"Never moind," whispered Eglantine, "yer carn't 'elp it."
And William whispered gratefully, "_Not much_."
WILLIAM had before now met the strange species of male who succumbed to the charms of his elder sister. William never could think what people saw in Ethel. Red hair and blue eyes and a silly little voice.... Some people (thought William) might call her pretty--but, Crumbs, what a temper!--making a fuss if his dog Jumble chawed up any of her old things, or if he jus' borrowed her bicycle, or if his pet rats got loose in her room.
She didn't even like interesting things like pistols and rabbits and insects. Girls were bad enough when they were at school, thought William, but they were heaps worse when they grew up.
The female sex was an entire mystery to William. Except in the case of his mother, he could see no reason for their existence. Yet he grudgingly admitted to himself that Ethel's admirers had not been useless to him. There was Mr. French, who had given him his first couple of white rats, there was Mr. Drew, who had showered rare postage-stamps upon him, there was Mr. Loughton, who had nervously pressed sixpence into his hand whenever they met....
But Mr. Romford was different. He had a strange idea that William had no influence with his elder sister. This happened to be true, but that made it none the less annoying to William. He thought it only right that any young man who was interested in Ethel should ensure his (William's) sympathy by practical means. Mr. Romford treated him as if he did not exist. William resented this very much.
"Wot's he _come_ for?" he said, indignantly. "He doesn't take no interest in Jumble, nor the rats, nor the tool-shed, nor the bridge wot I'm making over the stream, nor _me_. Wot's he come for?" he demanded of his assembled family.
"Don't talk about things that aren't your business."
"William, I wish something could be done about your hair. It _never_ looks tidy!"
"That reminds me, William, you'd better go and weed your garden. It's in a disgraceful state."
"Mr. Romford's going to give me a Persian cat for a Christmas present," Ethel went on to her mother.
"Wot about Jumble?" he said, indignantly. "Wot about Jumble with an ole cat about the place? Wot about my rats? How d'you think they'll like an ole cat about the place? My rats 've got as much right to live 's an ole cat, you'd think, wun't you? My rats an' poor ole Jumble came here first, I _think_--I _think_ they did, considering that the ole cat hasn't come yet. You'd think that Jumble an' the poor old rats deserved a _bit_ of peace...."