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diff --git a/34414-h/34414-h.htm b/34414-h/34414-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4826133 --- /dev/null +++ b/34414-h/34414-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7618 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<!-- $Id: header.txt 236 2009-12-07 18:57:00Z vlsimpson $ --> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Just—William, by Richmal Crompton. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body {margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%;} + + h1,h2,h3 {text-align: center; + clear: both;} + +p {margin-top: .75em; + text-align: left; + margin-bottom: .75em;} + +hr {width: 65%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both;} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right;} + +.sign {border: solid 1px; + text-align: center; + margin-left: 40%; + margin-right: 40%;} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.caption {font-weight: normal; + font-size: 80%;} + +.smaller {font-size: 80%;} + +.ralign {position: absolute; + right: 15%;} + +.fmatter {text-align: center; + font-size: 80%;} + +.pubinfo {text-align: center; + font-size: 80%; + font-style: italic;} + +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center;} + +ol.upper-roman {list-style-type: upper-roman; + padding-right: 7em;} + +ul.none {list-style-type: none;} + +.poem { + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + text-align: left;} + +.poem br {display: none;} + +.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + +.poem span.i0 { + display: block; + margin-left: 0em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; + font-style: italic;} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Just William, by Richmal Crompton + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Just William + +Author: Richmal Crompton + +Illustrator: Thomas Henry + +Release Date: November 23, 2010 [EBook #34414] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JUST WILLIAM *** + + + + +Produced by David Clarke, and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<h1>JUST—WILLIAM</h1> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 398px;"> +<img src="images/frontis.png" width="398" height="500" +alt="William, facing a man wearing a bowler hat" +title="Frontispiece" /> +<span class="caption">WILLIAM, CLASPING AN EMPTY ACID DROP BOTTLE TO HIS BOSOM, +WAS LEFT TO FACE MR. MOSS. (<a href="#Page_202">See page 202</a>).</span> +</div> + +<h1>JUST—WILLIAM<br /><br /> +<span class="smaller">BY<br /> +RICHMAL CROMPTON</span></h1> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 120px;"> +<img src="images/logo.png" width="120" height="97" +alt="G.N. Ltd." +title="Publisher’s Logo" /> +</div> + +<p class="fmatter">ILLUSTRATED BY<br /> +THOMAS HENRY<br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p class="fmatter">LONDON<br /> +GEORGE NEWNES, LIMITED<br /> +SOUTHAMPTON ST., STRAND, W.C.<br /><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p class="pubinfo">First Edition May, 1922.<br /> +Second Impression October, 1922.<br /> +Third Impression January, 1923.<br /> +Fourth Impression February, 1923.<br /> +Fifth Impression May, 1923.<br /> +Sixth Impression September, 1923.<br /> +Seventh Impression December, 1923.<br /> +Eighth Impression February, 1924.<br /> +Ninth Impression May, 1924.<br /><br /></p> + +<p class="pubinfo">Made and Printed in Great Britain.<br /> +Wyman & Sons, Ltd., London, Reading and Fakenham.</p> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<p class="smaller">CHAPTER <span class="ralign">PAGE</span></p> + +<ol class="upper-roman"> +<li><span class="smcap">William Goes to the Pictures</span> <span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_13">13</a></span></li> + +<li><span class="smcap">William the Intruder</span> <span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_33">33</a></span></li> + +<li><span class="smcap">William Below Stairs</span> <span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_57">57</a></span></li> + +<li><span class="smcap">The Fall of the Idol</span> <span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_75">75</a></span></li> + +<li><span class="smcap">The Show</span> <span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_94">94</a></span></li> + +<li><span class="smcap">A Question of Grammar</span> <span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_117">117</a></span></li> + +<li><span class="smcap">William Joins the Band of Hope</span> <span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_132">132</a></span></li> + +<li><span class="smcap">The Outlaws</span> <span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_150">150</a></span></li> + +<li><span class="smcap">William and White Satin</span> <span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_168">168</a></span></li> + +<li><span class="smcap">William’s New Year’s Day</span> <span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_186">186</a></span></li> + +<li><span class="smcap">The Best Laid Plans</span> <span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_205">205</a></span></li> + +<li>“<span class="smcap">Jumble</span>” <span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_228">228</a></span></li> +</ol> + +<hr /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER I<br /> + +WILLIAM GOES TO THE PICTURES</h2> + +<p>It all began with William’s aunt, who was in a good temper that morning, +and gave him a shilling for posting a letter for her and carrying her +parcels from the grocer’s.</p> + +<p>“Buy some sweets or go to the Pictures,” she said carelessly, as she +gave it to him.</p> + +<p>William walked slowly down the road, gazing thoughtfully at the coin. +After deep calculations, based on the fact that a shilling is the +equivalent of two sixpences, he came to the conclusion that both +luxuries could be indulged in.</p> + +<p>In the matter of sweets, William frankly upheld the superiority of +quantity over quality. Moreover, he knew every sweet shop within a two +miles radius of his home whose proprietor added an extra sweet after the +scale had descended, and he patronised these shops exclusively. With +solemn face and eager eye, he always watched the process of weighing, +and “stingy” shops were known and banned by him.</p> + +<p>He wandered now to his favourite confectioner and stood outside the +window for five minutes, torn between the rival attractions of +Gooseberry Eyes and Marble Balls. Both were sold at 4 ounces for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> 2d. +William never purchased more expensive luxuries. At last his frowning +brow relaxed and he entered the shop.</p> + +<p>“Sixpennoth of Gooseberry Eyes,” he said, with a slightly self-conscious +air. The extent of his purchases rarely exceeded a penny.</p> + +<p>“Hello!” said the shopkeeper, in amused surprise.</p> + +<p>“Gotter bit of money this mornin’,” explained William carelessly, with +the air of a Rothschild.</p> + +<p>He watched the weighing of the emerald green dainties with silent +intensity, saw with satisfaction the extra one added after the scale had +fallen, received the precious paper bag, and, putting two sweets into +his mouth, walked out of the shop.</p> + +<p>Sucking slowly, he walked down the road towards the Picture Palace. +William was not in the habit of frequenting Picture Palaces. He had only +been there once before in his life.</p> + +<p>It was a thrilling programme. First came the story of desperate crooks +who, on coming out of any building, glanced cautiously up and down the +street in huddled, crouching attitudes, then crept ostentatiously on +their way in a manner guaranteed to attract attention and suspicion at +any place and time. The plot was involved. They were pursued by police, +they leapt on to a moving train and then, for no accountable reason, +leapt from that on to a moving motor-car and from that they plunged into +a moving river. It was thrilling and William thrilled. Sitting quite +motionless, he watched, with wide, fascinated eyes, though his jaws +never ceased their rotatory movement and every now and then his hand +would go mechanically to the paper<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> bag on his knees and convey a +Gooseberry Eye to his mouth.</p> + +<p>The next play was a simple country love-story, in which figured a simple +country maiden wooed by the squire, who was marked out as the villain by +his moustachios.</p> + +<p>After many adventures the simple country maiden was won by a simple +country son of the soil in picturesque rustic attire, whose emotions +were faithfully portrayed by gestures that must have required much +gymnastic skill; the villain was finally shown languishing in a prison +cell, still indulging in frequent eye-brow play.</p> + +<p>Next came another love-story—this time of a noble-hearted couple, +consumed with mutual passion and kept apart not only by a series of +misunderstandings possible only in a picture play, but also by maidenly +pride and reserve on the part of the heroine and manly pride and reserve +on the part of the hero that forced them to hide their ardour beneath a +cold and haughty exterior. The heroine’s brother moved through the story +like a good fairy, tender and protective towards his orphan sister and +ultimately explained to each the burning passion of the other.</p> + +<p>It was moving and touching and William was moved and touched.</p> + +<p>The next was a comedy. It began by a solitary workman engaged upon the +re-painting of a door and ended with a miscellaneous crowd of people, +all covered with paint, falling downstairs on top of one another. It was +amusing. William was riotously and loudly amused.</p> + +<p>Lastly came the pathetic story of a drunkard’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> downward path. He began +as a wild young man in evening clothes drinking intoxicants and playing +cards, he ended as a wild old man in rags still drinking intoxicants and +playing cards. He had a small child with a pious and superior +expression, who spent her time weeping over him and exhorting him to a +better life, till, in a moment of justifiable exasperation, he threw a +beer bottle at her head. He then bedewed her bed in Hospital with +penitent tears, tore out his hair, flung up his arms towards Heaven, +beat his waistcoat, and clasped her to his breast, so that it was not to +be wondered at that, after all that excitement, the child had a relapse +and with the words “Good-bye, Father. Do not think of what you have +done. I forgive you,” passed peacefully away.</p> + +<p>William drew a deep breath at the end, and still sucking, arose with the +throng and passed out.</p> + +<p>Once outside, he glanced cautiously around and slunk down the road in +the direction of his home. Then he doubled suddenly and ran down a back +street to put his imaginary pursuers off his track. He took a pencil +from his pocket and, levelling it at the empty air, fired twice. Two of +his pursuers fell dead, the rest came on with redoubled vigour. There +was no time to be lost. Running for dear life, he dashed down the next +street, leaving in his wake an elderly gentleman nursing his toe and +cursing volubly. As he neared his gate, William again drew the pencil +from his pocket and, still looking back down the road, and firing as he +went, he rushed into his own gateway.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 437px;"> +<img src="images/p017.png" width="437" height="432" +alt="William, knocking into his father while not looking where he is going." +title="Page 17" /> +<span class="caption">LOOKING BACK DOWN THE ROAD AND FIRING HIS PENCIL +WILDLY, WILLIAM DASHED INTO HIS OWN GATE.</span> +</div> + +<p>William’s father, who had stayed at home that day because of a bad<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> +headache and a touch of liver, picked himself up from the middle of a +rhododendron bush and seized William by the back of his neck.</p> + +<p>“You young ruffian,” he roared, “what do you mean by charging into me +like that?”</p> + +<p>William gently disengaged himself.</p> + +<p>“I wasn’t chargin’, Father,” he said, meekly. “I was only jus’ comin’ in +at the gate, same as other folks. I jus’ wasn’t looking jus’ the way you +were coming, but I can’t look all ways at once, cause——”</p> + +<p>“Be <em>quiet!</em>” roared William’s father.</p> + +<p>Like the rest of the family, he dreaded William’s eloquence.</p> + +<p>“What’s that on your tongue! Put your tongue out.”</p> + +<p>William obeyed. The colour of William’s tongue would have put to shame +Spring’s freshest tints.</p> + +<p>“How many times am I to tell you,” bellowed William’s father, “that I +won’t have you going about eating filthy poisons all day between meals?”</p> + +<p>“It’s not filthy poison,” said William. “It’s jus’ a few sweets Aunt +Susan gave me ’cause I kin’ly went to the post office for her an’——”</p> + +<p>“Be <em>quiet!</em> Have you got any more of the foul things?”</p> + +<p>“They’re not foul things,” said William, doggedly. “They’re good. Jus’ +have one, an’ try. They’re jus’ a few sweets Aunt Susan kin’ly gave me +an’——”</p> + +<p>“Be <em>quiet!</em> Where are they?”</p> + +<p>Slowly and reluctantly William drew forth his bag. His father seized it +and flung it far into the bushes. For the next ten minutes William +conducted a thorough and systematic search among<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> the bushes and for the +rest of the day consumed Gooseberry Eyes and garden soil in fairly equal +proportions.</p> + +<p>He wandered round to the back garden and climbed on to the wall.</p> + +<p>“Hello!” said the little girl next door, looking up.</p> + +<p>Something about the little girl’s head and curls reminded William of the +simple country maiden. There was a touch of the artistic temperament +about William. He promptly felt himself the simple country son of the +soil.</p> + +<p>“Hullo, Joan,” he said in a deep, husky voice intended to be expressive +of intense affection. “Have you missed me while I’ve been away?”</p> + +<p>“Didn’t know you’d been away,” said Joan. “What are you talking so funny +for?”</p> + +<p>“I’m not talkin’ funny,” said William in the same husky voice, “I can’t +help talkin’ like this.”</p> + +<p>“You’ve got a cold. That’s what you’ve got. That’s what Mother said when +she saw you splashing about with your rain tub this morning. She said, +‘The next thing that we shall hear of William Brown will be he’s in bed +with a cold.’”</p> + +<p>“It’s not a cold,” said William mysteriously. “It’s jus’ the way I +feel.”</p> + +<p>“What are you eating?”</p> + +<p>“Gooseberry Eyes. Like one?” He took the packet from his pocket and +handed it down to her. “Go on. Take two—three,” he said in reckless +generosity.</p> + +<p>“But they’re—dirty.”</p> + +<p>“Go on. It’s only ord’nery dirt. It soon sucks off. They’re jolly good.” +He poured a shower of them lavishly down to her.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span></p> + +<p>“I say,” he said, reverting to his character of simple country lover. +“Did you say you’d missed me? I bet you didn’t think of me as much as I +did of you. I jus’ bet you didn’t.” His voice had sunk deeper and deeper +till it almost died away.</p> + +<p>“I say, William, does your throat hurt you awful, that you’ve got to +talk like that?”</p> + +<p>Her blue eyes were anxious and sympathetic.</p> + +<p>William put one hand to his throat and frowned.</p> + +<p>“A bit,” he confessed lightly.</p> + +<p>“Oh, William!” she clasped her hands. “Does it hurt all the time?”</p> + +<p>Her solicitude was flattering.</p> + +<p>“I don’t talk much about it, anyway, do I?” he said manfully.</p> + +<p>She started up and stared at him with big blue eyes.</p> + +<p>“Oh, William! Is it—is it your—lungs? I’ve got an aunt that’s got +lungs and she coughs and coughs,” William coughed hastily, “and it hurts +her and makes her awful bad. Oh, William, I do <em>hope</em> you’ve not got +lungs.”</p> + +<p>Her tender, anxious little face was upturned to him. “I guess I have got +lungs,” he said, “but I don’t make a fuss about ’em.”</p> + +<p>He coughed again.</p> + +<p>“What does the doctor say about it?”</p> + +<p>William considered a minute.</p> + +<p>“He says it’s lungs all right,” he said at last. “He says I gotter be +jolly careful.”</p> + +<p>“William, would you like my new paintbox?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think so. Not now. Thanks.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve got three balls and one’s quite new. Wouldn’t you like it, +William?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></p> + +<p>“No—thanks. You see, it’s no use my collectin’ a lot of things. You +never know—with lungs.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, <em>William!</em>”</p> + +<p>Her distress was pathetic.</p> + +<p>“Of course,” he said hastily, “if I’m careful it’ll be all right. Don’t +you worry about me.”</p> + +<p>“Joan!” from the house.</p> + +<p>“That’s Mother. Good-bye, William dear. If Father brings me home any +chocolate, I’ll bring it in to you. I will—honest. Thanks for the +Gooseberry Eyes. Good-bye.”</p> + +<p>“Good-bye—and don’t worry about me,” he added bravely.</p> + +<p>He put another Gooseberry Eye into his mouth and wandered round +aimlessly to the front of the house. His grown-up sister, Ethel, was at +the front door, shaking hands with a young man.</p> + +<p>“I’ll do all I can for you,” she was saying earnestly.</p> + +<p>Their hands were clasped.</p> + +<p>“I know you will,” he said equally earnestly.</p> + +<p>Both look and handclasp were long. The young man walked away. Ethel +stood at the door, gazing after him, with a far-away look in her eyes. +William was interested.</p> + +<p>“That was Jack Morgan, wasn’t it?” he said.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Ethel absently and went into the house.</p> + +<p>The look, the long handclasp, the words lingered in William’s memory. +They must be jolly fond of each other, like people are when they’re +engaged, but he knew they weren’t engaged. P’raps they were too proud to +let each other know how fond they were of each other—like the man and +girl at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> the pictures. Ethel wanted a brother like the one in the +pictures to let the man know she was fond of him. Then a light came +suddenly into William’s mind and he stood, deep in thought.</p> + +<p>Inside the drawing-room, Ethel was talking to her mother.</p> + +<p>“He’s going to propose to her next Sunday. He told me about it because +I’m her best friend, and he wanted to ask me if I thought he’d any +chance. I said I thought he had, and I said I’d try and prepare her a +little and put in a good word for him if I could. Isn’t it thrilling?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, dear. By the way, did you see William anywhere? I do hope he’s not +in mischief.”</p> + +<p>“He was in the front garden a minute ago.” She went to the window. “He’s +not there now, though.”</p> + +<p>William had just arrived at Mr. Morgan’s house.</p> + +<p>The maid showed him into Mr. Morgan’s sitting-room.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Brown,” she announced.</p> + +<p>The young man rose to receive his guest with politeness not unmixed with +bewilderment. His acquaintance with William was of the slightest.</p> + +<p>“Good afternoon,” said William. “I’ve come from Ethel.”</p> + +<p>“Yes?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.” William fumbled in his pocket and at last drew forth a rosebud, +slightly crushed by its close confinement in the company of the +Gooseberry Eyes, a penknife, a top and a piece of putty.</p> + +<p>“She sent you this,” said William gravely.</p> + +<p>Mr. Morgan gazed at it with the air of one who is sleep-walking.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 429px;"> +<img src="images/p023.png" width="429" height="500" +alt="William offering the rosebud to Mr. Morgan." +title="Page 23" /> +<span class="caption">“SHE SENT YOU THIS!” WILLIAM SAID GRAVELY.</span> +</div> + +<p>“Yes? Er—very kind of her.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Kinder keep-sake. Souveneer,” explained William.</p> + +<p>“Yes. Er—any message?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes. She wants you to come in and see her this evening.”</p> + +<p>“Er—yes. Of course. I’ve just come from her. Perhaps she remembered +something she wanted to tell me after I’d gone.”</p> + +<p>“P’raps.”</p> + +<p>Then, “Any particular time?”</p> + +<p>“No. ’Bout seven, I expect.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Morgan’s eyes were fixed with a fascinated wondering gaze upon the +limp, and by no means spotless, rose-bud.</p> + +<p>“You say she—sent this?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“And no other message?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“Er—well, say I’ll come with pleasure, will you?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>Silence.</p> + +<p>Then, “She thinks an awful lot of you, Ethel does.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Morgan passed a hand over his brow.</p> + +<p>“Yes? Kind—er—very kind, I’m sure.”</p> + +<p>“Always talkin’ about you in her sleep,” went on William, warming to his +theme. “I sleep in the next room and I can hear her talkin’ about you +all night. Jus’ sayin’ your name over and over again. ‘Jack Morgan, Jack +Morgan, Jack Morgan.’” William’s voice was husky and soulful. “Jus’<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> +like that—over an’ over again. ‘Jack Morgan, Jack Morgan, Jack +Morgan.’”</p> + +<p>Mr. Morgan was speechless. He sat gazing with horror-stricken face at +his young visitor.</p> + +<p>“Are you—<em>sure</em>?” he said at last. “It might be someone else’s name.”</p> + +<p>“No, ’tisn’t,” said William firmly. “It’s yours. ‘Jack Morgan, Jack +Morgan, Jack Morgan’—jus’ like that. An’ she eats just nothin’ now. +Always hangin’ round the windows to watch you pass.”</p> + +<p>The perspiration stood out in beads on Mr. Morgan’s brow.</p> + +<p>“It’s—<em>horrible</em>,” he said at last in a hoarse whisper.</p> + +<p>William was gratified. The young man had at last realised his cruelty. +But William never liked to leave a task half done. He still sat on and +calmly and silently considered his next statement. Mechanically he put a +hand into his pocket and conveyed a Gooseberry Eye to his mouth. Mr. +Morgan also sat in silence with a stricken look upon his face, gazing +into vacancy.</p> + +<p>“She’s got your photo,” said William at last, “fixed up into one of +those little round things on a chain round her neck.”</p> + +<p>“Are—you—<em>sure?</em>” said Mr. Morgan desperately.</p> + +<p>“Sure’s fate,” said William rising. “Well, I’d better be goin’. She +pertic-ler wants to see you alone to-night. Good-bye.”</p> + +<p>But Mr. Morgan did not answer. He sat huddled up in his chair staring in +front of him long after William had gone jauntily on his way. Then he +moistened his dry lips.</p> + +<p>“Good Lord,” he groaned.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span></p> + +<p>William was thinking of the pictures as he went home. That painter one +was jolly good. When they all got all over paint! And when they all fell +downstairs! William suddenly guffawed out loud at the memory. But what +had the painter chap been doing at the very beginning before he began to +paint? He’d been getting off the old paint with a sort of torch thing +and a knife, then he began putting the new paint on. Just sort of +melting the old paint and then scraping it off. William had never seen +it done in real life, but he supposed that was the way you did get old +paint off. Melting it with some sort of fire, then scraping it off. He +wasn’t sure whether it was that, but he could find out. As he entered +the house he took his penknife from his pocket, opened it thoughtfully, +and went upstairs.