air.  Robert threw one across the room.  “Well, I put the penny into the handkerchief.  You can see me do it, can’t you?  If anyone wants to come an’ feel the penny is in the handkerchief, they can.  Well,” he turned his back on them and took something out of his pocket.  After a few contortions he turned round again, holding the handkerchief tightly.  “Now, you look close,”—­he went over to them—­“an’ you’ll see the shil—­I mean, penny,” he looked scornfully at Robert, “has changed to an egg.  It’s a real egg.  If anyone thinks it isn’t a real egg——­”

But it was a real egg.  It confirmed his statement by giving a resounding crack and sending a shining stream partly on to the carpet and partly on to Aunt Evangeline’s black silk knee.  A storm of reproaches burst out.

“First that horrible insect,” almost wept Aunt Evangeline, “and then this messy stuff all over me.  It’s a good thing I don’t live here.  One day a year is enough....  My nerves!...”

“Dear, dear!” said Aunt Jane.

“Fancy taking a new-laid egg for that,” said Ethel severely.

William was pale and indignant.

“Well, I did jus’ what the book said to do.  Look at it.  It says:  ’Take an egg.  Conceal it in the pocket.’  Well, I took an egg an’ I concealed it in the pocket.  Seems to me,” he said bitterly, “seems to me this book isn’t ‘Things a Boy Can Do.’  It’s ‘Things a Boy Can’t Do.’”

Mr. Brown rose slowly from his chair.

“You’re just about right there, my son.  Thank you,” he said with elaborate politeness, as he took the book from William’s reluctant hands and went over with it to a small cupboard in the wall.  In this cupboard reposed an airgun, a bugle, a catapult, and a mouth-organ.  As he unlocked it to put the book inside, the fleeting glimpse of his confiscated treasures added to the bitterness of William’s soul.