“There’s one behind me, isn’t there,” he said anxiously. “Hey, Jumble!”
“Oh, yes, he’s just come out of the ditch.”
“Well,” continued William, “I’m taking him to the Police Station and I’m just goin’ on an’ he’s following me and if you take him off me I won’t see you ’cause I won’t turn round and jus’ take hold of his collar an’ he’s called Jumble an’ take him up to the old barn and we’ll keep him there an’ join at him and feed him days and days about and you let me practice on your bow and arrow. That’s fair, isn’t it?”
Ginger considered thoughtfully.
“All right,” he said laconically.
William walked on to the Police Station without turning round.
“Well?” whispered Robert sternly that evening.
“I took him, Robert—least—I started off with him, but when I’d got there he’d gone. I looked round and he’d jus’ gone. I couldn’t see him anywhere, so I came home.”
“Well, if he comes to this house again,” said Robert, “I’ll wring his neck, so just you look out.” Two days later William sat in the barn on an upturned box, chin in hands, gazing down at Jumble. A paper bag containing Jumble’s ration for the day lay beside him. It was his day of ownership. The collecting of Jumble’s “scraps” was a matter of infinite care and trouble. They consisted in—a piece of bread that William had managed to slip into his pocket during breakfast, a piece of meat he had managed to slip into his pocket during dinner, a jam puff stolen from the larder and a bone removed from the dustbin. Ginger roamed the fields with his bow and arrow while William revelled in the ownership of Jumble. Tomorrow William would roam the fields with bow and arrow and Ginger would assume ownership of Jumble.
William had spent the morning teaching Jumble several complicated tricks, and adoring him more and more completely each moment. He grudged him bitterly to Ginger, but—the charm of the bow and arrow was strong. He wished to terminate the partnership, to resign Ginger’s bow and arrow and take the irresistible Jumble wholly to himself. He thought of the bow and arrow in the library cupboard; he thought, planned, plotted, but could find no way out. He did not see a man come to the door of the barn and stand there leaning against the doorpost watching him. He was a tall man with a thin, lean face and a loose-fitting tweed suit. As his eyes lit upon William and Jumble they narrowed suddenly and his mobile lips curved into a slight, unconscious smile. Jumble saw him first and went towards him wagging his tail. William looked up and scowled ungraciously. The stranger raised his hat.
“Good afternoon,” he said politely, “Do you remember what you were thinking about just then?”
William looked at him with a certain interest, speculating upon his probable insanity. He imagined lunatics were amusing people.
“Yes.”
“Well, if you’ll think of it again and look just like that, I’ll give you anything you like. It’s a rash promise, but I will.”
William promptly complied. He quite forgot the presence of the strange man, who took a little block out of his pocket and began to sketch William’s inscrutable, brooding face.
“Daddy!”
The man sighed and put away his block.
“You’ll do it again for me one day, won’t you, and I’ll keep my promise. Hello!”
A little girl appeared now at the barn door, dainty, dark-eyed and exquisitely dressed. She threw a lightning flash at the occupants of the barn.
“Daddy!” she screamed. “It’s Jumble! It is Jumble! Oh, you horrid dog-stealing boy!”
Jumble ran to her with shrill barks of welcome, then ran back to William to reassure him of his undying loyalty.
“It is Jumble,” said the man. “He’s called Jumble,” he explained to William, “because he is a jumble. He’s all sorts of a dog, you know. This is Ninette, my daughter, and my name is Jarrow, and we’ve taken Lavender Cottage for two months. We’re roving vagabonds. We never stay anywhere longer than two months. So now you know all about us. Jumble seems to have adopted you. Ninette, my dear, you are completely ousted from Jumble’s heart. This gentleman reigns supreme.”
“I didn’t steal him,” said William indignantly. “He just came. He began following me. I didn’t want him to—not jus’ at first anyway, not much anyway. I suppose,” a dreadful fear came to his heart, “I suppose you want him back?”
“You can keep him for a bit if you want him, can’t he Daddy? Daddy’s going to buy me a Pom—a dear little white Pom. When we lost Jumble, I thought I’d rather have a Pom. Jumble’s so rough and he’s not really a good dog. I mean he’s no pedigree.”
“Then can I keep him jus’ for a bit?” said William, his voice husky with eagerness.
“Oh, yes. I’d much rather have a quieter sort of dog. Would you like to come and see our cottage? It’s just over here.”
William, slightly bewildered but greatly relieved, set off with her. Mr. Jarrow followed slowly behind. It appeared that Miss Ninette Jarrow was rather a wonderful person. She was eleven years old. She had visited every capital in Europe, seen the best art and heard the best music in each. She had been to every play then on in London. She knew all the newest dances.
“Do you like Paris?” she asked William as they went towards Lavender Cottage.
“Never been there,” said William stolidly, glancing round surreptitiously to see that Jumble was following.
She shook her dark curly head from side to side—a little trick she had.
“You funny boy. Mais vous parlez Français, n’est-ce pas?”
William disdained to answer. He whistled to Jumble, who was chasing an imaginary rabbit in a ditch.
“Can you jazz?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he said guardedly. “I’ve not tried. I expect I could.”
She took a few flying graceful steps with slim black silk-encased legs.
“That’s it. I’ll teach you at home. We’ll dance it to a gramophone.”
William walked on in silence.
She stopped suddenly under