</p> + +<p>Mr. Brown came home about dinner-time.</p> + +<p>“How’s your head, father?” said Ethel sympathetically.</p> + +<p>“Rotten!” said Mr. Brown, sinking wearily into an arm-chair.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps dinner will do it good,” said Mrs. Brown, “it ought to be ready +now.”</p> + +<p>The housemaid entered the room.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Morgan, mum. He wants to see Miss Ethel. I’ve shown him into the +library.”</p> + +<p>“<em>Now?</em>” exploded Mr. Brown. “What the deu—why the dickens is the young +idiot coming at this time of day? Seven o’clock! What time does he think +we have dinner? What does he mean by coming round paying calls on people +at dinner time? What——”</p> + +<p>“Ethel, dear,” interrupted Mrs. Brown, “do go<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> and see what he wants and +get rid of him as soon as you can.”</p> + +<p>Ethel entered the library, carefully closing the door behind her to keep +out the sound of her father’s comments, which were plainly audible +across the hall.</p> + +<p>She noticed something wan and haggard-looking on Mr. Morgan’s face as he +rose to greet her.</p> + +<p>“Er—good evening, Miss Brown.”</p> + +<p>“Good evening, Mr. Morgan.”</p> + +<p>Then they sat in silence, both awaiting some explanation of the visit. +The silence became oppressive. Mr. Morgan, with an air of acute misery +and embarrassment, shifted his feet and coughed. Ethel looked at the +clock. Then—</p> + +<p>“Was it raining when you came, Mr. Morgan?”</p> + +<p>“Raining? Er—no. No—not at all.”</p> + +<p>Silence.</p> + +<p>“I thought it looked like rain this afternoon.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, of course. Er—no, not at all.”</p> + +<p>Silence.</p> + +<p>“It does make the roads so bad round here when it rains.”</p> + +<p>“Yes.” Mr. Morgan put up a hand as though to loosen his collar. +“Er—very bad.”</p> + +<p>“Almost impassable.”</p> + +<p>“Er—quite.”</p> + +<p>Silence again.</p> + +<p>Inside the drawing-room, Mr. Brown was growing restive.</p> + +<p>“Is dinner to be kept waiting for that youth all night? Quarter past +seven! You know it’s just what I can’t stand—having my meals interfered +with. Is my digestion to be ruined simply because<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> this young nincompoop +chooses to pay his social calls at seven o’clock at night?”</p> + +<p>“Then we must ask him to dinner,” said Mrs. Brown, desperately. “We +really must.”</p> + +<p>“We must <em>not</em>,” said Mr. Brown. “Can’t I stay away from the office for +one day with a headache, without having to entertain all the young +jackasses for miles around.” The telephone bell rang. He raised his +hands above his head.</p> + +<p>“Oh——”</p> + +<p>“I’ll go, dear,” said Mrs. Brown hastily.</p> + +<p>She returned with a worried frown on her brow.</p> + +<p>“It’s Mrs. Clive,” she said. “She says Joan has been very sick because +of some horrible sweets William gave her, and she said she was so sorry +to hear about William and hoped he’d be better soon. I couldn’t quite +make it out, but it seems that William has been telling them that he had +to go and see a doctor about his lungs and the doctor said they were +very weak and he’d have to be careful.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Brown sat up and looked at her. “But—why—on—earth?” he said +slowly.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know, dear,” said Mrs. Brown, helplessly. “I don’t know +anything about it.”</p> + +<p>“He’s mad,” said Mr. Brown with conviction. “Mad. It’s the only +explanation.”</p> + +<p>Then came the opening and shutting of the front door and Ethel entered. +She was very flushed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 325px;"> +<img src="images/p029.png" width="325" height="500" +alt="William kneeling behind his door, with a curl of smoke rising from it." +title="Page 29" /> +<span class="caption">WILLIAM WAS HAPPILY AND QUIETLY ENGAGED IN BURNING +THE PAINT OFF HIS BEDROOM DOOR.</span> +</div> + +<p>“He’s gone,” she said. “Mother, it’s simply horrible! He didn’t tell me +much, but it seems that William actually went to his house and told him +that I wanted to see him alone at seven o’clock this evening. I’ve +hardly spoken to William to-day. He couldn’t have misunderstood anything +I said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> And he actually took a flower with him—a +dreadful-looking rosebud—and said I’d sent it. I simply didn’t know +where to look or what to say. It was horrible!”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brown sat gazing weakly at her daughter.</p> + +<p>Mr. Brown rose with the air of a man goaded beyond endurance.</p> + +<p>“Where <em>is</em> William?” he said shortly.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know, but I thought I heard him go upstairs some time ago.”</p> + +<p>William <em>was</em> upstairs. For the last twenty minutes he had been happily +and quietly engaged upon his bedroom door with a lighted taper in one +hand and penknife in the other. There was no doubt about it. By +successful experiment he had proved that that was the way you got old +paint off. When Mr. Brown came upstairs he had entirely stripped one +panel of its paint.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>An hour later William sat in the back garden on an upturned box sucking, +with a certain dogged defiance, the last and dirtiest of the Gooseberry +Eyes. Sadly he reviewed the day. It had not been a success. His +generosity to the little girl next door had been misconstrued into an +attempt upon her life, his efforts to help on his only sister’s love +affair had been painfully misunderstood, lastly because (among other +things) he had discovered a perfectly scientific method of removing old +paint, he had been brutally assaulted by a violent and unreasonable +parent. Suddenly William began to wonder if his father drank. He saw +himself, through a mist of pathos, as a Drunkard’s child. He tried<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> to +imagine his father weeping over him in Hospital and begging his +forgiveness. It was a wonder he wasn’t there now, anyway. His shoulders +drooped—his whole attitude became expressive of extreme dejection.</p> + +<p>Inside the house, his father, reclining at length in an armchair, +discoursed to his wife on the subject of his son. One hand was pressed +to his aching brow, and the other gesticulating freely. “He’s insane,” +he said, “stark, raving insane. You ought to take him to a doctor and +get his brain examined. Look at him to-day. He begins by knocking me +into the middle of the rhododendron bushes—under no provocation, mind +you. I hadn’t spoken to him. Then he tries to poison that nice little +thing next door with some vile stuff I thought I’d thrown away. Then he +goes about telling people he’s consumptive. He looks it, doesn’t he? +Then he takes extraordinary messages and love tokens from Ethel to +strange young men and brings them here just when we’re going to begin +dinner, and then goes round burning and hacking at the doors. Where’s +the sense in it—in any of it? They’re the acts of a lunatic—you ought +to have his brain examined.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brown cut off her darning wool and laid aside the sock she had just +finished darning.</p> + +<p>“It certainly sounds very silly, dear,” she said mildly. “But there +might be some explanation of it all, if only we knew. Boys are such +funny things.”</p> + +<p>She looked at the clock and went over to the window, “William!” she +called. “It’s your bed-time, dear.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span></p> + +<p>William rose sadly and came slowly into the house.</p> + +<p>“Good night, Mother,” he said; then he turned a mournful and reproachful +eye upon his father.</p> + +<p>“Good night, Father,” he said. “Don’t think about what you’ve done, I +for——”</p> + +<p>He stopped and decided, hastily but wisely, to retire with all possible +speed.</p> + +<hr /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER II<br /> + +WILLIAM THE INTRUDER</h2> + +<p>“She’s different from everybody else in the world,” stammered Robert +ecstatically. “You simply couldn’t describe her. No one could!”</p> + +<p>His mother continued to darn his socks and made no comment.</p> + +<p>Only William, his young brother, showed interest.</p> + +<p>“<em>How’s</em> she different from anyone else?” he demanded. “Is she blind or +lame or sumthin’?”</p> + +<p>Robert turned on him with exasperation.</p> + +<p>“Oh, go and play at trains!” he said. “A child like you can’t understand +anything.”</p> + +<p>William retired with dignity to the window and listened, with interest +unabated, to the rest of the conversation.</p> + +<p>“Yes, but who is she, dear?” said their mother. “Robert, I can’t <em>think</em> +how you get these big holes in your heels!”</p> + +<p>Robert ran his hands wildly through his hair.</p> + +<p>“I’ve <em>told</em> you who she is, Mother,” he said. “I’ve been talking about +her ever since I came into the room.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I know, dear, but you haven’t mentioned her name or anything about +her.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Well,” Robert spoke with an air of super-human patience, “she’s a Miss +Cannon and she’s staying with the Clives and I met her out with Mrs. +Clive this morning and she introduced me and she’s the most beautiful +girl I’ve ever seen and she——”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Mrs. Brown hastily, “you told me all that.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” went on the infatuated Robert, “we must have her to tea. I know +I can’t marry yet—not while I’m still at college—but I could get to +know her. Not that I suppose she’d look at me. She’s miles above +me—miles above anyone. She’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. +You can’t imagine her. You wouldn’t believe me if I described her. No +one could describe her. She——”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brown interrupted him with haste.</p> + +<p>“I’ll ask Mrs. Clive to bring her over one afternoon. I’ve no more of +this blue wool, Robert. I wish you didn’t have your socks such different +colours. I shall have to use mauve. It’s right on the heel; it won’t +show.”</p> + +<p>Robert gave a gasp of horror.</p> + +<p>“You <em>can’t</em>, Mother. How do you know it won’t show? And even if it +didn’t show, the thought of it—! It’s—it’s a crisis of my life now +I’ve met her. I can’t go about feeling ridiculous.”</p> + +<p>“I say,” said William open-mouthed. “Are you spoony on her?”</p> + +<p>“William, don’t use such vulgar expressions,” said Mrs. Brown. “Robert +just feels a friendly interest in her, don’t you, Robert?”</p> + +<p>“‘A friendly interest’!” groaned Robert in despair. “No one ever <em>tries</em> +to understand what I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> feel. After all I’ve told you about her and that +she’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen and miles above me and +above anyone and you think I feel a ‘friendly interest’ in her. +It’s—it’s the one great passion of my life! It’s——”</p> + +<p>“Well,” put in Mrs. Brown mildly, “I’ll ring up Mrs. Clive and ask if +she’s doing anything to-morrow afternoon.”</p> + +<p>Robert’s tragic young face lit up, then he stood wrapt in thought, and a +cloud of anxiety overcast it.</p> + +<p>“Ellen can press the trousers of my brown suit to-night, can’t she? And, +Mother, could you get me some socks and a tie before to-morrow? Blue, I +think—a bright blue, you know, not too bright, but not so as you don’t +notice them. I wish the laundry was a decent one. You know, a man’s +collar ought to <em>shine</em> when it’s new on. They never put a shine on to +them. I’d better have some new ones for to-morrow. It’s so important, +how one looks. She—people <em>judge</em> you on how you look. They——”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brown laid her work aside.</p> + +<p>“I’ll go and ring up Mrs. Clive now,” she said.</p> + +<p>When she returned, William had gone and Robert was standing by the +window, his face pale with suspense, and a Napoleonic frown on his brow.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Clive can’t come,” announced Mrs. Brown in her comfortable voice, +“but Miss Cannon will come alone. It appears she’s met Ethel before. So +you needn’t worry any more, dear.”</p> + +<p>Robert gave a sardonic laugh.</p> + +<p>“<em>Worry!</em>” he said, “There’s plenty to worry about still. What about +William?”</p> + +<p>“Well, what about him?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Well, can’t he go away somewhere to-morrow? Things never go right when +William’s there. You know they don’t.”</p> + +<p>“The poor boy must have tea with us, dear. He’ll be very good, I’m sure. +Ethel will be home then and she’ll help. I’ll tell William not to worry +you. I’m sure he’ll be good.”</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>William had received specific instructions. He was not to come into the +house till the tea-bell rang, and he was to go out and play in the +garden again directly after tea. He was perfectly willing to obey them. +He was thrilled by the thought of Robert in the rôle of the love-lorn +hero. He took the situation quite seriously.</p> + +<p>He was in the garden when the visitor came up the drive. He had been +told not to obtrude himself upon her notice, so he crept up silently and +peered at her through the rhododendron bushes. The proceeding also +happened to suit his character of the moment, which was that of a Red +Indian chief.</p> + +<p>Miss Cannon was certainly pretty. She had brown hair, brown eyes, and +dimples that came and went in her rosy cheeks. She was dressed in white +and carried a parasol. She walked up the drive, looking neither to right +nor left, till a slight movement in the bushes arrested her attention. +She turned quickly and saw a small boy’s face, smeared black with burnt +cork and framed in hens’ feathers tied on with tape. The dimples peeped +out.</p> + +<p>“Hail, O great chief!” she said.</p> + +<p>William gazed at her open-mouthed. Such intelligence on the part of a +grown-up was unusual.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 443px;"> +<img src="images/p037.png" width="443" height="500" +alt="Miss Cannon, carrying a parasol, seeing William in the bushes." +title="Page 37" /> +<span class="caption">“HAIL, O GREAT CHIEF!” SHE SAID.</span> +</div> + +<p>“Chief Red Hand,” he supplied with a fierce scowl.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span></p> + +<p>She bowed low, brown eyes alight with merriment.</p> + +<p>“And what death awaits the poor white face who has fallen defenceless +into his hand?”</p> + +<p>“You better come quiet to my wigwam an’ see,” said Red Hand darkly.</p> + +<p>She threw a glance to the bend in the drive behind which lay the house +and with a low laugh followed him through the bushes. From one point the +drawing-room window could be seen, and there the anxious Robert stood, +pale with anxiety, stiff and upright in his newly-creased trousers (well +turned up to show the new blue socks), his soulful eyes fixed +steadfastly on the bend in the drive round which the beloved should +come. Every now and then his nervous hand wandered up to touch the new +tie and gleaming new collar, which was rather too high and too tight for +comfort, but which the shopkeeper had informed his harassed customer was +the “latest and most correct shape.”</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the beloved had reached William’s “dug-out.” William had made +this himself of branches cut down from the trees and spent many happy +hours in it with one or other of his friends.</p> + +<p>“Here is the wigwam, Pale-face,” he said in a sepulchral voice. “Stand +here while I decide with Snake Face and the other chiefs what’s goin’ to +be done to you. There’s Snake Face an’ the others,” he added in his +natural voice, pointing to a small cluster of shrubs.</p> + +<p>Approaching these, he stood and talked fiercely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> and unintelligibly for +a few minutes, turning his scowling corked face and pointing his finger +at her every now and then, as, apparently, he described his capture.</p> + +<p>Then he approached her again.</p> + +<p>“That was Red Indian what I was talkin’ then,” he explained in his +ordinary voice, then sinking it to its low, roaring note and scowling +more ferociously than ever, “Snake Face says the Pale-face must be +scalped and cooked and eat!”</p> + +<p>He took out a penknife and opened it as though to perform the operation, +then continued, “But me and the others say that if you’ll be a squaw an’ +cook for us we’ll let you go alive.”</p> + +<p>Miss Cannon dropped on to her knees.</p> + +<p>“Most humble and grateful thanks, great Red Hand,” she said. “I will +with pleasure be your squaw.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve gotter fire round here,” said William proudly, leading her to the +back of the wigwam, where a small wood fire smouldered spiritlessly, +choked by a large tin full of a dark liquid.</p> + +<p>“That, O Squaw,” said Red Hand with a dramatic gesture, “is a Pale-face +we caught las’ night!”</p> + +<p>The squaw clasped her hands together.</p> + +<p>“Oh, how <em>lovely!</em>” she said. “Is he cooking?”</p> + +<p>Red Hand nodded. Then,</p> + +<p>“I’ll get you some feathers,” he said obligingly. “You oughter have +feathers, too.”</p> + +<p>He retired into the depth of the wigwam and returned with a handful of +hen feathers. Miss Cannon took off her big shady hat and stuck the +feathers into her fluffy brown hair with a laugh.</p> + +<p>“This is jolly!” she said. “I love Red Indians!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span></p> + +<p>“I’ve got some cork you can have to do your face, too,” went on William +with reckless generosity. “It soon burns in the fire.”</p> + +<p>She threw a glance towards the chimneys of the house that could be seen +through the trees and shook her pretty head regretfully.</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid I’d better not,” she said sadly.</p> + +<p>“Well,” he said, “now I’ll go huntin’ and you stir the Pale-face and +we’ll eat him when I come back. Now, I’ll be off. You watch me track.”</p> + +<p>He opened his clasp-knife with a bloodthirsty flourish and, casting +sinister glances round him, crept upon his hands and knees into the +bushes. He circled about, well within his squaw’s vision, obviously bent +upon impressing her. She stirred the mixture in the tin with a twig and +threw him every now and then the admiring glances he so evidently +desired.</p> + +<p>Soon he returned, carrying over his shoulder a door-mat which he threw +down at her feet.</p> + +<p>“A venison, O squaw,” he said in a lordly voice. “Let it be cooked. I’ve +had it out all morning,” he added in his ordinary tones; “they’ve not +missed it yet.”</p> + +<p>He fetched from the “wigwam” two small jagged tins and, taking the +larger tin off the fire, poured some into each.</p> + +<p>“Now,” he said, “here’s some Pale-face for you, squaw.”</p> + +<p>“Oh,” she said, “I’m sure he’s awfully good, but——”</p> + +<p>“You needn’t be frightened of it,” said William protectively. “It’s +jolly good, I can tell you.” He picked up the paper cover of a packet of +soup<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> from behind the trees. “It’s jus’ that and water and it’s jolly +good!”</p> + +<p>“How lovely! Do they let you——?”</p> + +<p>“They don’t let me,” he broke in hastily, “but there’s heaps in the +larder and they don’t notice one every now an’ then. Go on!” +encouragingly, “I don’t mind you having it! Honest, I don’t! I’ll get +some more soon.”</p> + +<p>Bravely she raised the tin to her lips and took a sip.</p> + +<p>“Gorgeous!” she said, shutting her eyes. Then she drained the tin.</p> + +<p>William’s face shone with pride and happiness. But it clouded over as +the sound of a bell rang out from the house.</p> + +<p>“Crumbs! That’s tea!”</p> + +<p>Hastily Miss Cannon took the feathers from her hair and put on her hat.</p> + +<p>“You don’t keep a looking-glass in your wigwam I suppose?” she said.</p> + +<p>“N-no,” admitted William. “But I’ll get one for next time you come. I’ll +get one from Ethel’s room.”</p> + +<p>“Won’t she mind?”</p> + +<p>“She won’t know,” said William simply.</p> + +<p>Miss Cannon smoothed down her dress.</p> + +<p>“I’m horribly late. What will they think of me? It was awful of me to +come with you. I’m always doing awful things. That’s a secret between +you and me.” She gave William a smile that dazzled him. “Now come in and +we’ll confess.”</p> + +<p>“I can’t,” said William. “I’ve got to wash an’ come down tidy. I +promised I would. It’s a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> special day. Because of Robert, you know. Well +<em>you</em> know. Because of—Robert!”</p> + +<p>He looked up at her mystified face with a significant nod.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Robert was frantic. He had run his hands through his hair so often that +it stood around his head like a spiked halo.</p> + +<p>“We <em>can’t</em> begin without her,” he said. “She’ll think we’re awful. It +will—put her off me for ever. She’s not used to being treated like +that. She’s the sort of girl people don’t begin without. She’s the most +beautiful girl I’ve ever met in all my life and you—my own +mother—treat her like this. You may be ruining my life. You’ve no idea +what this means to me. If you’d seen her you’d feel more sympathy. I +simply can’t describe her—I——”</p> + +<p>“I said four o’clock, Robert,” said Mrs. Brown firmly, “and it’s after +half-past. Ethel, tell Emma she can ring the bell and bring in tea.”</p> + +<p>The perspiration stood out on Robert’s brow.</p> + +<p>“It’s—the downfall of all my hopes,” he said hoarsely.</p> + +<p>Then, a few minutes after the echoes of the tea-bell died away, the +front door bell rang sharply. Robert stroked his hair down with wild, +unrestrained movements of his hands, and summoned a tortured smile to +his lips.</p> + +<p>Miss Cannon appeared upon the threshold, bewitching and demure.</p> + +<p>“Aren’t I perfectly disgraceful?” she said with her low laugh. “To tell +the truth, I met your little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> boy in the drive and I’ve been with him +some time. He’s a perfect little dear, isn’t he?”</p> + +<p>Her brown eyes rested on Robert. Robert moistened his lips and smiled +the tortured smile, but was beyond speech.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I know Ethel and I met your son—<em>yesterday</em>, wasn’t it?”</p> + +<p>Robert murmured unintelligibly, raising one hand to the too tight +collar, and then bowed vaguely in her direction.</p> + +<p>Then they went in to tea.</p> + +<p>William, his hair well brushed, the cork partially washed from his face, +and the feathers removed, arrived a few minutes later. Conversation was +carried on chiefly by Miss Cannon and Ethel. Robert racked his brain for +some striking remark, something that would raise him in her esteem far +above the ranks of the ordinary young man, but nothing came. Whenever +her brown eyes rested on him, however, he summoned the mirthless smile +to his lips and raised a hand to relieve the strain of the imprisoning +collar. Desperately he felt the precious moments passing and his passion +yet unrevealed, except by his eyes, whose message he was afraid she had +not read.</p> + +<p>As they rose from tea, William turned to his mother, with an anxious +sibilant whisper,</p> + +<p>“Ought <em>I</em> to have put on my best suit <em>too</em>?”</p> + +<p>The demure lights danced in Miss Cannon’s eyes and the look the +perspiring Robert sent him would have crushed a less bold spirit.