Later, when Keggs was spreading the news of
Kirk's departure in the servants' hall, she remembered that his manner
had struck her as strange.
Kirk sat down in the chair she had left and looked at Bill. He felt
choked. There was a mist before his eyes.
"Bill."
The child, absorbed in his game, did not look up.
"Bill, old man, come here a minute. I've something to say."
Bill looked up, nodded, moved a couple of soldiers, and got up. He came
to Kirk's side. His chosen mode of progression at this time was a kind
of lurch. He was accustomed to breathe heavily during the journey, and
on arrival at the terminus usually shouted triumphantly.
Kirk put an arm round him. Bill stared gravely up into his face. There
was a silence. From outside came a sudden rumbling crash. Bill jumped.
"Funder," he said in a voice that shook a little.
"Not afraid of thunder, are you?" said Kirk.
Bill shook his head stoutly.
"Bill."
"Yes, daddy?"
Kirk fought to keep his voice steady.
"Bill, old man, I'm afraid you won't see me again for some time. I'm
going away."
"In a ship?"
"No, not in a ship."
"In a train?"
"Perhaps."
"Take me with you, daddy."
"I'm afraid I can't, Bill."
"Shan't I ever see you again?"
Kirk winced. How direct children are! What was it they called it in the
papers? "The custody of the child.
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