Kate stared, and all the neighbours stared, and Mrs. Widdlcombe's pug next door stared so that its eyes nearly fell out, as old Joe trotted quickly out of the garden and down the street, and trotted up Mr. Worble's steps, and tapped at the door like a boy that means to run away; and when they opened the door, up he ran to old Worble's room, and toddled in.
"Old Joe trotted quickly out of the garden."
And now comes in old Joe Wilkings's other remarkable quality—his influence over others. It was all the outcome of his wonderful determination—the influence of mind over matter. He could bamboozle anyone, could Joe—it was for all the world like magic.
Old Worble was drooping over the fire in his big chair, into which he had been put hours before.
What did old Joe do but go right up and slap him on the back in that hearty way that old Worble went as near screaming as his weak state would let him!
"Get up, Georgie Worble," shouted old Joe, "and come round with me to Sam Waggs to arrange about that picnic!"
Old Worble crooned and doddered, and feebly repeated "Picnic?"
Ah, picnic, young 'un; and you've just hit it. But GET UP, I say!"
And, if you'll believe it, the third time old Joe Wilkings shouted "Get up" in that voice of his, a-staring straight at Worble all the time, old Worble did slowly get up and stood, doddering, but without support.
"Don't you stand a-doddering at me like that as if you were a decrepit old idiot instead of a boy; but just reach down your hat and bustle along," said old Joe; and if Worble, after looking feebly and hopelessly up at the hat on the high peg—the hat he had not worn for years—didn't hop up on a wooden chair and fetch it down, and dash it on his head, and then toddle downstairs and into the street arm-in-arm with old Joe!
If people had stared when old Joe came out of his garden, what did they do now when he and old Worble went dancing down the street arm-in-arm, both of 'em chuckling like mad and chattering like magpies?
At the corner they met old Peter Scroutts in a bath-chair. Peter had a paralyzed leg, and was so feeble that he could hardly wink his eye, and so deaf that it was all he could do to hear with an ear-trumpet as big as the cornucopia belonging to the wooden young lady over the provision stores.
"Just you step out and walk!" roared old Joe in the ear-trumpet. And the queer thing is that old Peter did begin to get out; and not only began, but went on; and stood on the pavement; and then took Joe's arm; and the three went careering down the street together!
The whole place came out to stare open-mouthed at those three old boys bouncing down the street together.
Half-way down old Joe Wilkings stopped with a jerk, and turned on old Peter.
"What, in the name of goodness, do you want with that trumpet machine?" he roared. "A young 'un like you! Lookee here—let's get rid of it." And Joe snatched the ear-trumpet out of his hand, and jerked it over a shed into the field behind. It was a good long jerk; and most of the young men of the place would have been proud to do it.
"Can hear just as well as I can; that's what you can do! Can't he, young George?"
Old Peter looked dazed; but old Joe stood nodding at him so decisively that old George took it up and nodded decisively