</p> + +<p>William had quite forgotten the orders he had received to retire from +the scene directly after tea. He was impervious to all hints. He +followed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> in the train of the all-conquering Miss Cannon to the +drawing-room and sat on the sofa with Robert who had taken his seat next +his beloved.</p> + +<p>“Are you—er—fond of reading, Miss Cannon?” began Robert with a painful +effort.</p> + +<p>“I—<em>wrote</em> a tale once,” said William boastfully, leaning over Robert +before she could answer. “It was a jolly good one. I showed it to some +people. I’ll show it to you if you like. It began with a pirate on a +raft an’ he’d stole some jewel’ry and the king the jewels belonged to +was coming after him on a steamer and jus’ when he was comin’ up to him +he jumped into the water and took the jewls with him an’ a fish eat the +jewls and the king caught it an’,” he paused for breath.</p> + +<p>“I’d love to read it!” said Miss Cannon.</p> + +<p>Robert turned sideways, and resting an arm on his knee to exclude the +persistent William, spoke in a husky voice.</p> + +<p>“What is your favourite flower, Miss Cannon?”</p> + +<p>William’s small head was craned round Robert’s arm.</p> + +<p>“I’ve gotter garden. I’ve got Virginia Stock grow’n all over it. It +grows up in no time. An’ must’erd ’n cress grows in no time, too. I like +things what grow quick, don’t you? You get tired of waiting for the +other sorts, don’t you?”</p> + +<p>Robert rose desperately.</p> + +<p>“Would you care to see the garden and green-houses, Miss Cannon?” he +said.</p> + +<p>“I’d love to,” said Miss Cannon.</p> + +<p>With a threatening glare at William, Robert led the way to the garden. +And William, all innocent animation, followed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 440px;"> +<img src="images/p045.png" width="440" height="450" +alt="William peering round his brother in order to talk to Miss Cannon." +title="Page 45" /> +<span class="caption">WILLIAM’S SMALL HEAD WAS CRANED ROUND ROBERT’S ARM. “I +LIKE THINGS WHAT GROW QUICK, DON’T YOU?” HE SAID—ALL INNOCENT ANIMATION.</span> +</div> + +<p>“Can you tie knots what can’t come untied?” he demanded.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span></p> + +<p>“No,” she said, “I wish I could.”</p> + +<p>“I can. I’ll show you. I’ll get a piece of string and show you +afterwards. It’s easy but it wants practice, that’s all. An’ I’ll teach +you how to make aeroplanes out of paper what fly in the air when it’s +windy. That’s quite easy. Only you’ve gotter be careful to get ’em the +right size. I can make ’em and I can make lots of things out of match +boxes an’ things an’——”</p> + +<p>The infuriated Robert interrupted.</p> + +<p>“These are my father’s roses. He’s very proud of them.”</p> + +<p>“They’re beautiful.”</p> + +<p>“Well, wait till you see my Virginia Stock! that’s all. Wait——”</p> + +<p>“Will you have this tea-rose, Miss Cannon?” Robert’s face was purple as +he presented it. “It—it—er—it suits you. You—er—flowers and +you—that is—I’m sure—you love flowers—you should—er—always have +flowers. If I——”</p> + +<p>“An’ I’ll get you those red ones and that white one,” broke in the +equally infatuated William, determined not to be outshone. “An’ I’ll get +you some of my Virginia Stock. An’ I don’t give my Virginia Stock to +<em>anyone</em>,” he added with emphasis.</p> + +<p>When they re-entered the drawing-room, Miss Cannon carried a large +bouquet of Virginia Stock and white and red roses which completely hid +Robert’s tea-rose. William was by her side, chatting airily and +confidently. Robert followed—a pale statue of despair.</p> + +<p>In answer to Robert’s agonised glance, Mrs.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> Brown summoned William to +her corner, while Robert and Miss Cannon took their seat again upon the +sofa.</p> + +<p>“I hope—I hope,” said Robert soulfully, “I hope your stay here is a +long one?”</p> + +<p>“Well, why sha’n’t I jus’ <em>speak</em> to her?” William’s whisper was loud +and indignant.</p> + +<p>“’Sh, dear!” said Mrs. Brown.</p> + +<p>“I should like to show you some of the walks around here,” went on +Robert desperately with a fearful glance towards the corner where +William stood in righteous indignation before his mother. “If I could +have that—er—pleasure—er—honour?”</p> + +<p>“I was only jus’ <em>speaking</em> to her,” went on William’s voice. “I wasn’t +doin’ any harm, was I? Only <em>speaking</em> to her!”</p> + +<p>The silence was intense. Robert, purple, opened his lips to say +something, anything to drown that horrible voice, but nothing would +come. Miss Cannon was obviously listening to William.</p> + +<p>“Is no one else ever to <em>speak</em> to her.” The sibilant whisper, raised in +indignant appeal, filled all the room. “Jus’ ’cause Robert’s fell in +love with her?”</p> + +<p>The horror of the moment haunted Robert’s nights and days for weeks to +come.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brown coughed hastily and began to describe at unnecessary length +the ravages of the caterpillars upon her husband’s favourite rose-tree.</p> + +<p>William withdrew with dignity to the garden a minute later and Miss +Cannon rose from the sofa.</p> + +<p>“I must be going, I’m afraid,” she said with a smile.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span></p> + +<p>Robert, anguished and overpowered, rose slowly.</p> + +<p>“You must come again some time,” he said weakly but with passion +undaunted.</p> + +<p>“I will,” she said. “I’m longing to see more of William. I adore +William!”</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>They comforted Robert’s wounded feelings as best they could, but it was +Ethel who devised the plan that finally cheered him. She suggested a +picnic on the following Thursday, which happened to be Robert’s birthday +and incidentally the last day of Miss Cannon’s visit, and the picnic +party was to consist of—Robert, Ethel, Mrs. Clive and Miss Cannon, and +William was not even to be told where it was to be. The invitation was +sent that evening and Robert spent the week dreaming of picnic lunches +and suggesting impossible dainties of which the cook had never heard. It +was not until she threatened to give notice that he reluctantly agreed +to leave the arrangements to her. He sent his white flannels (which were +perfectly clean) to the laundry with a note attached, hinting darkly at +legal proceedings if they were not sent back, spotless, by Thursday +morning. He went about with an expression of set and solemn purpose upon +his frowning countenance. William he utterly ignored. He bought a book +of poems at a second-hand bookshop and kept them on the table by his +bed.</p> + +<p>They saw nothing of Miss Cannon in the interval, but Thursday dawned +bright and clear, and Robert’s anxious spirits rose. He was presented +with a watch and chain by his father and with a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> bicycle by his mother +and a tin of toffee (given not without ulterior motive) by William.</p> + +<p>They met Mrs. Clive and Miss Cannon at the station and took tickets to a +village a few miles away whence they had decided to walk to a shady spot +on the river bank.</p> + +<p>William’s dignity was slightly offended by his pointed exclusion from +the party, but he had resigned himself to it, and spent the first part +of the morning in the character of Chief Red Hand among the rhododendron +bushes. He had added an ostrich feather found in Ethel’s room to his +head-dress, and used almost a whole cork on his face. He wore the +door-mat pinned to his shoulders.</p> + +<p>After melting some treacle toffee in rain-water over his smoking fire, +adding orange juice and drinking the resulting liquid, he tired of the +game and wandered upstairs to Robert’s bedroom to inspect his birthday +presents. The tin of toffee was on the table by Robert’s bed. William +took one or two as a matter of course and began to read the love-poems. +He was horrified a few minutes later to see the tin empty, but he +fastened the lid with a sigh, wondering if Robert would guess who had +eaten them. He was afraid he would. Anyway he’d given him them. And +anyway, he hadn’t known he was eating them.</p> + +<p>He then went to the dressing-table and tried on the watch and chain at +various angles and with various postures. He finally resisted the +temptation to wear them for the rest of the morning and replaced them on +the dressing-table.</p> + +<p>Then he wandered downstairs and round to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> shed, where Robert’s new +bicycle stood in all its glory. It was shining and spotless and William +gazed at it in awe and admiration. He came to the conclusion that he +could do it no possible harm by leading it carefully round the house. +Encouraged by the fact that Mrs. Brown was out shopping, he walked it +round the house several times. He much enjoyed the feeling of importance +and possession that it gave him. He felt loth to part with it. He +wondered if it was very hard to ride. He had tried to ride one once when +he was staying with an aunt. He stood on a garden bench and with +difficulty transferred himself from that to the bicycle seat. To his +surprise and delight he rode for a few yards before he fell off. He +tried again and fell off again. He tried again and rode straight into a +holly bush. He forgot everything in his determination to master the art. +He tried again and again. He fell off or rode into the holly bush again +and again. The shining black paint of the bicycle was scratched, the +handle bars were slightly bent and dulled; William himself was bruised +and battered but unbeaten.</p> + +<p>At last he managed to avoid the fatal magnet of the holly bush, to steer +an unsteady ziz-zag course down the drive and out into the road. He had +had no particular intention of riding into the road. In fact he was +still wearing his befeathered headgear, blacked face, and the mat pinned +to his shoulders. It was only when he was actually in the road that he +realised that retreat was impossible, that he had no idea how to get off +the bicycle.</p> + +<p>What followed was to William more like a nightmare than anything else. +He saw a motor-lorry<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> coming towards him and in sudden panic turned down +a side street and from that into another side street. People came out of +their houses to watch him pass. Children booed or cheered him and ran +after him in crowds. And William went on and on simply because he could +not stop. His iron nerve had failed him. He had not even the presence of +mind to fall off. He was quite lost. He had left the town behind him and +did not know where he was going. But wherever he went he was the centre +of attraction. The strange figure with blackened, streaked face, mat +flying behind in the wind and a head-dress of feathers from which every +now and then one floated away, brought the population to its doors. Some +said he had escaped from an asylum, some that he was an advertisement of +something. The children were inclined to think he was part of a circus. +William himself had passed beyond despair. His face was white and set. +His first panic had changed to a dull certainty that this would go on +for ever. He would never know how to stop. He supposed he would go right +across England. He wondered if he were near the sea now. He couldn’t be +far off. He wondered if he would ever see his mother and father again. +And his feet pedalled mechanically along. They did not reach the pedals +at their lowest point; they had to catch them as they came up and send +them down with all their might.</p> + +<p>It was very tiring; William wondered if people would be sorry if he +dropped down dead.</p> + +<p>I have said that William did not know where he was going.</p> + +<p><em>But Fate knew.</em><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span></p> + +<p>The picnickers walked down the hill from the little station to the river +bank. It was a beautiful morning. Robert, his heart and hopes high, +walked beside his goddess, revelling in his nearness to her though he +could think of nothing to say to her. But Ethel and Mrs. Clive chattered +gaily.</p> + +<p>“We’ve given William the slip,” said Ethel with a laugh. “He’s no idea +where we’ve gone even!”</p> + +<p>“I’m sorry,” said Miss Cannon, “I’d have loved William to be here.”</p> + +<p>“You don’t know him,” said Ethel fervently.</p> + +<p>“What a beautiful morning it is!” murmured Robert, feeling that some +remark was due from him. “Am I walking too fast for you—Miss Cannon?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no.”</p> + +<p>“May I carry your parasol for you?” he enquired humbly.</p> + +<p>“Oh, no, thanks.”</p> + +<p>He proposed a boat on the river after lunch, and it appeared that Miss +Cannon would love it, but Ethel and Mrs. Clive would rather stay on the +bank.</p> + +<p>His cup of bliss was full. It would be his opportunity of sealing +lifelong friendship with her, of arranging a regular correspondence, and +hinting at his ultimate intentions. He must tell her that, of course, +while he was at college he was not in a position to offer his heart and +hand, but if she could wait—— He began to compose speeches in his +mind.</p> + +<p>They reached the bank and opened the luncheon baskets. Unhampered by +Robert the cook had surpassed herself. They spread the white cloth<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> and +took up their position around it under the shade of the trees.</p> + +<p>Just as Robert was taking up a plate of sandwiches to hand them with a +courteous gesture to Miss Cannon, his eyes fell upon the long, white +road leading from the village to the riverside and remained fixed there, +his face frozen with horror. The hand that held the plate dropped +lifelessly back again on to the table-cloth. Their eyes followed his. A +curious figure was cycling along the road—a figure with blackened face +and a few drooping feathers on its head, and a door-mat flying in the +wind. A crowd of small children ran behind cheering. It was a figure +vaguely familiar to them all.</p> + +<p>“It can’t be,” said Robert hoarsely, passing a hand over his brow.</p> + +<p>No one spoke.</p> + +<p>It came nearer and nearer. There was no mistaking it.</p> + +<p>“William!” gasped four voices.</p> + +<p>William came to the end of the road. He did not turn aside to either of +the roads by the riverside. He did not even recognise or look at them. +With set, colourless face he rode on to the river bank, and straight +amongst them. They fled from before his charge. He rode over the +table-cloth, over the sandwiches, patties, rolls and cakes, down the +bank and into the river.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>They rescued him and the bicycle. Fate was against Robert even there. It +was a passing boatman who performed the rescue. William emerged soaked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> +to the skin, utterly exhausted, but feeling vaguely heroic. He was not +in the least surprised to see them. He would have been surprised at +nothing. And Robert wiped and examined his battered bicycle in impotent +fury in the background while Miss Cannon pillowed William’s dripping +head on her arm, fed him on hot coffee and sandwiches and called him “My +poor darling Red Hand!”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 309px;"> +<img src="images/p054.png" width="309" height="500" +alt="William cycling over the picnic-blanket." +title="Page 55" /> +<span class="caption">HE RODE OVER THE TABLE-CLOTH, OVER THE SANDWICHES AND +PATTIES, DOWN THE BANK AND INTO THE RIVER.</span> +</div> + +<p>She insisted on going home with him. All through the journey she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> +sustained the character of his faithful squaw. Then, leaving a casual +invitation to Robert and Ethel to come over to tea, she departed to +pack.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brown descended the stairs from William’s room with a tray on which +reposed a half-empty bowl of gruel, and met Robert in the hall.</p> + +<p>“Robert,” she remonstrated, “you really needn’t look so upset.”</p> + +<p>Robert glared at her and laughed a hollow laugh.</p> + +<p>“Upset!” he echoed, outraged by the inadequacy of the expression. “You’d +be upset if your life was ruined. You’d be upset. I’ve a <em>right</em> to be +upset.”</p> + +<p>He passed his hand desperately through his already ruffled hair.</p> + +<p>“You’re going there to tea,” she reminded him.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he said bitterly, “with other people. Who can talk with other +people there? No one can. I’d have talked to her on the river. I’d got +heaps of things ready in my mind to say. And William comes along and +spoils my whole life—and my bicycle. And she’s the most beautiful girl +I’ve ever seen in my life. And I’ve wanted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> that bicycle for ever so +long and it’s not fit to ride.”</p> + +<p>“But poor William has caught a very bad chill, dear, so you oughtn’t to +feel bitter to him. And he’ll have to pay for your bicycle being mended. +He’ll have no pocket money till it’s paid for.”</p> + +<p>“You’d think,” said Robert with a despairing gesture in the direction of +the hall table and apparently addressing it, “you’d think four grown-up +people in a house could keep a boy of William’s age in order, wouldn’t +you? You’d think he wouldn’t be allowed to go about spoiling people’s +lives and—and ruining their bicycles. Well, he jolly well won’t do it +again,” he ended darkly.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brown, proceeded in the direction of the kitchen.</p> + +<p>“Robert,” she said soothingly over her shoulder, “you surely want to be +at peace with your little brother, when he’s not well, don’t you?”</p> + +<p>“<em>Peace?</em>” he said. Robert turned his haggard countenance upon her as +though his ears must have deceived him. “<em>Peace!</em> I’ll wait. I’ll wait +till he’s all right and going about; I won’t start till then. +But—peace! It’s not peace, it’s an <em>armistice</em>—that’s all.”</p> + +<hr /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER III<br /> + +WILLIAM BELOW STAIRS</h2> + +<p>William was feeling embittered with life in general. He was passing +through one of his not infrequent periods of unpopularity. The climax +had come with the gift of sixpence bestowed on him by a timid aunt, who +hoped thus to purchase his goodwill. With the sixpence he had bought a +balloon adorned with the legs and head of a duck fashioned in cardboard. +This could be blown up to its fullest extent and then left to subside. +It took several minutes to subside, and during those minutes it emitted +a long-drawn-out and high-pitched groan. The advantage of this was +obvious. William could blow it up to its fullest extent in private and +leave it to subside in public concealed beneath his coat. While this was +going on William looked round as though in bewildered astonishment. He +inflated it before he went to breakfast. He then held it firmly and +secretly so as to keep it inflated till he was sitting at the table. +Then he let it subside. His mother knocked over a cup of coffee, and his +father cut himself with the bread knife. Ethel, his elder sister, +indulged in a mild form of nervous breakdown. William sat with a face of +startled innocence. But nothing enraged<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> his family so much as William’s +expression of innocence. They fell upon him, and he defended himself as +well as he could. Yes, he was holding the balloon under the table. Well, +he’d blown it up some time ago. He couldn’t keep it blown up for ever. +He had to let the air out some time. He couldn’t help it making a noise +when the air went out. It was the way it was made. He hadn’t made it. He +set off to school with an air of injured innocence—and the balloon. +Observing an elderly and irascible-looking gentleman in front of him, he +went a few steps down a back street, blew up his balloon and held it +tightly under his coat. Then, when abreast of the old gentleman, he let +it off. The old gentleman gave a leap into the air and glared fiercely +around. He glanced at the small virtuous-looking schoolboy with +obviously no instrument of torture at his lips, and then concentrated +his glare of fury and suspicion on the upper windows. William hastened +on to the next pedestrian. He had quite a happy walk to school.</p> + +<p>School was at first equally successful. William opened his desk, hastily +inflated his balloon, closed his desk, then gazed round with his +practised expression of horrified astonishment at what followed. He +drove the French master to distraction.</p> + +<p>“Step out ’oo makes the noise,” he screamed.</p> + +<p>No one stepped out, and the noise continued at intervals.</p> + +<p>The mathematics master finally discovered and confiscated the balloon.</p> + +<p>“I hope,” said the father at lunch, “that they’ve taken away that +infernal machine of yours.”</p> + +<p>William replied sadly that they had. He added<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> that some people didn’t +seem to think it was stealing to take other people’s things.</p> + +<p>“Then we may look forward to a little peace this evening?” said the +father politely. “Not that it matters to me, as I’m going out to dinner. +The only thing that relieves the tedium of going out to dinner is the +fact that for a short time one has a rest from William.”</p> + +<p>William acknowledged the compliment by a scowl and a mysterious muttered +remark to the effect that some people were always at him.</p> + +<p>During preparation in afternoon school he read a story-book kindly lent +him by his next-door neighbour. It was not because he had no work to do +that William read a story-book in preparation. It was a mark of defiance +to the world in general. It was also a very interesting story-book. It +opened with the hero as a small boy misunderstood and ill-treated by +everyone around him. Then he ran away. He went to sea, and in a few +years made an immense fortune in the goldfields. He returned in the last +chapter and forgave his family and presented them with a noble mansion +and several shiploads of gold. The idea impressed William—all except +the end part. He thought he’d prefer to have the noble mansion himself +and pay rare visits to his family, during which he would listen to their +humble apologies, and perhaps give them a nugget or two, but not very +much—certainly not much to Ethel. He wasn’t sure whether he’d ever +really forgive them. He’d have rooms full of squeaky balloons and +trumpets in his house anyway, and he’d keep caterpillars and white rats +all over the place too—things they made such a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> fuss about in their old +house—and he’d always go about in dirty boots, and he’d never brush his +hair or wash, and he’d keep dozens of motor-cars, and he wouldn’t let +Ethel go out in any of them. He was roused from this enthralling +day-dream by the discovery and confiscation of his story-book by the +master in charge, and the subsequent fury of its owner. In order +adequately to express his annoyance, he dropped a little ball of +blotting-paper soaked in ink down William’s back. William, on attempting +retaliation, was sentenced to stay in half an hour after school. He +returned gloomily to his history book (upside down) and his misanthropic +view of life. He compared himself bitterly with the hero of the +story-book and decided not to waste another moment of his life in +uncongenial surroundings. He made a firm determination to run away as +soon as he was released from school.