“All right,” said William resignedly, and turned his whole attention to his pudding. * * * * * He renewed the attack, however, after lunch. The car prospects didn’t seem very hopeful but it might be worth while to explore other avenues. He stood at the drawing-room window looking out at the garden where Jenkins, the gardener, was weeding the bed on the lawn. “Poor ole man,” said William compassionately, “I think he’d do with someone to help him, don’t you, mother?” His mother looked up from the sock she was darning. “I think that’s a very kind thought, dear,” she said, “and I’m sure he’d appreciate it. Take one of the kneeling mats out because the grass is rather damp.” William’s face fell but after a moment’s hesitation he took a kneeling mat and went out to help weed the bed. He returned a few minutes later pursued by an indignant Jenkins after having unwittingly uprooted all his pet seedlings. “Finished, dear?” said his mother. “You’ve not been long.” “No,” said William, “I kind of worked hard an’ got it finished quick.... Mother, don’t you kind of think you’d like another gardener ’stead of Jenkins?” “Why ever?” said his mother in surprise. “Well, he always seems so sort of disagreeable an’ this man----” “What man?” “This man I keep tellin’ you about,” said William patiently, “he’s an abs’lutely _wonderful_ man. He can do anythin’. He can drive a car ... he’s the one what’s goin’ to drive our car ... an’--an’ there’s nothin’ he _can’t_ do, look after clothes an’ people what are queer in the head an’--an’--she was ever so nice an’ cryin’.” “William, dear,” said Mrs. Brown, “I really don’t know what you’re talking about, but before you do anything else go and wash your hands and brush your hair.” William sighed as he went to obey. His family seemed to have no souls above hands and hair and that sort of thing. * * * * * The Outlaws met the next afternoon to report progress. “I did all I could,” said William, “I tried to make ’em get a car so’s we could have him to drive it an’ they just wun’t. I tried makin’ ’em have him as a gardener an’ they wun’t do that either.” Ginger, looking melancholy, related his experiences. “I thought we might have him as a gardener, too,” he said, “an’ so I tied a string across the doorway of the greenhouse ’cause I thought that if ours fell an’ sprained his ankle I could tell ’em about this new one an’ then they’d get him. I din’t think it would do ours any harm to sprain his ankle--jus’ give him a nice rest for one thing an--an’ he’s a such a crabby ole thing. It might make him kinder same as what they say sufferin’ does in books.” “Did he fall?” said the Outlaws with interest. “No,” said Ginger sadly, “he saw me doin’ it an’ went an’ told my father.” “Was he mad?” said the Outlaws with interest.