William followed him to a small table in the little sunny porch, and
his heart swelled with pride as he sat and quaffed his beverage with a
manly air. His friend, who said his name was Mr. Blank, showed a most
flattering interest in him. He elicited from him the whereabouts of
his house and the number of his family, a description of the door and
window fastenings, of the dining-room silver and his mother's
jewellery.

William, his eyes fixed with a fascinated stare upon Mr. Blank's ears,
gave the required information readily, glad to be able in any way to
interest this intriguing and mysterious being.

"Tell me about the war," said William at last.

"It were orl right while it larsted," said Mr. Blank with a sigh. "It
were orl right, but I s'pose, like mos' things in this 'ere world, it
couldn't larst fer ever. See?"

William set down the empty glass of lemonade and leant across the
table, almost dizzy with the romance of the moment. Had Douglas, had
Henry, had Ginger, had any of those boys who sat next him at school
and joined in the feeble relaxations provided by the authorities out
of school, ever done _this_--ever sat at a real table outside a real
public-house drinking lemonade and talking to a man with no ears who'd
fought in the war and who looked as if he might have done _anything_?

Jumble, meanwhile, sat and snapped at flies, frankly bored.

"Did you"--said William in a sibilant whisper--"did you ever _kill_