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>He walked briskly down the road away from the village. In his pocket +reposed the balloon. He had made the cheering discovery that the +mathematics master had left it on his desk, so he had joyfully taken it +again into his possession. He thought he might reach the coast before +night, and get to the goldfields before next week. He didn’t suppose it +took long to make a fortune there. He might be back before next +Christmas and—crumbs! he’d jolly well make people sit up. He wouldn’t +go to school, for one thing, and he’d be jolly careful who he gave +nuggets to for another. He’d give nuggets to the butcher’s boy and the +postman, and the man who came to tune the piano, and the chimney-sweep.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> +He wouldn’t give any to any of his family, or any of the masters at the +school. He’d just serve people out the way they served him. He just +would. The road to the coast seemed rather long, and he was growing +rather tired. He walked in a ditch for a change, and then scraped +through a hedge and took a short cut across a ploughed field. Dusk was +falling fast, and even William’s buoyant spirits began to flag. The +fortune part was all very well, but in the meantime he was cold and +tired and hungry. He hadn’t yet reached the coast, much less the +goldfields. Something must be done. He remembered that the boy in the +story had “begged his way” to the coast. William determined to beg his. +But at present there seemed nothing to beg it from, except a hawthorn +hedge and a scarecrow in the field behind it. He wandered on +disconsolately deciding to begin his career as a beggar at the first +sign of human habitation.</p> + +<p>At last he discovered a pair of iron gates through the dusk and, +assuming an expression of patient suffering calculated to melt a heart +of stone, walked up the drive. At the front door he smoothed down his +hair (he had lost his cap on the way), pulled up his stockings, and rang +the bell. After an interval a stout gentleman in the garb of a butler +opened the door and glared ferociously up and down William.</p> + +<p>“Please——” began William plaintively.</p> + +<p>The stout gentleman interrupted.</p> + +<p>“If you’re the new Boots,” he said majestically, “go round to the back +door. If you’re not, go away.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 352px;"> +<img src="images/p062.png" width="352" height="500" +alt="The butler confronting William on the doorstep." +title="Page 62" /> +<span class="caption">“IF YOU’RE THE NEW BOOTS,” HE SAID MAJESTICALLY, “GO +ROUND TO THE BACK DOOR.”</span> +</div> + +<p>He then shut the door in William’s face. William, on the top step,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> +considered the question for a few minutes. It was dark and cold, with +every prospect of becoming darker and colder. He decided to be the new +Boots. He found his way round to the back door and knocked firmly. It +was opened by a large woman in a print dress and apron.</p> + +<p>“What y’ want?” she said aggressively.</p> + +<p>“He said,” said William firmly, “to come round if I was the new Boots.”</p> + +<p>The woman surveyed him in grim disapproval.</p> + +<p>“You bin round to the front?” she said. “Nerve!”</p> + +<p>Her disapproval increased to suspicion.</p> + +<p>“Where’s your things?” she said.</p> + +<p>“Comin’,” said William without a moment’s hesitation.</p> + +<p>“Too tired to bring ’em with you?” she said sarcastically. “All right. +Come in!”</p> + +<p>William came in gratefully. It was a large, warm, clean kitchen. A small +kitchen-maid was peeling potatoes at a sink, and a housemaid in black, +with a frilled cap and apron, was powdering her nose before a glass on +the wall. They both turned to stare at William.</p> + +<p>“’Ere’s the new Boots,” announced Cook, “’is valet’s bringin’ ’is things +later.”</p> + +<p>The housemaid looked up William from his muddy boots to his untidy hair, +then down William from his untidy hair to his muddy boots.</p> + +<p>“Imperdent-lookin’ child,” she commented haughtily, returning to her +task.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span></p> + +<p>William decided inwardly that she was to have no share at all in the +nuggets.</p> + +<p>The kitchen-maid giggled and winked at William, with obviously friendly +intent. William mentally promised her half a ship-load of nuggets.</p> + +<p>“Now, then, Smutty,” said the house-maid with out turning round, “none +of your sauce!”</p> + +<p>“’Ad your tea?” said the cook to William. William’s spirits rose.</p> + +<p>“No,” he said plaintively.</p> + +<p>“All right. Sit down at the table.”</p> + +<p>William’s spirits soared sky high.</p> + +<p>He sat at the table and the cook put a large plate of bread and butter +before him.</p> + +<p>William set to work at once. The house-maid regarded him scornfully.</p> + +<p>“Learnt ’is way of eatin’ at the Zoo,” she said pityingly.</p> + +<p>The kitchen-maid giggled again and gave William another wink. William +had given himself up to whole-hearted epicurean enjoying of his bread +and butter and took no notice of them. At this moment the butler +entered.</p> + +<p>He subjected the quite unmoved William to another long survey.</p> + +<p>“When next you come a-hentering of this ’ouse, my boy,” he said, “kindly +remember that the front door is reserved for gentry an’ the back for +brats.”</p> + +<p>William merely looked at him coldly over a hunk of bread and butter. +Mentally he knocked him off the list of nugget-receivers.</p> + +<p>The butler looked sadly round the room.</p> + +<p>“They’re all the same,” he lamented. “Eat,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> eat, eat. Nothin’ but eat. +Eat all day an’ eat all night. ’E’s not bin in the ’ouse two minutes an’ +’e’s at it. Eat! eat! eat! ’E’ll ’ave all the buttons bust off his +uniform in a week like wot the larst one ’ad. Like eatin’ better than +workin’, don’t you?” he said sarcastically to William.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I do, too,” said William with firm conviction.</p> + +<p>The kitchen-maid giggled again, and the housemaid gave a sigh expressive +of scorn and weariness as she drew a thin pencil over her eyebrows.</p> + +<p>“Well, if you’ve quite finished, my lord,” said the butler in ponderous +irony, “I’ll show you to your room.”</p> + +<p>William indicated that he had quite finished, and was led up to a very +small bed-room. Over a chair lay a page’s uniform with the conventional +row of brass buttons down the front of the coat.</p> + +<p>“Togs,” explained the butler briefly. “Your togs. Fix ’em on quick as +you can. There’s company to dinner to-night.”</p> + +<p>William fixed them on.</p> + +<p>“You’re smaller than wot the last one was,” said the butler critically. +“They ’ang a bit loose. Never mind. With a week or two of stuffin’ +you’ll ’ave most probable bust ’em, so it’s as well to ’ang loose first. +Now, come on. ’Oo’s bringing over your things?”</p> + +<p>“E—a friend,” explained William.</p> + +<p>“I suppose it <em>is</em> a bit too much to expeck you to carry your own +parcels,” went on the butler, “in these ’ere days. Bloomin’ Bolshevist, +I speck, aren’t you?”</p> + +<p>William condescended to explain himself.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span></p> + +<p>“I’m a gold-digger,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Criky!” said the butler.</p> + +<p>William was led down again to the kitchen.</p> + +<p>The butler threw open a door that led to a small pantry.</p> + +<p>“This ’ere is where you work, and this ’ere,” pointing to a large +kitchen, “is where you live. You ’ave not,” he ended haughtily “the +hentry into the servants’ ’all.”</p> + +<p>“Crumbs!” said William.</p> + +<p>“You might has well begin at once,” went on the butler, “there’s all +this lunch’s knives to clean. ’Ere’s a hapron, ’ere’s the knife-board +an’ ’ere’s the knife-powder.”</p> + +<p>He shut the bewildered William into the small pantry and turned to the +cook.</p> + +<p>“What do you think of ’im?” he said.</p> + +<p>“’E looks,” said the cook gloomily, “the sort of boy we’ll ’ave trouble +with.”</p> + +<p>“Not much clarse,” said the house-maid, arranging her frilled apron. “It +surprises me ’ow any creature like a boy can grow into an experienced, +sensible, broad-minded man like you, Mr. Biggs.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Biggs simpered and straightened his necktie.</p> + +<p>“Well,” he admitted, “as a boy, of course, I wasn’t like ’im.”</p> + +<p>Here the pantry-door opened and William’s face, plentifully adorned with +knife-powder came round.</p> + +<p>“I’ve done some of the knives,” he said, “shall I be doin’ something +else and finish the others afterwards?”</p> + +<p>“’Ow many ’ave you done?” said Mr. Biggs.</p> + +<p>“One or two,” said William vaguely, then with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> a concession to accuracy, +“well, two. But I’m feeling tired of doin’ knives.”</p> + +<p>The kitchen-maid emitted a scream of delight and the cook heaved a deep +sigh.</p> + +<p>The butler advanced slowly and majestically towards William’s tousled +head, which was still craned around the pantry door.</p> + +<p>“You’ll finish them knives, my boy,” he said, “or——”</p> + +<p>William considered the weight and size of Mr. Biggs.</p> + +<p>“All right,” he said pacifically. “I’ll finish the knives.”</p> + +<p>He disappeared, closing the pantry door behind him.</p> + +<p>“’E’s goin’ to be a trile,” said the cook, “an’ no mistake.”</p> + +<p>“Trile’s ’ardly the word,” said Mr. Biggs.</p> + +<p>“Haffliction,” supplied the housemaid.</p> + +<p>“That’s more like it,” said Mr. Biggs.</p> + +<p>Here William’s head appeared again.</p> + +<p>“Wot time’s supper?” he said.</p> + +<p>He retired precipitately at a hysterical shriek from the kitchen-maid +and a roar of fury from the butler.</p> + +<p>“You’d better go an’ do your potatoes in the pantry,” said the cook to +the kitchenmaid, “and let’s ’ave a bit of peace in ’ere and see ’e’s +doin’ of ’is work all right.”</p> + +<p>The kitchenmaid departed joyfully to the pantry.</p> + +<p>William was sitting by the table, idly toying with a knife. He had +experimented upon the knife powder by mixing it with water, and the +little brown pies that were the result lay in a row on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> mantelpiece. +He had also tasted it, as the dark stains upon his lips testified. His +hair was standing straight up on his head as it always did when life was +strenuous. He began the conversation.</p> + +<p>“You’d be surprised,” he said, “if you knew what I really was.”</p> + +<p>She giggled.</p> + +<p>“Go on!” she said. “What are you?”</p> + +<p>“I’m a gold-digger,” he said. “I’ve got ship-loads an’ ship-loads of +gold. At least, I will have soon. I’m not goin’ to give <em>him</em>,” pointing +towards the door, “any, nor any of them in there.”</p> + +<p>“Wot about me?” said the kitchenmaid, winking at the cat as the only +third person to be let into the joke.</p> + +<p>“You,” said William graciously, “shall have a whole lot of nuggets. Look +here.” With a princely flourish he took up a knife and cut off three +buttons from the middle of his coat and gave them to her. “You keep +those and they’ll be kind of tokens. See? When I come home rich you show +me the buttons an’ I’ll remember and give you the nuggets. See? I’ll +maybe marry you,” he promised, “if I’ve not married anyone else.”</p> + +<p>The kitchenmaid put her head round the pantry door.</p> + +<p>“’E’s loony,” she said. “It’s lovely listening to ’im talkin.’”</p> + +<p>Further conversation was prevented by the ringing of the front-door bell +and the arrival of the “company.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Biggs and the housemaid departed to do the honours. The kitchenmaid +ran to help with the dishing up, and William was left sitting on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> +pantry table, idly making patterns in knife powder with his finger.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/p069.png" width="450" height="388" +alt="William sitting at the table, talking to the housemaid." +title="Page 69" /> +<span class="caption">“I’M A GOLD DIGGER,” SAID WILLIAM. “I’VE GOT SHIPLOADS +AN’ SHIPLOADS OF GOLD. AT LEAST, I WILL HAVE SOON.”</span> +</div> + +<p>“Wot was ’e doin’?” said the cook to the kitchenmaid.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Nothin’—’cept talkin’,” said the kitchenmaid. “’E’s a cure, <em>’e</em> is,” +she added.</p> + +<p>“If you’ve finished the knives,” called out the cook, “there’s some +boots and shoes on the floor to be done. Brushes an’ blacking on the +shelf.”</p> + +<p>William arose with alacrity. He thought boots would be more interesting +than knives. He carefully concealed the pile of uncleaned knives behind +the knife-box and began on the shoes.</p> + +<p>The butler returned.</p> + +<p>“Soup ready?” he said. “The company’s just goin’ into the dining-room—a +pal of the master’s. Decent-lookin’ bloke,” he added patronisingly.</p> + +<p>William, in his pantry, had covered a brush very thickly with blacking, +and was putting it in heavy layers on the boots and shoes. A large part +of it adhered to his own hands. The butler looked in at him.</p> + +<p>“Wot’s ’appened to your buttons?” he said sternly.</p> + +<p>“Come off,” said William.</p> + +<p>“Bust off,” corrected the butler. “I said so soon as I saw you. I said +you’d ’ave eat your buttons bust off in a week. Well, you’ve eat ’em +bust off in ten minutes.”</p> + +<p>“Eatin’ an’ destroyin’ of ’is clothes,” he said gloomily, returning to +the kitchen. “It’s all boys ever do—eatin’ an’ destroyin’ of their +clothes.”</p> + +<p>He went out with the soup and William was left<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> with the boots. He was +getting tired of boots. He’d covered them all thickly with blacking, and +he didn’t know what to do next. Then suddenly he remembered his balloon +in his pocket upstairs. It might serve to vary the monotony of life. He +slipped quietly upstairs for it, and then returned to his boots.</p> + +<p>Soon Mr. Biggs and the housemaid returned with the empty soup-plates. +Then through the kitchen resounded a high-pitched squeal, dying away +slowly and shrilly.</p> + +<p>The housemaid screamed.</p> + +<p>“Lawks!” said the cook, “someone’s atorchurin’ of the poor cat to death. +It’ll be that blessed boy.”</p> + +<p>The butler advanced manfully and opened the pantry door. William stood +holding in one hand an inflated balloon with the cardboard head and legs +of a duck.</p> + +<p>The butler approached him.</p> + +<p>“If you let off that there thing once more, you little varmint,” he +said, “I’ll——”</p> + +<p>Threateningly he had advanced his large expanse of countenance very +close to William’s. Acting upon a sudden uncontrollable impulse William +took up the brush thickly smeared with blacking and pushed back Mr. +Biggs’s face with it.</p> + +<p>There was a moment’s silence of sheer horror, then Mr. Biggs hurled +himself furiously upon William....</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>In the dining-room sat the master and mistress of the house and their +guest.</p> + +<p>“Did the new Boots arrive?” said the master to his wife.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 384px;"> +<img src="images/p072.png" width="384" height="500" +alt="William hitting Mr. Biggs in the face with the brush." +title="Page 72" /> +<span class="caption">WILLIAM TOOK UP THE BRUSH, THICKLY SMEARED WITH BLACKING, +AND PUSHED BACK MR. BIGGS’S FACE WITH IT.</span> +</div> + +<p>“Yes,” she said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Any good?” he said.</p> + +<p>“He doesn’t seem to have impressed Biggs very favourably,” she said, +“but they never do.”</p> + +<p>“The human boy,” said the guest, “is given us as a discipline. I possess +one. Though he is my own son, I find it difficult to describe the +atmosphere of peace and relief that pervades the house when he is out of +it.”</p> + +<p>“I’d like to meet your son,” said the host.</p> + +<p>“You probably will, sooner or later,” said the guest gloomily. “Everyone +in the neighbourhood meets him sooner or later. He does not hide his +light under a bushel. Personally, I prefer people who haven’t met him. +They can’t judge me by him.”</p> + +<p>At this moment the butler came in with a note.</p> + +<p>“No answer,” he said, and departed with his slow dignity.</p> + +<p>“Excuse me,” said the lady as she opened it, “it’s from my sister. ‘I +hope,’ she read, ‘that you aren’t inconvenienced much by the non-arrival +of the Boots I engaged for you. He’s got “flu.”’ But he’s come,” she +said wonderingly.</p> + +<p>There came the sound of an angry shout, a distant scream and the +clattering of heavy running footsteps ... growing nearer....</p> + +<p>“A revolution, I expect,” said the guest wearily. “The Reds are upon +us.”</p> + +<p>At that moment the door was burst open and in rushed a boy with a +blacking brush in one hand and an inflated balloon in the other. He was +much dishevelled, with three buttons off the front of his uniform, and +his face streaked with knife powder<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> and blacking. Behind him ran a fat +butler, his face purple with fury beneath a large smear of blacking. The +boy rushed round the table, slipped on the polished floor, clutched +desperately at the neck of the guest, bringing both guest and chair down +upon the floor beside him. In a sudden silence of utter paralysed +horror, guest and boy sat on the floor and stared at each other. Then +the boy’s nerveless hand relaxed its hold upon the balloon, which had +somehow or other survived the vicissitudes of the flight, and a shrill +squeak rang through the silence of the room.</p> + +<p>The master and mistress of the house sat looking round in dazed +astonishment.</p> + +<p>As the guest looked at the boy there appeared on his countenance +amazement, then incredulity, and finally frozen horror. As the boy +looked at the guest there appeared on his countenance amazement, then +incredulity and finally blank dejection.</p> + +<p>“Good Lord!” said the guest, “it’s <em>William!</em>”</p> + +<p>“Oh, crumbs!” said the Boots, “it’s <em>father!</em>”</p> + +<hr /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER IV<br /> + +THE FALL OF THE IDOL</h2> + +<p>William was bored. He sat at his desk in the sunny schoolroom and gazed +dispassionately at a row of figures on the blackboard.</p> + +<p>“It isn’t <em>sense</em>,” he murmured scornfully.</p> + +<p>Miss Drew was also bored, but, unlike William, she tried to hide the +fact.</p> + +<p>“If the interest on a hundred pounds for one year is five pounds,” she +said wearily, then, “William Brown, do sit up and don’t look so stupid!”</p> + +<p>William changed his position from that of lolling over one side of his +desk to that of lolling over the other, and began to justify himself.</p> + +<p>“Well, I can’t unner<em>stand</em> any of it. It’s enough to make anyone look +stupid when he can’t unner<em>stand</em> any of it. I can’t think why people go +on givin’ people bits of money for givin’ ’em lots of money and go on +an’ on doin’ it. It dun’t seem sense. Anyone’s a mug for givin’ anyone a +hundred pounds just ’cause he says he’ll go on givin’ him five pounds +and go on stickin’ to his hundred pounds. How’s he to <em>know</em> he will? +Well,” he warmed to his subject, “what’s to stop him not givin’ any five +pounds once he’s got hold of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> hundred pounds an’ goin’ on stickin’ +to the hundred pounds——”</p> + +<p>Miss Drew checked him by a slim, upraised hand.</p> + +<p>“William,” she said patiently, “just listen to me. Now suppose,” her +eyes roved round the room and settled on a small red-haired boy, +“suppose that Eric wanted a hundred pounds for something and you lent it +to him——”</p> + +<p>“I wun’t lend Eric a hundred pounds,” he said firmly, “’cause I ha’n’t +got it. I’ve only got 3½d., an’ I wun’t lend that to Eric, ’cause I’m +not such a mug, ’cause I lent him my mouth-organ once an’ he bit a bit +off an’——”</p> + +<p>Miss Drew interrupted sharply. Teaching on a hot afternoon is rather +trying.</p> + +<p>“You’d better stay in after school, William, and I’ll explain.”</p> + +<p>William scowled, emitted his monosyllable of scornful disdain “Huh!” and +relapsed into gloom.</p> + +<p>He brightened, however, on remembering a lizard he had caught on the way +to school, and drew it from its hiding-place in his pocket. But the +lizard had abandoned the unequal struggle for existence among the +stones, top, penknife, bits of putty, and other small objects that +inhabited William’s pocket. The housing problem had been too much for +it.</p> + +<p>William in disgust shrouded the remains in blotting paper, and disposed +of it in his neighbour’s ink-pot. The neighbour protested and an +enlivening scrimmage ensued.</p> + +<p>Finally the lizard was dropped down the neck of an inveterate enemy of +William’s in the next row, and was extracted only with the help of +obliging<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> friends. Threats of vengeance followed, couched in +blood-curdling terms, and written on blotting-paper.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Miss Drew explained Simple Practice to a small but earnest +coterie of admirers in the front row. And William, in the back row, +whiled away the hours for which his father paid the education +authorities a substantial sum.</p> + +<p>But his turn was to come.</p> + +<p>At the end of afternoon school one by one the class departed, leaving +William only nonchalantly chewing an india-rubber and glaring at Miss +Drew.</p> + +<p>“Now, William.”</p> + +<p>Miss Drew was severely patient.</p> + +<p>William went up to the platform and stood by her desk.</p> + +<p>“You see, if someone borrows a hundred pounds from someone else——”</p> + +<p>She wrote down the figures on a piece of paper, bending low over her +desk. The sun poured in through the window, showing the little golden +curls in the nape of her neck. She lifted to William eyes that were +stern and frowning, but blue as blue above flushed cheeks.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you <em>see</em>, William?” she said.</p> + +<p>There was a faint perfume about her, and William the devil-may-care +pirate and robber-chief, the stern despiser of all things effeminate, +felt the first dart of the malicious blind god. He blushed and simpered.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I see all about it now,” he assured her. “You’ve explained it all +plain now. I cudn’t unner<em>stand</em> it before. It’s a bit soft—in’t +it—anyway, to go lending hundred pounds about just ’cause<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> +someone says they’ll give you five pounds next +year. Some folks is mugs. But I do unner<em>stand</em> now. I cudn’t unnerstand +it before.”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 359px;"> +<img src="images/p078.png" width="359" height="500" +alt="William standing beside Miss Drew’s desk." +title="Page 78" /> +<span class="caption">WILLIAM FELT THE FIRST DART OF THE LITTLE BLIND GOD. HE +BLUSHED AND SIMPERED.</span> +</div> + +<p>“You’d have found it simpler if you hadn’t played with dead lizards all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> +the time,” she said wearily, closing her books.</p> + +<p>William gasped.</p> + +<p>He went home her devoted slave. Certain members of the class always +deposited dainty bouquets on her desk in the morning. William was +determined to outshine the rest. He went into the garden with a large +basket and a pair of scissors the next morning before he set out for +school.</p> + +<p>It happened that no one was about. He went first to the hothouse. It was +a riot of colour. He worked there with a thoroughness and concentration +worthy of a nobler cause. He came out staggering beneath a piled-up +basket of hothouse blooms. The hothouse itself was bare and desolate.</p> + +<p>Hearing a sound in the back garden he hastily decided to delay no +longer, but to set out to school at once. He set out as unostentatiously +as possible.