He was strong and knew how to fight. The nice
children had never fought but they found they liked it. Once, like an
avenging Attila, he had led them across the hill and fallen upon his
ancient enemies with such awful effect that they never raised their
heads again. And the Banditti had returned home whooping and drunk
with victory and the newly discovered joy of battle. His hand was
naturally against all authority. He led them in dark plottings against
their governesses and nursemaids, and even against the Law itself as
personified by an elderly, somewhat pompous policeman whose beat
included their territory. On foggy afternoons they pealed the
doorbells of such as had complaint against them, and from concealment
gloated over the indignant maids who had been lured down several
flights of stairs to answer their summons. And no longer were they
nice children who returned home clean and punctual to the bosom of
their families.
Very rarely had the Banditti showed signs of revolt against Robert's
despotism, and each time he had won them back with ease which sowed the
first seeds of cynicism in his mind. It happened to be another of the
elder Stonehouse's theories--which he had been known to expound
eloquently to his creditors--that children should be taught the use of
money, and at such times as the Stonehouse family prospered Robert's
pocket bulged with sums that staggered the very imagination of his
followers. He appeared among them like a prince--lavish, reckless,
distributing chocolates of superior lineage with a haughty magnificence
that brought the disaffected cringing to his feet.
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