"It's ever so long past your bedtime, William," said Mrs. Brown. "Do go to bed. I simply can't bear to see you wearing that dreadful thing any longer."
With a glance of sorrowful anger at his parents William drew his table-cloth about him and prepared to depart. He felt injured, infuriated, ill-treated, and weary. His self-esteem was cruelly hurt. Screams of laughter came from the next room where his grown-up brother and sister were relating his adventures to a friend.
"William, someone wants to speak to you."
"William, Daddy said I could ring you up to say good-night to you. I was so sorry I couldn't go home with you. William, I don't think you looked a bit funny in those things--I think you looked _nice_ in the tablecloth and it wasn't your fault--and you were awfully brave about it--and wasn't it _fun_--the desert island part?--I _did_ enjoy it--we'll play a game like that again soon, won't we?--Good-night, William darling."
William hung up the receiver and went upstairs to bed. He held his untidy carrotty head erect. On his freckled face was a softened expression--nearly as good as a smile--he wore his table-cloth with an almost jaunty air.
Variations in spelling and hyphenation are retained.
Punctuation has been retained as published.