</p> + +<p>Miss Drew, entering her class-room, was aghast to see instead of the +usual small array of buttonholes on her desk, a mass of already +withering hothouse flowers completely covering her desk and chair.</p> + +<p>William was a boy who never did things by halves.</p> + +<p>“Good Heavens!” she cried in consternation.</p> + +<p>William blushed with pleasure.</p> + +<p>He changed his seat to one in the front row. All that morning he sat, +his eyes fixed on her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> earnestly, dreaming of moments in which he +rescued her from robbers and pirates (here he was somewhat inconsistent +with his own favourite <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">rôle</i> of robber-chief and pirate), and bore her +fainting in his strong arms to safety. Then she clung to him in love and +gratitude, and they were married at once by the Archbishops of +Canterbury and York.</p> + +<p>William would have no half-measures. They were to be married by the +Archbishops of Canterbury and York, or else the Pope. He wasn’t sure +that he wouldn’t rather have the Pope. He would wear his black pirate +suit with the skull and cross-bones. No, that would not do——</p> + +<p>“What have I just been saying, William?” said Miss Drew.</p> + +<p>William coughed and gazed at her soulfully.</p> + +<p>“’Bout lendin’ money?” he said, hopefully.</p> + +<p>“William!” she snapped. “This isn’t an arithmetic lesson. I’m trying to +teach you about the Armada.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, <em>that!</em>” said William brightly and ingratiatingly. “Oh, yes.”</p> + +<p>“Tell me something about it.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t <em>know</em> anything—not jus’ yet——”</p> + +<p>“I’ve been <em>telling</em> you about it. I do wish you’d listen,” she said +despairingly.</p> + +<p>William relapsed into silence, nonplussed, but by no means cowed.</p> + +<p>When he reached home that evening he found that the garden was the scene +of excitement and hubbub. One policeman was measuring the panes of glass +in the conservatory door, and another was on his knees examining the +beds<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> near. His grown-up sister, Ethel, was standing at the front door.</p> + +<p>“Every single flower has been stolen from the conservatory some time +this morning,” she said excitedly. “We’ve only just been able to get the +police. William, did you see any one about when you went to school this +morning?”</p> + +<p>William pondered deeply. His most guileless and innocent expression came +to his face.</p> + +<p>“No,” he said at last. “No, Ethel, I didn’t see nobody.”</p> + +<p>William coughed and discreetly withdrew.</p> + +<p>That evening he settled down at the library table, spreading out his +books around him, a determined frown upon his small face.</p> + +<p>His father was sitting in an armchair by the window reading the evening +paper.</p> + +<p>“Father,” said William suddenly, “s’pose I came to you an’ said you was +to give me a hundred pounds an’ I’d give you five pounds next year an’ +so on, would you give it me?”</p> + +<p>“I should not, my son,” said his father firmly.</p> + +<p>William sighed.</p> + +<p>“I knew there was something wrong with it,” he said.</p> + +<p>Mr. Brown returned to the leading article, but not for long.</p> + +<p>“Father, what was the date of the Armada?”</p> + +<p>“Good Heavens! How should I know? I wasn’t there.”</p> + +<p>William sighed.</p> + +<p>“Well, I’m tryin’ to write about it and why it failed an’—why did it +fail?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mr. Brown groaned, gathered up his paper, and retired to the +dining-room.</p> + +<p>He had almost finished the leading article when William appeared, his +arms full of books, and sat down quietly at the table.</p> + +<p>“Father, what’s the French for ‘my aunt is walking in the garden’?”</p> + +<p>“What on earth are you doing?” said Mr. Brown irritably.</p> + +<p>“I’m doing my home-lessons,” said William virtuously.</p> + +<p>“I never even knew you had the things to do.”</p> + +<p>“No,” William admitted gently, “I don’t generally take much bother over +them, but I’m goin’ to now—’cause Miss Drew”—he blushed slightly and +paused—“’cause Miss Drew”—he blushed more deeply and began to stammer, +“’c—cause Miss Drew”—he was almost apoplectic.</p> + +<p>Mr. Brown quietly gathered up his paper and crept out to the verandah, +where his wife sat with the week’s mending.</p> + +<p>“William’s gone raving mad in the dining-room,” he said pleasantly, as +he sat down. “Takes the form of a wild thirst for knowledge, and a +babbling of a Miss Drawing, or Drew, or something. He’s best left +alone.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brown merely smiled placidly over the mending.</p> + +<p>Mr. Brown had finished one leading article and begun another before +William appeared again. He stood in the doorway frowning and stern.</p> + +<p>“Father, what’s the capital of Holland?”</p> + +<p>“Good Heavens!” said his father. “Buy him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> an encyclopedia. Anything, +anything. What does he think I am? What——”</p> + +<p>“I’d better set apart a special room for his homework,” said Mrs. Brown +soothingly, “now that he’s beginning to take such an interest.”</p> + +<p>“A room!” echoed his father bitterly. “He wants a whole house.”</p> + +<p>Miss Drew was surprised and touched by William’s earnestness and +attention the next day. At the end of the afternoon school he kindly +offered to carry her books home for her. He waved aside all protests. He +marched home by her side discoursing pleasantly, his small freckled face +beaming devotion.</p> + +<p>“I like pirates, don’t you, Miss Drew? An’ robbers an’ things like that? +Miss Drew, would you like to be married to a robber?”</p> + +<p>He was trying to reconcile his old beloved dream of his future estate +with the new one of becoming Miss Drew’s husband.</p> + +<p>“No,” she said firmly.</p> + +<p>His heart sank.</p> + +<p>“Nor a pirate?” he said sadly.</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“They’re quite nice really—pirates,” he assured her.</p> + +<p>“I think not.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” he said resignedly, “we’ll jus’ have to go huntin’ wild animals +and things. That’ll be all right.”</p> + +<p>“Who?” she said, bewildered.</p> + +<p>“Well—jus’ you wait,” he said darkly.</p> + +<p>Then: “Would you rather be married by the Archbishop of York or the +Pope?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span></p> + +<p>“The Archbishop, I think,” she said gravely.</p> + +<p>He nodded.</p> + +<p>“All right.”</p> + +<p>She was distinctly amused. She was less amused the next evening. Miss +Drew had a male cousin—a very nice-looking male cousin, with whom she +often went for walks in the evening. This evening, by chance, they +passed William’s house, and William, who was in the garden, threw aside +his temporary <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">rôle</i> of pirate and joined them. He trotted happily on +the other side of Miss Drew. He entirely monopolised the conversation. +The male cousin seemed to encourage him, and this annoyed Miss Drew. He +refused to depart in spite of Miss Drew’s strong hints. He had various +items of interest to impart, and he imparted them with the air of one +assured of an appreciative hearing. He had found a dead rat the day +before and given it to his dog, but his dog didn’t like ’em dead and +neither did the ole cat, so he’d buried it. Did Miss Drew like all those +flowers he’d got her the other day? He was afraid that he cudn’t bring +any more like that jus’ yet. Were there pirates now? Well, what would +folks do to one if there was one? He din’t see why there shun’t be +pirates now. He thought he’d start it, anyway. He’d like to shoot a +lion. He was goin’ to one day. He’d shoot a lion an’ a tiger. He’d bring +the skin home to Miss Drew, if she liked. He grew recklessly generous. +He’d bring home lots of skins of all sorts of animals for Miss Drew.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you think you ought to be going home, William?” said Miss Drew +coldly.</p> + +<p>William hastened to reassure her.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 379px;"> +<img src="images/p085.png" width="379" height="450" +alt="William sitting on a bench with Miss Drew and her cousin." +title="Page 85" /> +<span class="caption">WILLIAM HAD VARIOUS ITEMS OF INTEREST TO IMPART, AND HE +IMPARTED THEM WITH THE AIR OF ONE ASSURED OF AN APPRECIATIVE HEARING.</span> +</div> + +<p>“Oh, no—not for ever so long yet,” he said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Isn’t it your bed-time?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no—not yet—not for ever so long.”</p> + +<p>The male cousin was giving William his whole attention.</p> + +<p>“What does Miss Drew teach you at school, William?” he said.</p> + +<p>“Oh, jus’ ornery things. Armadas an’ things. An’ ’bout lending a hundred +pounds. That’s a norful <em>soft</em> thing. I unner<em>stand</em> it,” he added +hastily, fearing further explanation, “but it’s <em>soft</em>. My father thinks +it is, too, an’ he oughter <em>know</em>. He’s bin abroad lots of times. He’s +bin chased by a bull, my father has——”</p> + +<p>The shades of night were falling fast when William reached Miss Drew’s +house still discoursing volubly. He was drunk with success. He +interpreted his idol’s silence as the silence of rapt admiration.</p> + +<p>He was passing through the gate with his two companions with the air of +one assured of welcome, when Miss Drew shut the gate upon him firmly.</p> + +<p>“You’d better go home now, William,” she said.</p> + +<p>William hesitated.</p> + +<p>“I don’t mind comin’ in a bit,” he said. “I’m not tired.”</p> + +<p>But Miss Drew and the male cousin were already half-way up the walk.</p> + +<p>William turned his steps homeward. He met Ethel near the gate.</p> + +<p>“William, where <em>have</em> you been? I’ve been looking for you everywhere. +It’s <em>hours</em> past your bed-time.”</p> + +<p>“I was goin’ a walk with Miss Drew.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span></p> + +<p>“But you should have come home at your bed-time.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think she wanted me to go,” he said with dignity. “I think it +wun’t of bin p’lite.”</p> + +<p>William found that a new and serious element had entered his life. It +was not without its disadvantages. Many had been the little diversions +by which William had been wont to while away the hours of instruction. +In spite of his devotion to Miss Drew, he missed the old days of +care-free exuberance, but he kept his new seat in the front row, and +clung to his <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">rôle</i> of earnest student. He was beginning to find also, +that a conscientious performance of home lessons limited his activities +after school hours, but at present he hugged his chains. Miss Drew, from +her seat on the platform, found William’s soulful concentrated gaze +somewhat embarrassing, and his questions even more so.</p> + +<p>As he went out of school he heard her talking to another mistress.</p> + +<p>“I’m very fond of syringa,” she was saying. “I’d love to have some.”</p> + +<p>William decided to bring her syringa, handfuls of syringa, armfuls of +syringa.</p> + +<p>He went straight home to the gardener.</p> + +<p>“No, I ain’t got no syringa. Please step off my rose-bed, Mister +William. No, there ain’t any syringa in this ’ere garding. I dunno for +why. Please leave my ’ose pipe alone, Mister William.”</p> + +<p>“Huh!” ejaculated William, scornfully turning away.</p> + +<p>He went round the garden. The gardener had been quite right. There were +guelder roses everywhere, but no syringa.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></p> + +<p>He climbed the fence and surveyed the next garden. There were guelder +roses everywhere, but no syringa. It must have been some peculiarity in +the soil.</p> + +<p>William strolled down the road, scanning the gardens as he went. All had +guelder roses. None had syringa.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he stopped.</p> + +<p>On a table in the window of a small house at the bottom of the road was +a vase of syringa. He did not know who lived there. He entered the +garden cautiously. No one was about.</p> + +<p>He looked into the room. It was empty. The window was open at the +bottom.</p> + +<p>He scrambled in, removing several layers of white paint from the +window-sill as he did so. He was determined to have that syringa. He +took it dripping from the vase, and was preparing to depart, when the +door opened and a fat woman appeared upon the threshold. The scream that +she emitted at sight of William curdled the very blood in his veins. She +dashed to the window, and William, in self-defence, dodged round the +table and out of the door. The back door was open, and William blindly +fled by it. The fat woman did not pursue. She was leaning out of the +window, and her shrieks rent the air.</p> + +<p>“Police! Help! Murder! Robbers!”</p> + +<p>The quiet little street rang with the raucous sounds.</p> + +<p>William felt cold shivers creeping up and down his spine. He was in a +small back garden from which he could see no exit.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the shrieks were redoubled.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 368px;"> +<img src="images/p089.png" width="368" height="425" +alt="William standing at the window with the flowers in his hand, with a +shocked woman standing in the doorway." +title="Page 89" /> +<span class="caption">THE DOOR OPENED AND A FAT WOMAN APPEARED ON THE +THRESHOLD.</span> +</div> + +<p>“Help! <em>Help!</em> <em>Help!</em>”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then came sounds of the front-door opening and men’s voices.</p> + +<p>“Hello! Who is it? What is it?”</p> + +<p>William glared round wildly. There was a hen-house in the corner of the +garden, and into this he dashed, tearing open the door and plunging +through a mass of flying feathers and angry, disturbed hens.</p> + +<p>William crouched in a corner of the dark hen-house determinedly +clutching his bunch of syringa.</p> + +<p>Distant voices were at first all he could hear. Then they came nearer, +and he heard the fat lady’s voice loudly declaiming.</p> + +<p>“He was quite a small man, but with such an evil face. I just had one +glimpse of him as he dashed past me. I’m sure he’d have murdered me if I +hadn’t cried for help. Oh, the coward! And a poor defenceless woman! He +was standing by the silver table. I disturbed him at his work of crime. +I feel so upset. I shan’t sleep for nights. I shall see his evil, +murderous face. And a poor unarmed woman!”</p> + +<p>“Can you give us no details, madam?” said a man’s voice. “Could you +recognise him again?”</p> + +<p>“<em>Anywhere!</em>” she said firmly. “Such a criminal face. You’ve no idea how +upset I am. I might have been a lifeless corpse now, if I hadn’t had the +courage to cry for help.”</p> + +<p>“We’re measuring the footprints, madam. You say he went out by the front +door?”</p> + +<p>“I’m convinced he did. I’m convinced he’s hiding in the bushes by the +gate. Such a low face. My nerves are absolutely jarred.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span></p> + +<p>“We’ll search the bushes again, madam,” said the other voice wearily, +“but I expect he has escaped by now.”</p> + +<p>“The brute!” said the fat lady. “Oh, the <em>brute!</em> And that <em>face</em>. If I +hadn’t had the courage to cry out——”</p> + +<p>The voices died away and William was left alone in a corner of the +hen-house.</p> + +<p>A white hen appeared in the little doorway, squawked at him angrily, and +retired, cackling indignation. Visions of life-long penal servitude or +hanging passed before William’s eyes. He’d rather be executed, really. +He hoped they’d execute him.</p> + +<p>Then he heard the fat lady bidding good-bye to the policeman. Then she +came to the back garden evidently with a friend, and continued to pour +forth her troubles.</p> + +<p>“And he <em>dashed</em> past me, dear. Quite a small man, but with such an evil +face.”</p> + +<p>A black hen appeared in the little doorway, and with an angry squawk at +William, returned to the back garden.</p> + +<p>“I think you’re <em>splendid</em>, dear,” said the invisible friend. “How you +had the <em>courage</em>.”</p> + +<p>The white hen gave a sardonic scream.</p> + +<p>“You’d better come in and rest, darling,” said the friend.</p> + +<p>“I’d better,” said the fat lady in a plaintive, suffering voice. “I do +feel very ... shaken....”</p> + +<p>Their voices ceased, the door was closed, and all was still.</p> + +<p>Cautiously, very cautiously, a much-dishevelled William crept from the +hen-house and round the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> side of the house. Here he found a locked +side-gate over which he climbed, and very quietly he glided down to the +front gate and to the road.</p> + +<p>“Where’s William this evening?” said Mrs. Brown. “I do hope he won’t +stay out after his bed-time.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I’ve just met him,” said Ethel. “He was going up to his bedroom. He +was covered with hen feathers and holding a bunch of syringa.”</p> + +<p>“Mad!” sighed his father. “Mad! mad! mad!”</p> + +<p>The next morning William laid a bunch of syringa upon Miss Drew’s desk. +He performed the offering with an air of quiet, manly pride. Miss Drew +recoiled.</p> + +<p>“<em>Not</em> syringa, William. I simply can’t <em>bear</em> the smell!”</p> + +<p>William gazed at her in silent astonishment for a few moments.</p> + +<p>Then: “But you <em>said</em> ... you <em>said</em> ... you said you were fond of +syringa an’ that you’d like to have them.”</p> + +<p>“Did I say syringa?” said Miss Drew vaguely. “I meant guelder roses.”</p> + +<p>William’s gaze was one of stony contempt.</p> + +<p>He went slowly back to his old seat at the back of the room.</p> + +<p>That evening he made a bonfire with several choice friends, and played +Red Indians in the garden. There was a certain thrill in returning to +the old life.</p> + +<p>“Hello!” said his father, encountering William creeping on all fours +among the bushes. “I thought you did home lessons now?”</p> + +<p>William arose to an upright position.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span></p> + +<p>“I’m not goin’ to take much bother over ’em now,” said William. “Miss +Drew, she can’t talk straight. She dunno what she <em>means</em>.”</p> + +<p>“That’s always the trouble with women,” agreed his father. “William says +his idol has feet of clay,” he said to his wife, who had approached.</p> + +<p>“I dunno as she’s got feet of clay,” said William, the literal. “All I +say is she can’t talk straight. I took no end of trouble an’ she dunno +what she means. I think her feet’s all right. She walks all right. +’Sides, when they make folks false feet, they make ’em of wood, not +clay.”</p> + +<hr /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER V<br /> + +THE SHOW</h2> + +<p>The Outlaws sat around the old barn, plunged in deep thought. Henry, the +oldest member (aged 12¼) had said in a moment of inspiration:</p> + +<p>“Let’s think of—sumthin’ else to do—sumthin’ quite fresh from what +we’ve ever done before.”</p> + +<p>And the Outlaws were thinking.</p> + +<p>They had engaged in mortal combat with one another, they had cooked +strange ingredients over a smoking and reluctant flame with a fine +disregard of culinary conventions, they had tracked each other over the +country-side with gait and complexions intended to represent those of +the aborigines of South America, they had even turned their attention to +kidnapping (without any striking success), and these occupations had +palled.</p> + +<p>In all its activities the Society of Outlaws (comprising four members) +aimed at a simple, unostentatious mode of procedure. In their shrinking +from the glare of publicity they showed an example of unaffected modesty +that many other public societies might profitably emulate. The parents +of the members were unaware of the very existence of the society. The +ill-timed and tactless interference<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> of parents had nipped in the bud +many a cherished plan, and by bitter experience the Outlaws had learnt +that secrecy was their only protection. Owing to the rules and +restrictions of an unsympathetic world that orders school hours from 9 +to 4 their meetings were confined to half-holidays and occasionally +Sunday afternoons.</p> + +<p>William, the ever ingenious, made the first suggestion.</p> + +<p>“Let’s shoot things with bows an’ arrows same as real outlaws used to,” +he said.</p> + +<p>“What things?” and</p> + +<p>“What bows an’ arrows?” said Henry and Ginger simultaneously.</p> + +<p>“Oh, anything—birds an’ cats an’ hens an’ things—an’ buy bows an’ +arrows. You can buy them in shops.”</p> + +<p>“We can make them,” said Douglas, hopefully.</p> + +<p>“Not like you can get them in shops. They’d shoot crooked or sumthin’ if +we made them. They’ve got to be jus’ so to shoot straight. I saw some in +Brook’s window, too, jus’ right—jus’ same as real outlaws had.”</p> + +<p>“How much?” said the outlaws breathlessly.</p> + +<p>“Five shillings—targets for learnin’ on before we begin shootin’ real +things an’ all.”</p> + +<p>“Five shillings!” breathed Douglas. He might as well have said five +pounds. “We’ve not got five shillings. Henry’s not having any money +since he broke their drawing-room window an’ Ginger only has 3<em>d.</em> a +week an’ has to give collection an’ we’ve not paid for the guinea pig +yet, the one that got into Ginger’s sister’s hat an’ she was so mad at, +an’——”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Oh, never mind all that,” said William, scornfully. “We’ll jus’ get +five shillings.”</p> + +<p>“How?”</p> + +<p>“Well,” uncertainly, “grown-ups can always get money when they want it.”</p> + +<p>“How?” again.</p> + +<p>William disliked being tied down to details.</p> + +<p>“Oh—bazaars an’ things,” impatiently.</p> + +<p>“Bazaars!” exploded Henry. “Who’d come to a bazaar if we had one? Who +would? Jus’ tell me that if you’re so clever! Who’d come to it? Besides, +you’ve got to sell things at a bazaar, haven’t you? What’d we sell? +We’ve got nothin’ to sell, have we? What’s the good of havin’ a bazaar +with nothin’ to sell and no one to buy it? Jus’ tell me that!”</p> + +<p>Henry always enjoyed scoring off William.</p> + +<p>“Well—shows an’ things,” said William desperately.</p> + +<p>There was a moment’s silence, then Ginger repeated thoughtfully. +“Shows!” and Douglas, whose eldest brother was home from college for his +vacation, murmured self-consciously, “By Jove!”</p> + +<p>“We <em>could</em> do a show,” said Ginger. “Get animals an’ things an’ charge +money for lookin’ at them.”</p> + +<p>“Who’d pay it?” said Henry, the doubter.</p> + +<p>“Anyone would. You’d pay to see animals, wouldn’t you?—real animals. +People do at the Zoo, don’t they? Well, we’ll get some animals. That’s +easy enough, isn’t it?”</p> + +<p>A neighbouring church clock struck four and the meeting was adjourned.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Well, we’ll have a show an’ get money and buy bows an’ arrows an’ shoot +things,” summed up William, “an we’ll arrange the show next week.”</p> + +<p>William returned home slowly and thoughtfully. He sat on his bed, his +hands in his pockets, his brow drawn into a frown, his thoughts +wandering in a dreamland of wonderful “shows” and rare exotic beasts.