"Now yer arskin'," he said with a grin.

"Well, who _did_?" persisted William.

"That 'ud be tellin'," answered his new friend, moving unsteadily
from one foot to the other. "See?"

"You got 'em cut off in the war," said William firmly.

"I didn't. I bin in the wor orl right. Stroike me pink, I bin in the
wor and _that's_ the truth. But I didn't get 'em cut orf in the wor.
Well, I'll stop kiddin' yer. I'll tell yer strite. I never 'ad none.
_Nar!_"

William stood on tiptoe to peer under the untidy hair at the small
apertures that in his strange new friend took the place of ears.
Admiration shone in William's eyes.

"Was you _born_ without 'em?" he said enviously.

His friend nodded.

"Nar don't yer go torkin' about it," he went on modestly, though
seeming to bask in the sun of William's evident awe and respect. "I
don't want all folks knowin' 'bout it. See? It kinder _marks_ a man,
this 'ere sort of thing. See? Makes 'im too easy to _track_, loike.
That's why I grow me hair long. See? 'Ere, 'ave a drink?"

He put his head inside the window of the White Lion and roared out
"Bottle o' lemonide fer the young gent."