</p> + +<p>Suddenly from the next room came a thin sound that gathered volume till +it seemed to fill the house like the roaring of a lion, then died +gradually away and was followed by silence. But only for a second. It +began again—a small whisper that grew louder and louder, became a +raucous bellow, then faded slowly away to rise again after a moment’s +silence. In the next room William’s mother’s Aunt Emily was taking her +afternoon nap. Aunt Emily had come down a month ago for a week’s visit +and had not yet referred to the date of her departure. William’s father +was growing anxious. She was a stout, healthy lady, who spent all her +time recovering from a slight illness she had had two years ago. Her +life held two occupations, and only two. These were eating and sleeping. +For William she possessed a subtle but irresistible fascination. Her +stature, her appetite, her gloom, added to the fact that she utterly +ignored him, attracted him strongly.</p> + +<p>The tea bell rang and the sound of the snoring ceased abruptly. This +entertainment over, William descended to the dining-room, where his +father was addressing his mother with some heat.</p> + +<p>“Is she going to stay here for ever, or only for a few years? I’d like +to know, because——”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span></p> + +<p>Perceiving William, he stopped abruptly, and William’s mother murmured:</p> + +<p>“It’s so nice to have her, dear.”</p> + +<p>Then Aunt Emily entered.</p> + +<p>“Have you slept well, Aunt?”</p> + +<p>“Slept!” repeated Aunt Emily majestically. “I hardly expect to sleep in +my state of health. A little rest is all I can expect.”</p> + +<p>“Sorry you’re no better,” said William’s father sardonically.</p> + +<p>“<em>Better?</em>” she repeated again indignantly. “It will be a long time +before I’m better.”</p> + +<p>She lowered her large, healthy frame into a chair, carefully selected a +substantial piece of bread and butter and attacked it with vigour.</p> + +<p>“I’m going to the post after tea,” said William’s mother. “Would you +care to come with me?”</p> + +<p>Aunt Emily took a large helping of jam.</p> + +<p>“You hardly expect me to go out in the evening in my state of health, +surely? It’s years since I went out after tea. And I was at the post +office this morning. There were a lot of people there, but they served +me first. I suppose they saw I looked ill.”</p> + +<p>William’s father choked suddenly and apologised, but not humbly.</p> + +<p>“Though I must say,” went on Aunt Emily, “this place does suit me. I +think after a few months here I should be a little stronger. Pass the +jam, William.”</p> + +<p>The glance that William’s father fixed upon her would have made a +stronger woman quail, but Aunt Emily was scraping out the last remnants +of jam and did not notice.</p> + +<p>“I’m a bit over-tired to-day, I think,” she went<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> on. “I’m so apt to +forget how weak I am and then I overdo it. I’m ready for the cake, +William. I just sat out in the sun yesterday afternoon and sat a bit too +long and over-tired myself. I ought to write letters after tea, but I +don’t think I have the strength. Another piece of cake, William. I’ll go +upstairs to rest instead, I think. I hope you’ll keep the house quiet. +It’s so rarely that I can get a bit of sleep.”</p> + +<p>William’s father left the room abruptly. William sat on and watched, +with fascinated eyes, the cake disappear, and finally followed the +large, portly figure upstairs and sat down in his room to plan the +“show” and incidentally listen, with a certain thrilled awe, for the +sounds from next door.</p> + +<p>The place and time of the “show” presented no little difficulty. To hold +it in the old barn would give away to the world the cherished secret of +their meeting place. It was William who suggested his bedroom, to be +entered, not by way of the front door and staircase, but by the less +public way of the garden wall and scullery roof. Ever an optimist, he +affirmed that no one would see or hear. The choice of a time was limited +to Wednesday afternoon, Saturday afternoon, and Sunday. Sunday at first +was ruled out as impossible. But there were difficulties about Wednesday +afternoon and Saturday afternoon. On Wednesday afternoon Ginger and +Douglas were unwilling and ungraceful pupils at a dancing class. On +Saturday afternoon William’s father gardened and would command a view of +the garden wall and scullery roof. On these afternoons also Cook and +Emma, both of a suspicious turn of mind, would be at large. On<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> Sunday +Cook and Emma went out, William’s mother paid a regular weekly visit to +an old friend and William’s father spent the afternoon on the sofa, dead +to the world.</p> + +<p>Moreover, as he pointed out to the Outlaws, the members of the Sunday +School could be waylaid and induced to attend the show and they would +probably be provided with money for collection. The more William thought +over it, the more attractive became the idea of a Sunday afternoon in +spite of superficial difficulties; therefore Sunday afternoon was +finally chosen.</p> + +<p>The day was fortunately a fine one, and William and the other Outlaws +were at work early. William had asked his mother, with an expression of +meekness and virtue that ought to have warned her of danger, if he might +have “jus’ a few friends” in his room for the afternoon. His mother, +glad that her husband should be spared his son’s restless company, gave +willing permission.</p> + +<p>By half-past two the exhibits were ready. In a cage by the window sat a +white rat painted in faint alternate stripes of blue and pink. This was +Douglas’ contribution, handpainted by himself in water colours. It wore +a bewildered expression and occasionally licked its stripes and then +obviously wished it hadn’t. Its cage bore a notice printed on cardboard:</p> + +<p class="sign">RAT FROM CHINA<br /> +RATS ARE ALL LIKE<br /> +THIS IN CHINA<br /></p> + +<p>Next came a cat belonging to William’s sister, Smuts by name, now<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> +imprisoned beneath a basket-chair. At the best of times Smuts was +short-tempered, and all its life had cherished a bitter hatred of +William. Now, enclosed by its enemy in a prison two feet square, its +fury knew no bounds. It tore at the basket work, it flew wildly round +and round, scratching, spitting, swearing. Its chair bore the simple and +appropriate notice:</p> + +<p class="sign">WILD CAT</p> + +<p>William watched it with honest pride and prayed fervently that its +indignation would not abate during the afternoon.</p> + +<p>Next came a giant composed of Douglas upon Ginger’s back, draped in two +sheets tied tightly round Douglas’s neck. This was labelled:</p> + +<p class="sign">GENWIN GIANT</p> + +<p>Ginger was already growing restive. His muffled voice was heard from the +folds of the sheets informing the other Outlaws that it was a bit thick +and he hadn’t known it would be like this or he wouldn’t have done it, +and anyway he was going to change with Douglas half time or he’d chuck +up the whole thing.</p> + +<p>The next exhibit was a black fox fur of William’s mother’s, to which was +fortunately attached a head and several feet, and which he had +surreptitiously<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> removed from her wardrobe. This had been tied up, +stuffed with waste paper and wired by William till it was, in his eyes, +remarkably lifelike. As the legs, even with the assistance of wire, +refused to support the body and the head would only droop sadly to the +ground, it was perforce exhibited in a recumbent attitude. It bore marks +of sticky fingers, and of several side slips of the scissors when +William was cutting the wire, but on the whole he was justly proud of +it. It bore the striking but untruthful legend:—</p> + +<p class="sign">BEAR SHOT<br /> +BY OUTLAWS<br /> +IN RUSHER</p> + +<p>Next came:</p> + +<p class="sign">BLUE DOG</p> + +<p>This was Henry’s fox terrier, generally known as Chips. For Chips the +world was very black. Henry’s master mind had scorned his paint box and +his water colours. Henry had “borrowed” a blue bag and dabbed it +liberally over Chips. Chips had, after the first wild frenzied struggle, +offered no resistance. He now sat, a picture of black despair, turning +every now and then a melancholy eye upon the still enraged Smuts. But +for him cats and joy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> and life and fighting were no more. He was abject, +shamed—a blue dog.</p> + +<p>William himself, as showman, was an imposing figure. He was robed in a +red dressing-gown of his father’s that trailed on the ground behind him +and over whose cords in front he stumbled ungracefully as he walked. He +had cut a few strands from the fringe of a rug and glued them to his +lips to represent moustaches. They fell in two straight lines over his +mouth. On his head was a tinsel crown, once worn by his sister as Fairy +Queen.</p> + +<p>The show had been widely advertised and all the neighbouring children +had been individually canvassed, but under strict orders of secrecy. The +threats of what the Outlaws would do if their secret were disclosed had +kept many a child awake at night.</p> + +<p>William surveyed the room proudly.</p> + +<p>“Not a bad show for a penny, I <em>should</em> say. I guess there aren’t many +like it, anyway. Do shut up talkin’, Ginger. It’ll spoil it all, if +folks hear the giant talking out of his stomach. It’s Douglas that’s got +to do the giant’s <em>talking</em>. Anyone could see that. I say, they’re +comin’! Look! They’re comin’! Along the wall!”</p> + +<p>There was a thin line of children climbing along the wall in single file +on all fours. They ascended the scullery roof and approached the window. +These were the first arrivals who had called on their way to Sunday +School.</p> + +<p>Henry took their pennies and William cleared his throat and began:—</p> + +<p>“White rat from China, ladies an’ gentlemen, pink an’ blue striped. All +rats is pink an’ blue striped in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span>China. This is the only genwin China rat in +England—brought over from China special las’ week jus’ for the show. It +lives on China bread an’ butter brought over special, too.”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 422px;"> +<img src="images/p104.png" width="422" height="500" +alt="William wearing his father’s dressing-gown and a tinsel crown." +title="Page 104" /> +<span class="caption">WILLIAM WAS AN IMPOSING FIGURE.</span> +</div> + +<p>“Wash it!” jeered an unbeliever. “Jus’ wash it an’ let’s see it then.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Wash it?” repeated the showman indignantly. “It’s gotter be washed. +It’s washed every morning an’ night same as you or me. China rats have +gotter be washed or they’d die right off. Washin’ ’em don’t make no +difference to their stripes. Anyone knows that that knows anything about +China rats, I guess.”</p> + +<p>He laughed scornfully and turned to Smuts. Smuts had grown used to the +basket chair and was settling down for a nap. William crouched down on +all fours, ran his fingers along the basket-work, and, putting his face +close to it, gave vent to a malicious howl. Smuts sprang at him, +scratching and spitting.</p> + +<p>“Wild cat,” said William triumphantly. “Look at it! Kill anyone if it +got out! Spring at their throats, it would, an’ scratch their eyes out +with its paws an’ bite their necks till its teeth met. If I jus’ moved +away that chair it would spring out at you.” They moved hastily away +from the chair, “and I bet some of you would be dead pretty quick. It +could have anyone’s head right off with bitin’ and scratchin’. Right +off—separate from their bodies!”</p> + +<p>There was an awe-stricken silence.</p> + +<p>Then:</p> + +<p>“Garn! It’s Smuts. It’s your sister’s cat!”</p> + +<p>William laughed as though vastly amused by this idea.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Smuts!” he said, giving a surreptitious kick to the chair that +infuriated its occupant still more. “I guess there wouldn’t be many of +us left in this house if Smuts was like this.”</p> + +<p>They passed on to the giant.</p> + +<p>“A giant,” said William, re-arranging the tinsel crown, which was +slightly too big for him. “Real giant. Look at it. As big as two of you +put together. How d’you think he gets in at doors and things? Has to +have everything made special. Look at him walk. Walk, Ginger.”</p> + +<p>Ginger took two steps forward. Douglas clutched his shoulders and +murmured anxiously, “By Jove!”</p> + +<p>“Go on,” urged William scornfully, “That’s not walkin’.”</p> + +<p>The goaded Ginger’s voice came from the giant’s middle regions!</p> + +<p>“If you go on talkin’ at me, I’ll drop him. I’m just about sick of it.”</p> + +<p>“All right,” said William hastily.</p> + +<p>“Anyway it’s a giant,” he went on to his audience. “A jolly fine giant.”</p> + +<p>“It’s got Douglas’s face,” said one of his audience.</p> + +<p>William was for a moment at a loss.</p> + +<p>“Well,” he said at last, “giant’s got to have some sort of a face, +hasn’t it? Can’t not have a face, can it?”</p> + +<p>The Russian Bear, which had often been seen adorning the shoulders of +William’s mother and was promptly recognised, was greeted with ribald +jeers, but there was no doubt as to the success of the Blue Dog. Chips +advanced deprecatingly, blue head drooping, and blue tail between blue +legs, making<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span>abject apologies for his horrible condition. +But Henry had done his work well. They stood around in rapt admiration.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 409px;"> +<img src="images/p107.png" width="409" height="500" +alt="Douglas and Ginger disguised as a giant, with a crowd of other children +watching them." +title="Page 107" /> +<span class="caption">THE GOADED GINGER’S VOICE CAME FROM THE +GIANT’S MIDDLE REGIONS.</span> +</div> + +<p>“Blue dog,” said the showman, walking forward proudly and stumbling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> +violently over the cords of the dressing gown. “Blue dog,” he repeated, +recovering his balance and removing the tinsel crown from his nose to +his brow. “You never saw a blue dog before, did you? No, and you aren’t +likely to see one again, neither. It was made blue special for this +show. It’s the only blue dog in the world. Folks’ll be comin’ from all +over the world to see this blue dog—an’ thrown in in a penny show! If +it was in the Zoo you’d have to pay a shilling to see it, I bet. +It’s—it’s jus’ luck for you it’s here. I guess the folks at the Zoo +wish they’d got it. Tain’t many shows have blue dogs. Brown an’ black +an’ white—but not blue. Why, folks pay money jus’ to see shows of +ornery dogs—so you’re jus’ lucky to see a blue dog <em>an’</em> a dead bear +from Russia <em>an’</em> a giant, <em>an’</em> a wild cat, <em>an’</em> a China rat for jus’ +one penny.”</p> + +<p>After each speech William had to remove from his mouth the rug fringe +which persisted in obeying the force of gravity rather than William’s +idea of what a moustache should be.</p> + +<p>“It’s jus’ paint. Henry’s gate’s being painted blue,” said one critic +feebly, but on the whole the Outlaws had scored a distinct success in +the blue dog.</p> + +<p>Then, while they stood in silent admiration round the unhappy animal, +came a sound from the next door, a gentle sound like the sighing of the +wind through the trees. It rose and fell. It rose again<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> and fell again. +It increased in volume with each repetition, till at its height it +sounded like a wild animal in pain.</p> + +<p>“What’s that?” asked the audience breathlessly.</p> + +<p>William was slightly uneasy. He was not sure whether this fresh +development would add lustre or dishonour to his show.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he said darkly to gain time, “what is it? I guess you’d like to +know what it is!”</p> + +<p>“Garn! It’s jus’ snorin’.”</p> + +<p>“Snorin’!” repeated William. “It’s not ornery snorin’, that isn’t. Jus’ +listen, that’s all! You couldn’t snore like that, I bet. Huh!”</p> + +<p>They listened spellbound to the gentle sound, growing louder and louder +till at its loudest it brought rapt smiles to their faces, then ceasing +abruptly, then silence. Then again the gentle sound that grew and grew.</p> + +<p>William asked Henry in a stage whisper if they oughtn’t to charge extra +for listening to it. The audience hastily explained that they weren’t +listening, they “jus’ couldn’t help hearin’.”</p> + +<p>A second batch of sightseers had arrived and were paying their entrance +pennies, but the first batch refused to move. William, emboldened by +success, opened the door and they crept out to the landing and listened +with ears pressed to the magic door.</p> + +<p>Henry now did the honours of showman. William stood, majestic in his +glorious apparel, deep in thought. Then to his face came the faint smile +that inspiration brings to her votaries. He ordered the audience back +into the showroom and shut the door. Then he took off his shoes and +softly and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> with bated breath opened Aunt Emily’s door and peeped +within. It was rather a close afternoon, and she lay on her bed on the +top of her eiderdown. She had slipped off her dress skirt so as not to +crush it, and she lay in her immense stature in a blouse and striped +petticoat, while from her open mouth issued the fascinating sounds. In +sleep Aunt Emily was not beautiful.</p> + +<p>William thoughtfully propped up a cushion in the doorway and stood +considering the situation.</p> + +<p>In a few minutes the showroom was filled with a silent, expectant crowd. +In a corner near the door was a new notice:</p> + +<p class="sign">PLACE FOR TAKING<br /> +OFF SHOES AND TAKING<br /> +OTH OF SILENCE<br /></p> + +<p>William, after administering the oath of silence to a select party in +his most impressive manner led them shoeless and on tiptoe to the next +room.</p> + +<p>From Aunt Emily’s bed hung another notice:</p> + +<p class="sign">FAT WILD WOMAN<br /> +TORKIN NATIF<br /> +LANGWIDGE<br /></p> + +<p>They stood in a hushed, delighted group around her bed. The sounds never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> +ceased, never abated. William only allowed them two minutes in the room. +They came out reluctantly, paid more money, joined the end of the queue +and re-entered. More and more children came to see the show, but the +show now consisted solely in Aunt Emily.</p> + +<p>The China rat had licked off all its stripes; Smuts was fast asleep; +Ginger was sitting down on the seat of a chair and Douglas on the back +of it, and Ginger had insisted at last on air and sight and had put his +head out where the two sheets joined; the Russian Bear had fallen on to +the floor and no one had picked it up; Chips lay in a disconsolate heap, +a victim of acute melancholia—and no one cared for any of these things. +New-comers passed by them hurriedly and stood shoeless in the queue +outside Aunt Emily’s room eagerly awaiting their turn. Those who came +out simply went to the end again to wait another turn. Many returned +home for more money, for Aunt Emily was 1d. extra and each visit after +the first, ½d. The Sunday School bell pealed forth its summons, but no +one left the show. The vicar was depressed that evening. The attendance +at Sunday School had been the worst on record. And still Aunt Emily +slept and snored with a rapt, silent crowd around her. But William could +never rest content. He possessed ambition that would have put many of +his elders to shame. He cleared the room and re-opened it after a few +minutes, during which his clients waited in breathless suspense.</p> + +<p>When they re-entered there was a fresh exhibit. William’s keen eye had +been searching out each<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> detail of the room. On the table by her bed now +stood a glass containing teeth, that William had discovered on the +washstand, and a switch of hair and a toothless comb, that William had +discovered on the dressing-table. These all bore notices:</p> + +<p class="sign">FAT WILD<br /> +WOMAN’S<br /> +TEETH</p> + +<p class="sign">FAT WILD<br /> +WOMAN’S<br /> +HARE</p> + +<p class="sign">FAT WILD<br /> +WOMAN’S<br /> +KOME</p> + +<p>Were it not that the slightest noise meant instant expulsion from the +show (some of their number had already suffered that bitter fate) there +would have been no restraining the audience. As it was, they crept in, +silent, expectant, thrilled, to watch and listen for the blissful two +minutes. And Aunt Emily never failed them. Still she slept and snored. +They borrowed money recklessly from each other. The poor sold their +dearest treasures to the rich, and still they came again and again. And +still Aunt Emily slept and snored. It would be interesting to know how +long this would have gone on, had she not, on the top note of a peal +that was a pure delight to her audience, awakened with a start and +glanced around her. At first she thought that the cluster of small boys +around her was a dream, especially as they turned and fled precipitately +at once. Then she sat up and her eye fell upon the table by her bed, the +notices, and finally upon the petrified horror-stricken showman. She<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> +sprang up and, seizing him by the shoulders, shook him till his teeth +chattered, the tinsel crown fell down, encircling ears and nose, and one +of his moustaches fell limply at his feet.</p> + +<p>“You wicked boy!” she said as she shook him, “you <em>wicked</em>, <em>wicked</em>, +<em>wicked</em> boy!”</p> + +<p>He escaped from her grasp and fled to the showroom, where, in sheer +self-defence, he moved a table and three chairs across the door. The +room was empty except for Henry, the blue dog, and the still sleeping +Smuts. All that was left of the giant was the crumpled sheets. Douglas +had, with an awe-stricken “By Jove!” snatched up his rat as he fled. The +last of their clients was seen scrambling along the top of the garden +wall on all fours with all possible speed.</p> + +<p>Mechanically William straightened his crown.</p> + +<p>“She’s woke,” he said. “She’s mad wild.”</p> + +<p>He listened apprehensively for angry footsteps descending the stairs and +his father’s dread summons, but none came. Aunt Emily could be heard +moving about in her room, but that was all. A wild hope came to him +that, given a little time, she might forget the incident.</p> + +<p>“Let’s count the money—” said Henry at last.</p> + +<p>They counted.</p> + +<p>“Four an’ six!” screamed William. “Four an’ six! Jolly good, I <em>should</em> +say! An’ it would only have been about two shillings without Aunt Emily, +an’ I thought of her, didn’t I? I guess you can all be jolly grateful to +me.”</p> + +<p>“All right,” said Henry unkindly. “I’m not envying you, am I? You’re +welcome to it when she tells your father.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span></p> + +<p>And William’s proud spirits dropped.</p> + +<p>Then came the opening of the fateful door and heavy steps descending the +stairs.</p> + +<p>William’s mother had returned from her weekly visit to her friend. She +was placing her umbrella in the stand as Aunt Emily, hatted and coated +and carrying a bag, descended. William’s father had just awakened from +his peaceful Sunday afternoon slumber, and, hearing his wife, had come +into the hall.</p> + +<p>Aunt Emily fixed her eye upon him.</p> + +<p>“Will you be good enough to procure a conveyance?” she said. “After the +indignities to which I have been subjected in this house I refuse to +remain in it a moment longer.”</p> + +<p>Quivering with indignation she gave details of the indignities to which +she had been subjected. William’s mother pleaded, apologised, coaxed. +William’s father went quietly out to procure a conveyance. When he +returned she was still talking in the hall.</p> + +<p>“A crowd of vulgar little boys,” she was saying, “and horrible indecent +placards all over the room.”</p> + +<p>He carried her bag down to the cab.</p> + +<p>“And me in my state of health,” she said as she followed him. From the +cab she gave her parting shot.</p> + +<p>“And if this horrible thing hadn’t happened, I might have stayed with +you all the winter and perhaps part of the spring.”</p> + +<p>William’s father wiped his brow with his handkerchief as the cab drove +off.</p> + +<p>“How dreadful!” said his wife, but she avoided meeting his eye. +“It’s—it’s <em>disgraceful</em> of William,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> she went on with sudden spirit. +“You must speak to him.”</p> + +<p>“I will,” said his father determinedly. “William!” he shouted sternly +from the hall.</p> + +<p>William’s heart sank.</p> + +<p>“She’s told,” he murmured, his last hope gone.</p> + +<p>“You’d better go and get it over,” advised Henry.</p> + +<p>“William!” repeated the voice still more fiercely.</p> + +<p>Henry moved nearer the window, prepared for instant flight if the +voice’s owner should follow it up the stairs.</p> + +<p>“Go on,” he urged. “He’ll only come up for you.”</p> + +<p>William slowly removed the barricade and descended the stairs. He had +remembered to take off the crown and dressing gown, but his one-sided +moustache still hung limply over his mouth.</p> + +<p>His father was standing in the hall.</p> + +<p>“What’s that horrible thing on your face?” he began.</p> + +<p>“Whiskers,” answered William laconically.</p> + +<p>His father accepted the explanation.</p> + +<p>“Is it true,” he went on, “that you actually took your friends into your +aunt’s room without permission and hung vulgar placards around it?”</p> + +<p>William glanced up into his father’s face and suddenly took hope. Mr. +Brown was no actor.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he admitted.</p> + +<p>“It’s disgraceful,” said Mr. Brown, “<em>disgraceful!</em> That’s all.”</p> + +<p>But it was not quite all. Something hard and round slipped into +William’s hand. He ran lightly upstairs.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Hello!” said Henry, surprised. “That’s not taken long. What——”</p> + +<p>William opened his hand and showed something that shone upon his +extended palm.</p> + +<p>“Look!” he said. “Crumbs! Look!” It was a bright half-crown.</p> + +<hr /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER VI<br /> + +A QUESTION OF GRAMMAR</h2> + +<p>It was raining. It had been raining all morning. William was intensely +bored with his family.</p> + +<p>“What can I do?” he demanded of his father for the tenth time.</p> + +<p>“<em>Nothing!</em>” said his father fiercely from behind his newspaper.</p> + +<p>William followed his mother into the kitchen.</p> + +<p>“What can I do?” he said plaintively.</p> + +<p>“Couldn’t you just sit quietly?” suggested his mother.</p> + +<p>“That’s not <em>doin’</em> anything,” William said. “I <em>could</em> sit quietly all +day,” he went on aggressively, “if I wanted.”</p> + +<p>“But you never do.”</p> + +<p>“No, ’cause there wouldn’t be any <em>sense</em> in it, would there?”</p> + +<p>“Couldn’t you read or draw or something?”</p> + +<p>“No, that’s lessons. That’s not doin’ anything!”</p> + +<p>“I could teach you to knit if you like.”</p> + +<p>With one crushing glance William left her.</p> + +<p>He went to the drawing-room, where his sister<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> Ethel was knitting a +jumper and talking to a friend.</p> + +<p>“And I heard her say to him——” she was saying. She broke off with the +sigh of a patient martyr as William came in. He sat down and glared at +her. She exchanged a glance of resigned exasperation with her friend.</p> + +<p>“What are you doing, William?” said the friend sweetly.</p> + +<p>“Nothin’,” said William with a scowl.</p> + +<p>“Shut the door after you when you go out, won’t you, William?” said +Ethel equally sweetly.</p> + +<p>William at that insult rose with dignity and went to the door. At the +door he turned.</p> + +<p>“I wun’t stay here now,” he said with slow contempt, “not even if—even +if—even if,” he paused to consider the most remote contingency, “not +even if you wanted me,” he said at last emphatically.</p> + +<p>He shut the door behind him and his expression relaxed into a sardonic +smile.</p> + +<p>“I bet they feel <em>small!</em>” he said to the umbrella-stand.</p> + +<p>He went to the library, where his seventeen-year-old brother Robert was +showing off his new rifle to a friend.</p> + +<p>“You see——” he was saying, then, catching sight of William’s face +round the door, “Oh, get out!”</p> + +<p>William got out.</p> + +<p>He returned to his mother in the kitchen with a still more jaundiced +view of life. It was still raining. His mother was looking at the +tradesmen’s books.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Can I go out?” he said gloomily.</p> + +<p>“No, of course not. It’s pouring.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t mind rain.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t be silly.”</p> + +<p>William considered that few boys in the whole world were handicapped by +more unsympathetic parents than he.</p> + +<p>“Why,” he said pathetically, “have they got friends in an’ me not?”</p> + +<p>“I suppose you didn’t think of asking anyone,” she said calmly.</p> + +<p>“Well, can I have someone now?”</p> + +<p>“No, it’s too late,” said Mrs. Brown, raising her head from the +butcher’s book and murmuring “ten and elevenpence” to herself.</p> + +<p>“Well, when can I?”</p> + +<p>She raised a harassed face.</p> + +<p>“William, do be quiet! Any time, if you ask. Eighteen and twopence.”</p> + +<p>“Can I have lots?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, go and ask your father.”</p> + +<p>William went out.</p> + +<p>He returned to the dining-room, where his father was still reading a +paper. The sigh with which his father greeted his entrance was not one +of relief.</p> + +<p>“If you’ve come to ask questions——” he began threateningly.</p> + +<p>“I haven’t,” said William quickly. “Father, when you’re all away on +Saturday, can I have a party?”</p> + +<p>“No, of course not,” said his father irritably. “Can’t you <em>do</em> +something?”</p> + +<p>William, goaded to desperation, burst into a flood of eloquence.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/p120.png" width="400" height="346" +alt="William standing in front of his father, who is seated in an armchair with a newspaper." +title="Page 120" /> +<span class="caption">“THE SORT OF THINGS I WANT TO DO THEY DON’T WANT ME TO +DO, AN’ THE SORT OF THINGS I DON’T WANT TO DO THEY WANT ME TO DO.” +WILLIAM’S SCORN AND FURY WAS INDESCRIBABLE.</span> +</div> + +<p>“The sort of things I want to do they don’t want me to do an’ the sort<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> +of things I don’t want to do they want me to do. Mother said to knit. +<em>Knit!</em>”</p> + +<p>His scorn and fury were indescribable. His father looked out of the +window.</p> + +<p>“Thank Heaven, it’s stopped raining! Go out!”</p> + +<p>William went out.</p> + +<p>There were some quite interesting things to do outside. In the road +there were puddles, and the sensation of walking through a puddle, as +every boy knows, is a very pleasant one. The hedges, when shaken, sent +quite a shower bath upon the shaker, which also is a pleasant sensation. +The ditch was full and there was the thrill of seeing how often one +could jump across it without going in. One went in more often than not. +It is also fascinating to walk in mud, scraping it along with one’s +boots. William’s spirits rose, but he could not shake off the idea of +the party. Quite suddenly he wanted to have a party and he wanted to +have it on Saturday. His family would be away on Saturday. They were +going to spend the day with an aunt. Aunts rarely included William in +their invitation.</p> + +<p>He came home wet and dirty and cheerful. He approached his father +warily.</p> + +<p>“Did you say I could have a party, father?” he said casually.</p> + +<p>“<em>No</em>, I did <em>not</em>,” said Mr. Brown firmly.</p> + +<p>William let the matter rest for the present.</p> + +<p>He spent most of the English Grammar class in school next morning +considering it. There was a great deal to be said for a party in the +absence of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> one’s parents and grown-up brother and sister. He’d like to +ask George and Ginger and Henry and Douglas and—and—and—heaps of +them. He’d like to ask them all. “They” were the whole class—thirty in +number.</p> + +<p>“What have I just been saying, William?”</p> + +<p>William sighed. That was the foolish sort of question that +schoolmistresses were always asking. They ought to know themselves what +they’d just been saying better than anyone. <em>He</em> never knew. Why were +they always asking him? He looked blank. Then:</p> + +<p>“Was it anythin’ about participles?” He remembered something vaguely +about participles, but it mightn’t have been to-day.</p> + +<p>Miss Jones groaned.</p> + +<p>“That was ever so long ago, William,” she said. “You’ve not been +attending.”</p> + +<p>William cleared his throat with a certain dignity and made no answer.</p> + +<p>“Tell him, Henry.”</p> + +<p>Henry ceased his enthralling occupation of trying to push a fly into his +ink-well with his nib and answered mechanically:</p> + +<p>“Two negatives make an affirmative.”</p> + +<p>“Yes. Say that, William.”</p> + +<p>William repeated it without betraying any great interest in the fact.</p> + +<p>“Yes. What’s a negative, William?”</p> + +<p>William sighed.</p> + +<p>“Somethin’ about photographs?” he said obligingly.</p> + +<p>“<em>No</em>,” snapped Miss Jones. She found William and the heat (William +particularly) rather trying.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span></p> + +<p>“It’s ‘no’ and ‘not.’ And an affirmative is ‘yes.’”</p> + +<p>“Oh,” said William politely.</p> + +<p>“So two ‘nos’ and ‘nots’ mean ‘yes,’ if they’re in the same sentence. If +you said ‘There’s not no money in the box’ you mean there is.”</p> + +<p>William considered.</p> + +<p>He said “Oh” again.</p> + +<p>Then he seemed suddenly to become intelligent.</p> + +<p>“Then,” he said, “if you say ‘no’ and ‘not’ in the same sentence does it +mean ‘yes’?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly.”</p> + +<p>William smiled.</p> + +<p>William’s smile was a rare thing.</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” he said.</p> + +<p>Miss Jones was quite touched. “It’s all right, William,” she said, “I’m +glad you’re beginning to take an interest in your work.”</p> + +<p>William was murmuring to himself.</p> + +<p>“‘No, of course <em>not</em>’ and ‘No, I did not’ and a ‘no’ an’ a ‘not’ mean a +‘yes,’ so he meant ‘yes, of course’ and ‘yes, I did.’”</p> + +<p>He waited till the Friday before he gave his invitations with a casual +air.</p> + +<p>“My folks is goin’ away to-morrow an’ they said I could have a few +fren’s in to tea. Can you come? Tell your mother they said jus’ to come +an’ not bother to write.”</p> + +<p>He was a born strategist. Not one of his friends’ parents guessed the +true state of affairs. When William’s conscience (that curious organ) +rose to reproach him, he said to it firmly:</p> + +<p>“He <em>said</em> I could. He said ‘<em>Yes</em>, of course.’ He said ‘<em>Yes</em>, I +did.’”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span></p> + +<p>He asked them <em>all</em>. He thought that while you are having a party you +might as well have a big one. He hinted darkly at unrestrained joy and +mirth. They all accepted the invitation.</p> + +<p>William’s mother took an anxious farewell of him on Saturday morning.</p> + +<p>“You don’t mind being left, darling, do you?”</p> + +<p>“No, mother,” said William with perfect truth.</p> + +<p>“You won’t do anything we’ve told you not to, will you?”</p> + +<p>“No, mother. Only things you’ve said ‘yes’ to.”</p> + +<p>Cook and Jane had long looked forward to this day. There would be very +little to do in the house and as far as William was concerned they hoped +for the best.</p> + +<p>William was out all the morning. At lunch he was ominously quiet and +polite. Jane decided to go with her young man to the pictures.</p> + +<p>Cook said she didn’t mind being left, as “that Master William” had gone +out and there seemed to be no prospect of his return before tea-time.</p> + +<p>So Jane went to the pictures.</p> + +<p>About three o’clock the postman came and cook went to the door for the +letters. Then she stood gazing down the road as though transfixed.</p> + +<p>William had collected his guests en route. He was bringing them joyfully +home with him. Clean and starched and prim had they issued from their +homes, but they had grown hilarious under William’s benign influence. +They had acquired sticks and stones and old tins from the ditches as +they came along. They perceived from William’s general attitude towards +it that it was no ordinary party.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> They were a happy crowd. William +headed them with a trumpet.</p> + +<p>They trooped in at the garden gate. Cook, pale and speechless, watched +them. Then her speechlessness departed.</p> + +<p>“You’re not coming in here!” she said fiercely. “What’ve you brought all +those boys cluttering up the garden?”</p> + +<p>“They’ve come to tea,” said William calmly.</p> + +<p>She grew paler still.</p> + +<p>“That they’ve <em>not!</em>” she said fiercely. “What your father’d say——”</p> + +<p>“He <em>said</em> they could come,” said William. “I asked him an’ he said +‘Yes, of course,’ an’ I asked if he’d said so an’ he said ‘Yes, I did.’ +That’s what he said ’cause of English Grammar an’ wot Miss Jones said.”</p> + +<p>Cook’s answer was to slam the door in his face and lock it. The thirty +guests were slightly disconcerted, but not for long.</p> + +<p>“Come on!” shouted William excitedly. “She’s the enemy. Let’s storm her +ole castle.”</p> + +<p>The guests’ spirits rose. This promised to be infinitely superior to the +usual party.</p> + +<p>They swarmed round to the back of the house. The enemy had bolted the +back door and was fastening all the windows. Purple with fury she shook +her fist at William through the drawing-room window. William brandished +his piece of stick and blew his trumpet in defiant reply. The army had +armed itself with every kind of weapon, including the raspberry-canes +whose careful placing was the result of a whole day’s work of William’s +father. William decided to climb up to the balcony outside Ethel’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> +open bedroom window with the help of his +noble band. The air was full of their defiant war-whoops. They filled +the front garden, trampling on all the rose beds, cheering William as he +swarmed up to the balcony, his trumpet between his lips. The enemy +appeared at the window and shut it with a bang, and William, startled, +dropped down among his followers. They raised a hoarse roar of anger.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 442px;"> +<img src="images/p126.png" width="442" height="360" +alt="Cook watching them trooping through the garden gate." +title="Page 126" /> +<span class="caption">THEY TROOPED IN AT THE GARDEN GATE. COOK, PALE AND +SPEECHLESS, WATCHED THEM.</span> +</div> + +<p>“Mean ole cat!” shouted the enraged general.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span></p> + +<p>The blood of the army was up. No army of thirty strong worthy of its +name could ever consent to be worsted by an enemy of one. All the doors +and windows were bolted. There was only one thing to be done. And this +the general did, encouraged by loyal cheers from his army. “Go it, ole +William! Yah! He—oo—o!”</p> + +<p>The stone with which William broke the drawing-room window fell upon a +small occasional table, scattering Mrs. Brown’s cherished silver far and +wide.</p> + +<p>William, with the born general’s contempt for the minor devastations of +war, enlarged the hole and helped his gallant band through with only a +limited number of cuts and scratches. They were drunk with the thrill of +battle. They left the garden with its wreck of rose trees and its +trampled lawn and crowded through the broken window with imminent danger +to life and limb. The enemy was shutting the small window of the +coal-cellar, and there William imprisoned her, turning the key with a +loud yell of triumph.</p> + +<p>The party then proceeded.</p> + +<p>It fulfilled the expectations of the guests that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> it was to be a party +unlike any other party. At other parties they played “Hide and +Seek”—with smiling but firm mothers and aunts and sisters stationed at +intervals with damping effects upon one’s spirits, with “not in the +bedrooms, dear,” and “mind the umbrella stand,” and “certainly not in +the drawing-room,” and “don’t shout so loud, darling.” But this was Hide +and Seek from the realms of perfection. Up the stairs and down the +stairs, in all the bedrooms, sliding down the balusters, in and out of +the drawing-room, leaving trails of muddy boots and shattered ornaments +as they went!</p> + +<p>Ginger found a splendid hiding-place in Robert’s bed, where his boots +left a perfect impression of their muddy soles in several places. Henry +found another in Ethel’s wardrobe, crouching upon her satin evening +shoes among her evening dresses. George banged the drawing-room door +with such violence that the handle came off in his hand. Douglas became +entangled in the dining-room curtain, which yielded to his struggles and +descended upon him and an old china bowl upon the sideboard. It was such +a party as none of them had dreamed of; it was bliss undiluted. The +house was full of shouting and yelling, of running to and fro of small +boys mingled with subterranean murmurs of cook’s rage. Cook was uttering +horrible imprecations and hurling lumps of coal at the door. She was +Irish and longed to return to the fray.</p> + +<p>It was William who discovered first that it was tea-time and there was +no tea. At first he felt slightly aggrieved. Then he thought of the +larder and his spirits rose.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Come on!” he called. “All jus’ get what you can.”</p> + +<p>They trooped in, panting, shouting, laughing, and all just got what they +could.</p> + +<p>Ginger seized the remnants of a cold ham and picked the bone, George +with great gusto drank a whole jar of cream, William and Douglas between +them ate a gooseberry pie, Henry ate a whole currant cake. Each foraged +for himself. They ate two bowls of cold vegetables, a joint of cold +beef, two pots of honey, three dozen oranges, three loaves and two pots +of dripping. They experimented upon lard, onions, and raw sausages. They +left the larder a place of gaping emptiness. Meanwhile cook’s voice, +growing hoarser and hoarser as the result of the inhalation of coal dust +and exhalation of imprecations, still arose from the depths and still +the door of the coal-cellar shook and rattled.</p> + +<p>Then one of the guests who had been in the drawing-room window came +back.</p> + +<p>“She’s coming home!” he shouted excitedly.</p> + +<p>They flocked to the window.</p> + +<p>Jane was bidding a fond farewell to her young man at the side gate.</p> + +<p>“Don’t let her come in!” yelled William. “Come on!”</p> + +<p>With a smile of blissful reminiscence upon her face, Jane turned in at +the gate. She was totally unprepared for being met by a shower of +missiles from upper windows.</p> + +<p>A lump of lard hit her on the ear and knocked her hat on to one side. +She retreated hastily to the side gate.</p> + +<p>“Go on! Send her into the road.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 408px;"> +<img src="images/p130.png" width="408" height="500" +alt="The boys pelting Jane with various kinds of food." +title="Page 130" /> +<span class="caption">A SHOWER OF ONIONS, THE HAM BONE, AND A FEW POTATOES +PURSUED HER INTO THE ROAD.</span> +</div> + +<p>A shower of onions, the ham bone, and a few potatoes pursued her into<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> +the road. Shouts of triumph rent the air. Then the shouts of triumph +died away abruptly. William’s smile also faded away, and his hand, in +the act of flinging an onion, dropped. A cab was turning in at the front +gate. In the sudden silence that fell upon the party, cook’s hoarse +cries for vengeance rose with redoubled force from the coal cellar. +William grew pale.</p> + +<p>The cab contained his family.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Two hours later a small feminine friend of William’s who had called with +a note for his mother, looked up to William’s window and caught sight of +William’s untidy head.</p> + +<p>“Come and play with me, William,” she called eagerly.</p> + +<p>“I can’t. I’m goin’ to bed,” said William sternly.</p> + +<p>“Why? Are you ill, William?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“Well, why are you going to bed, William?”</p> + +<p>William leant out of the window.</p> + +<p>“I’m goin’ to bed,” he said, “’cause my father don’t understand ’bout +English Grammar, that’s why!”</p> + +<hr /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER VII<br /> + +WILLIAM JOINS THE BAND OF HOPE</h2> + +<p>“William! you’ve been playing that dreadful game again!” said Mrs. Brown +despairingly.</p> + +<p>William, his suit covered with dust, his tie under one ear, his face +begrimed and his knees cut, looked at her in righteous indignation.</p> + +<p>“I haven’t. I haven’t done anything what you said I’d not to. It was +‘Lions an’ Tamers’ what you said I’d not to play. Well, I’ve not played +‘Lions an’ Tamers,’ not since you said I’d not to. I wouldn’t <em>do</em> +it—not if thousands of people asked me to, not when you said I’d not +to. I——”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brown interrupted him.</p> + +<p>“Well, what <em>have</em> you been playing at?” she said wearily.</p> + +<p>“It was ‘Tigers an’ Tamers.’” said William. “It’s a different game +altogether. In ‘Lions an’ Tamers’ half of you is lions an’ the other +half tamers, an’ the tamers try to tame the lions an’ the lions try not +to be tamed. That’s ‘Lions an’ Tamers’. It’s all there is to it. It’s +quite a little game.”</p> + +<p>“What do you do in ‘Tigers and Tamers’?” said Mrs. Brown suspiciously.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Well——”</p> + +<p>William considered deeply.</p> + +<p>“Well,” he repeated lamely, “in ‘<em>Tigers</em> an’ Tamers’ half of you is +<em>tigers</em>—you see—and the other half——”</p> + +<p>“It’s exactly the same thing, William,” said Mrs. Brown with sudden +spirit.</p> + +<p>“I don’t see how you can call it the same thing,” said William doggedly. +“You can’t call a <em>lion</em> a <em>tiger</em>, can you? It jus’ isn’t one. They’re +in quite different cages in the Zoo. ‘<em>Tigers</em> an’ Tamers’ can’t be +’zactly the same as ‘<em>Lions</em> an’ Tamers.’”</p> + +<p>“Well, then,” said Mrs. Brown firmly, “you’re never to play ‘Tigers and +Tamers’ either. And now go and wash your face.”</p> + +<p>William’s righteous indignation increased.</p> + +<p>“My <em>face</em>?” he repeated as if he could hardly believe his ears. “My +<em>face</em>? I’ve washed it twice to-day. I washed it when I got up an’ I +washed it for dinner. You told me to.”</p> + +<p>“Well, just go and look at it.”</p> + +<p>William walked over to the looking-glass and surveyed his reflection +with interest. Then he passed his hands lightly over the discoloured +surface of his face, stroked his hair back and straightened his tie. +This done, he turned hopefully to his mother.</p> + +<p>“It’s no good,” she said. “You must wash your face and brush your hair +and you’d better change your suit—and stockings. They’re simply covered +with dust!”</p> + +<p>William turned slowly to go from the room.</p> + +<p>“I shouldn’t think,” he said bitterly, as he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> went, “I shouldn’t think +there’s many houses where so much washin’ and brushin’ goes on as in +this, an’ I’m glad for their sakes.”</p> + +<p>She heard him coming downstairs ten minutes later.</p> + +<p>“William!” she called.</p> + +<p>He entered. He was transformed. His face and hair shone, he had changed +his suit. His air of righteous indignation had not diminished.</p> + +<p>“That’s better,” said his mother approvingly. “Now, William, do just sit +down here till tea-time. There’s only about ten minutes, and it’s no +good your going out. You’ll only get yourself into a mess again if you +don’t sit still.”</p> + +<p>William glanced round the drawing-room with the air of one goaded beyond +bearing.</p> + +<p>“Here?”</p> + +<p>“Well, dear—just till tea-time.”</p> + +<p>“What can I do in here? There’s nothing to <em>do</em>, is there? I can’t sit +still and not <em>do</em> anything, can I?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, read a book. There are ever so many books over there you haven’t +read, and I’m sure you’d like some of them. Try one of Scott’s,” she +ended rather doubtfully.</p> + +<p>William walked across the room with an expression of intense suffering, +took out a book at random, and sat down in an attitude of aloof dignity, +holding the book upside down.</p> + +<p>It was thus that Mrs. de Vere Carter found him when she was announced a +moment later.</p> + +<p>Mrs. de Vere Carter was a recent addition to the neighbourhood. Before +her marriage she had been one of <em>the</em> Randalls of Hertfordshire. +Everyone<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> +on whom Mrs. de Vere Carter smiled felt intensely +flattered. She was tall, and handsome, and gushing, and exquisitely +dressed. Her arrival had caused quite a sensation. Everyone agreed that +she was “charming.”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 373px;"> +<img src="images/p135.png" width="373" height="470" +alt="Mrs. de Vere Carter, wearing a very large hat, hugging William." +title="Page 135" /> +<span class="caption">MRS. DE VERE CARTER PRESSED WILLIAM’S HEAD TO +HER BOSOM.</span> +</div> + +<p>On entering Mrs. Brown’s drawing-room, she saw a little boy, dressed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> +very neatly, with a clean face and well-brushed hair, sitting quietly on +a low chair in a corner reading a book.</p> + +<p>“The little dear!” she murmured as she shook hands with Mrs. Brown.</p> + +<p>William’s face darkened.</p> + +<p>Mrs. de Vere Carter floated over to him.</p> + +<p>“Well, my little man, and how are you?”</p> + +<p>Her little man did not answer, partly because Mrs. de Vere Carter had +put a hand on his head and pressed his face against her perfumed, +befrilled bosom. His nose narrowly escaped being impaled on the thorn of +a large rose that nestled there.</p> + +<p>“I adore children,” she cooed to his mother over his head.</p> + +<p>William freed his head with a somewhat brusque movement and she took up +his book.</p> + +<p>“Scott!” she murmured. “Dear little laddie!”</p> + +<p>Seeing the expression on William’s face his mother hastily drew her +guest aside.</p> + +<p>“<em>Do</em> come and sit over here,” she said nervously. “What perfect weather +we’re having.”</p> + +<p>William walked out of the room.</p> + +<p>“You know, I’m <em>frightfully</em> interested in social work,” went on her +charming guest, “especially among children. I <em>adore</em> children! Sweet +little dear of yours! And I <em>always</em> get on with them.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span> Of course, I get +on with most people. My personality, you know! You’ve heard perhaps that +I’ve taken over the Band of Hope here, and I’m turning it into <em>such</em> a +success. The pets! Yes, three lumps, please. Well, now, it’s here I want +you to help me. You will, dear, won’t you? You and your little mannikin. +I want to get a different class of children to join the Band of Hope. +Such a sweet name, isn’t it? It would do the village children such a lot +of good to meet with children of <em>our</em> class.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brown was flattered. After all, Mrs. de Vere Carter was one of +<em>the</em> Randalls.</p> + +<p>“For instance,” went on the flute-like tones, “when I came in and saw +your little treasure sitting there so sweetly,” she pointed dramatically +to the chair that had lately been graced by William’s presence, “I +thought to myself, ‘Oh, I <em>must</em> get him to come.’ It’s the refining +influence of children in <em>our</em> class that the village children need. +What delicious cakes. You will lend him to me, won’t you? We meet once a +week, on Wednesday afternoons. May he come? I’ll take great care of +him.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brown hesitated.</p> + +<p>“Er—yes,” she said doubtfully. “But I don’t know that William is really +suited to that sort of thing. However——”</p> + +<p>“Oh, you can’t put me off!” said Mrs. de Vere Carter shaking a playful +bejewelled finger. “Don’t I <em>know</em> him already? I count him one of my +dearest little friends. It never takes me long to know children. I’m a +<em>born</em> child-lover.”</p> + +<p>William happened to be passing through the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> hall as Mrs. de Vere Carter +came out of the drawing-room followed by Mrs. Brown.</p> + +<p>“<em>There</em> you are!” she said. “I <em>thought</em> you’d be waiting to say +good-bye to me.”</p> + +<p>She stretched out her arm with an encircling movement, but William +stepped back and stood looking at her with a sinister frown.</p> + +<p>“I <em>have</em> so enjoyed seeing you. I hope you’ll come again,” untruthfully +stammered Mrs. Brown, moving so as to block out the sight of William’s +face, but Mrs de Vere Carter was not to be checked. There are people to +whom the expression on a child’s face conveys absolutely nothing. Once +more she floated towards William.</p> + +<p>“Good-bye, Willy, dear. You’re not too old to kiss me, are you?”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brown gasped.</p> + +<p>At the look of concentrated fury on William’s face, older and stronger +people than Mrs. de Vere Carter would have quailed, but she only smiled +as, with another virulent glare at her, he turned on his heel and walked +away.</p> + +<p>“The sweet, shy thing!” she cooed. “I <em>love</em> them shy.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Brown was told of the proposal.</p> + +<p>“Well,” he said slowly, “I can’t quite visualise William at a Band of +Hope meeting; but of course, if you want him to, he must go.”</p> + +<p>“You see,” said Mrs. Brown with a worried frown, “she made such a point +of it, and she really is very charming, and after all she’s rather +influential. She was one of <em>the</em> Randalls, you know. It seems silly to +offend her.”</p> + +<p>“Did William like her?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span></p> + +<p>“She was sweet with him. At least—she meant to be sweet,” she corrected +herself hastily, “but you know how touchy William is, and you know the +name he always hates so. I can never understand why. After all, lots of +people are called Willy.”</p> + +<p>The morning of the day of the Band of Hope meeting arrived. William came +down to breakfast with an agonised expression on his healthy +countenance. He sat down on his seat and raised his hand to his brow +with a hollow groan.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brown started up in dismay.</p> + +<p>“Oh, William! What’s the matter?”</p> + +<p>“Gotter sick headache,” said William in a faint voice.</p> + +<p>“Oh, dear! I <em>am</em> sorry. You’d better go and lie down. I’m so sorry, +dear.”</p> + +<p>“I think I will go an’ lie down,” said William’s plaintive, suffering +voice. “I’ll jus’ have breakfast first.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I wouldn’t. Not with a sick headache.”</p> + +<p>William gazed hungrily at the eggs and bacon.</p> + +<p>“I think I could eat some, mother. Jus’ a bit.”</p> + +<p>“No, I wouldn’t, dear. It will only make it worse.”</p> + +<p>Very reluctantly William returned to his room.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brown visited him after breakfast.</p> + +<p>No, he was no better, but he thought he’d go for a little walk. Yes, he +still felt very sick. She suggested a strong dose of salt and water. He +might feel better if he’d been actually sick. No,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> he’d hate to give her +the trouble. Besides, it wasn’t <em>that</em> kind of sickness. He was most +emphatic on that point. It wasn’t <em>that</em> kind of sickness. He thought a +walk would do him good. He felt he’d like a walk.</p> + +<p>Well wrapped up and walking with little, unsteady steps, he set off down +the drive, followed by his mother’s anxious eyes.</p> + +<p>Then he crept back behind the rhododendron bushes next to the wall and +climbed in at the larder window.</p> + +<p>The cook came agitatedly to Mrs. Brown half an hour later, followed by +William, pale and outraged.</p> + +<p>“’E’s eat nearly everything, ’m. You never saw such a thing. ’E’s eat +the cold ’am and the kidney pie, and ’e’s eat them three cold sausages +an’ ’e’s eat all that new jar of lemon cheese.”</p> + +<p>“<em>William!</em>” gasped Mrs. Brown, “you <em>can’t</em> have a sick headache, if +you’ve eaten all that.”</p> + +<p>That was the end of the sick headache.</p> + +<p>He spent the rest of the morning with Henry and Douglas and Ginger. +William and Henry and Douglas and Ginger constituted a secret society +called the Outlaws. It had few aims beyond that of secrecy. William was +its acknowledged leader, and he was proud of the honour. If they +knew—if they guessed. He grew hot and cold at the thought. Suppose they +saw him going—or someone told them—he would never hold up his head +again. He made tentative efforts to find out their plans for the +afternoon. If only he knew where they’d be—he might avoid them somehow. +But he got no satisfaction.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 383px;"> +<img src="images/p141.png" width="383" height="470" +alt="The Cook gesturing at a rather ashamed-looking William." +title="Page 141" /> +<span class="caption">“’E’S EAT NEARLY EVERYTHING, MUM. ’E’S EAT THE COLD ’AM +AND THE KIDNEY PIE, AND ’E’S EAT THE JAR OF LEMON CHEESE!” COOK WAS PALE +AND OUTRAGED</span> +</div> + +<p>They spent the morning “rabbiting” in a wood with Henry’s fox terrier,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> +Chips, and William’s mongrel, Jumble. None of them saw or heard a +rabbit, but Jumble chased a butterfly and a bee, and scratched up a +molehill, and was stung by a wasp, and Chips caught a field-mouse, so +the time was not wasted.</p> + +<p>William’s interest, however, was half-hearted. He was turning over plan +after plan in his mind, all of which he finally rejected as +impracticable.</p> + +<p>He entered the dining-room for lunch rather earlier than usual. Only +Robert and Ethel, his elder brother and sister, were there. He came in +limping, his mouth set into a straight line of agony, his brows +frowning.</p> + +<p>“Hello! What’s up?” said Robert, who had not been in at breakfast and +had forgotten about the Band of Hope.</p> + +<p>“I’ve sprained my ankle,” said William weakly.</p> + +<p>“Here, sit down, old chap, and let me feel it,” said Robert +sympathetically.</p> + +<p>William sat down meekly upon a chair.</p> + +<p>“Which is it?”</p> + +<p>“Er—this.”</p> + +<p>“It’s a pity you limped with the other,” said Ethel drily.</p> + +<p>That was the end of the sprained ankle.</p> + +<p>The Band of Hope meeting was to begin at three. His family received with +complete indifference his complaint of sudden agonising toothache at +half-past two, of acute rheumatism at twenty-five to three, and of a +touch of liver (William considered this a heaven-set inspiration. It was +responsible for many of his father’s absences<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> from work) at twenty to +three. At a quarter to three he was ready in the hall.</p> + +<p>“I’m sure you’ll enjoy it, William,” said Mrs. Brown soothingly. “I +expect you’ll all play games and have quite a good time.”</p> + +<p>William treated her with silent contempt.</p> + +<p>“Hey, Jumble!” he called.</p> + +<p>After all, life could never be absolutely black, as long as it held +Jumble.</p> + +<p>Jumble darted ecstatically from the kitchen regions, his mouth covered +with gravy, dropping a half-picked bone on the hall carpet as he came.</p> + +<p>“William, you can’t take a dog to a Band of Hope meeting.”</p> + +<p>“Why not?” said William, indignantly. “I don’t see why not. Dogs don’t +drink beer, do they? They’ve as much right at a Band of Hope meeting as +I have, haven’t they? There seems jus’ nothin’ anyone <em>can</em> do.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I’m sure it wouldn’t be allowed. No one takes dogs to meetings.”</p> + +<p>She held Jumble firmly by the collar, and William set off reluctantly +down the drive.</p> + +<p>“I hope you’ll enjoy it,” she called cheerfully.</p> + +<p>He turned back and looked at her.</p> + +<p>“It’s a wonder I’m not <em>dead</em>,” he said bitterly, “the things I have to +do!”</p> + +<p>He walked slowly—a dejected, dismal figure. At the gate he stopped and +glanced cautiously up and down the road. There were three more figures +coming down the road, with short intervals between them. They were +Henry, Douglas and Ginger.</p> + +<p>William’s first instinct was to dart back and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> wait till they had +passed. Then something about their figures struck him. They also had a +dejected, dismal, hang-dog look. He waited for the first one, Henry. +Henry gave him a shamefaced glance and was going to pass him by.</p> + +<p>“You goin’ too?” said William.</p> + +<p>Henry gasped in surprise.</p> + +<p>“Did she come to <em>your</em> mother?” was his reply.</p> + +<p>He was surprised to see Ginger and Douglas behind him and Ginger was +surprised to see Douglas behind him. They walked together sheepishly in +a depressed silence to the Village Hall. Once Ginger raised a hand to +his throat.</p> + +<p>“Gotter beas’ly throat,” he complained, “I didn’t ought to be out.”</p> + +<p>“I’m ill, too,” said Henry; “I <em>told</em> ’em so.”</p> + +<p>“An’ me,” said Douglas.</p> + +<p>“An’ me,” said William with a hoarse, mirthless laugh. “Cruel sorter +thing, sendin’ us all out ill like this.”</p> + +<p>At the door of the Village Hall they halted, and William looked +longingly towards the field.</p> + +<p>“It’s no good,” said Ginger sadly, “they’d find out.”</p> + +<p>Bitter and despondent, they entered.</p> + +<p>Within sat a handful of gloomy children who, inspired solely by hopes of +the annual treat, were regular attendants at the meeting.</p> + +<p>Mrs. de Vere Carter came sailing down to them, her frills and scarfs +floating around her, bringing with her a strong smell of perfume.</p> + +<p>“Dear children,” she said, “welcome to our little gathering. These,” she +addressed the regular<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> members, who turned gloomy eyes upon the Outlaws, +“these are our dear new friends. We must make them <em>so</em> happy. <em>Dear</em> +children!”</p> + +<p>She led them to seats in the front row, and taking her stand in front of +them, addressed the meeting.</p> + +<p>“Now, girlies dear and laddies dear, what do I expect you to be at these +meetings?”</p> + +<p>And in answer came a bored monotonous chant:</p> + +<p>“Respectful and reposeful.”</p> + +<p>“I have a name, children dear.”</p> + +<p>“Respectful and reposeful, Mrs. de Vere Carter.”</p> + +<p>“That’s it, children dear. Respectful and reposeful. Now, our little new +friends, what do I expect you to be?”</p> + +<p>No answer.</p> + +<p>The Outlaws sat horrified, outraged, shamed.</p> + +<p>“You’re <em>such</em> shy darlings, aren’t you?” she said, stretching out an +arm.</p> + +<p>William retreated hastily, and Ginger’s face was pressed hard against a +diamond brooch.</p> + +<p>“You won’t be shy with us long, I’m sure. We’re <em>so</em> happy here. Happy +and good. Now, children dear, what is it we must be?”</p> + +<p>Again the bored monotonous chant:</p> + +<p>“Happy and good, Mrs. de Vere Carter.”</p> + +<p>“That’s it. Now, darlings, in the front row, you tell me. Willy, pet, +you begin. What is it we must be?”</p> + +<p>At that moment William was nearer committing murder than at any other +time in his life. He caught a gleam in Henry’s eye. Henry would +remember. William choked but made no answer.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span></p> + +<p>“You tell me then, Harry boy.”</p> + +<p>Henry went purple and William’s spirits rose.</p> + +<p>“Ah, you won’t be so shy next week, will they, children dear?”</p> + +<p>“No, Mrs. de Vere Carter,” came the prompt, listless response.</p> + +<p>“Now, we’ll begin with one of our dear little songs. Give out the +books.” She seated herself at the piano. “Number five, ‘Sparkling +Water.’ Collect your thoughts, children dear. Are you ready?”</p> + +<p>She struck the opening chords.</p> + +<p>The Outlaws, though provided with books, did not join in. They had no +objection to water as a beverage. They merely objected to singing about +it.</p> + +<p>Mrs. de Vere Carter rose from the piano.</p> + +<p>“Now, we’ll play one of our games, children dear. You can begin by +yourselves, can’t you, darlings? I’ll just go across the field and see +why little Teddy Wheeler hasn’t come. He must be <em>regular</em>, mustn’t he, +laddies dear? Now, what game shall we play. We had ‘Puss in the Corner’ +last week, hadn’t we? We’ll have ‘Here we go round the mulberry-bush’ +this week, shall we? No, not ‘Blind Man’s Buff,’ darling. It’s a horrid, +rough game. Now, while I’m gone, see if you can make these four shy +darlings more at home, will you? And play quietly. Now before I go tell +me four things that you must be?”</p> + +<p>“Respectful and reposeful and happy and good, Mrs. de Vere Carter,” came +the chant.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 430px;"> +<img src="images/p147.png" width="430" height="450" +alt="The boys clambering over tables and chairs as Mrs. de Vere Carter peers around the door." +title="Page 147" /> +<span class="caption">“GO IT, MEN! CATCH ’EM, BEAT +’EM, KNIFE ’EM, KILL ’EM!” THE TAMER ROARED.</span> +</div> + +<p>She was away about a quarter of an hour. When she returned the game was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> +in full swing, but it was not “Here we go round the +mulberry-bush.” There was a screaming, struggling crowd of children in +the Village Hall. Benches were overturned and several chairs broken. +With yells and whoops, and blows and struggles, the Tamers tried to +tame; with growls and snarls and bites and struggles the animals tried +not to be tamed. Gone was all listlessness and all boredom. And William, +his tie hanging in shreds, his coat torn, his head cut, and his voice +hoarse, led the fray as a Tamer.</p> + +<p>“Come on, you!”</p> + +<p>“I’ll get you!”</p> + +<p>“Gr-r-r-r-r!”</p> + +<p>“Go it, men! Catch ’em, beat ’em, knife ’em, kill ’em.”</p> + +<p>The spirited roarings and bellowing of the animals was almost +blood-curdling.</p> + +<p>Above it all Mrs. de Vere Carter coaxed and expostulated and wrung her +hands.</p> + +<p>“Respectful and reposeful,” “happy and good,” “laddies dear,” and +“Willy” floated unheeded over the tide of battle.</p> + +<p>Then somebody (reports afterwards differed as to who it was) rushed out +of the door into the field and there the battle was fought to a finish. +From there the Band of Hope (undismissed) reluctantly separated to its +various homes, battered and bruised, but blissfully happy.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brown was anxiously awaiting William’s return.</p> + +<p>When she saw him she gasped and sat down weakly on a hall chair.</p> + +<p>“William!”</p> + +<p>“I’ve not,” said William quickly, looking at her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> out of a fast-closing +eye, “I’ve not been playing at either of them—not those what you said +I’d not to.”</p> + +<p>“Then—what——?”</p> + +<p>“It was—it was—‘Tamers an’ Crocerdiles,’ an’ we played it at the Band +of Hope!”</p> + +<hr /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII<br /> + +THE OUTLAWS</h2> + +<p>It was a half-holiday and William was in his bedroom making careful +preparations for the afternoon. On the mantel-piece stood in readiness +half a cake (the result of a successful raid on the larder) and a bottle +of licorice water. This beverage was made by shaking up a piece of +licorice in water. It was much patronised by the band of Outlaws to +which William belonged and which met secretly every half-holiday in a +disused barn about a quarter of a mile from William’s house.</p> + +<p>So far the Outlaws had limited their activities to wrestling matches, +adventure seeking, and culinary operations. The week before, they had +cooked two sausages which William had taken from the larder on cook’s +night out and had conveyed to the barn beneath his shirt and next his +skin. Perhaps “cooked” is too euphemistic a term. To be quite accurate, +they had held the sausages over a smoking fire till completely +blackened, and then consumed the charred remains with the utmost relish.</p> + +<p>William put the bottle of licorice water in one pocket and the half cake +in another and was preparing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> to leave the house in his usual stealthy +fashion—through the bathroom window, down the scullery roof, and down +the water-pipe hand over hand to the back garden. Even when unencumbered +by the presence of a purloined half cake, William infinitely preferred +this mode of exit to the simpler one of walking out of the front-door. +As he came out on to the landing, however, he heard the sound of the +opening and shutting of the hall door and of exuberant greetings in the +hall.</p> + +<p>“Oh! I’m <em>so</em> glad you’ve come, dear. And is this the baby! The <em>duck!</em> +Well, den, how’s ’oo, den? Go—o—oo.”</p> + +<p>This was William’s mother.</p> + +<p>“Oh, crumbs!” said William and retreated hastily. He sat down on his bed +to wait till the coast was clear. Soon came the sound of footsteps +ascending the stairs.</p> + +<p>“Oh, William,” said his mother, as she entered his room, “Mrs. Butler’s +come with her baby to spend the afternoon, and we’d arranged to go out +till tea-time with the baby, but she’s got such a headache, I’m +insisting on her lying down for the afternoon in the drawing-room. But +she’s so worried about the baby not getting out this nice afternoon.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” said William, without interest.</p> + +<p>“Well, cook’s out and Emma has to get the tea and answer the door, and +Ethel’s away, and I told Mrs. Butler I was <em>sure</em> you wouldn’t mind +taking the baby out for a bit in the perambulator!”</p> + +<p>William stared at her, speechless. The Medusa’s classic expression of +horror was as nothing to William’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> at that moment. Then he moistened +his lips and spoke in a hoarse voice.</p> + +<p>“<em>Me?</em>” he said. “<em>Me?</em> <em>Me</em> take a baby out in a pram?”</p> + +<p>“Well, dear,” said his mother deprecatingly, “I know it’s your half +holiday, but you’d be out of doors getting the fresh air, which is the +great thing. It’s a nice baby and a nice pram and not heavy to push, and +Mrs. Butler would be <em>so</em> grateful to you.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I should think she’d be that,” said William bitterly. “She’d have +a right to be that if I took the baby out in a pram.”</p> + +<p>“Now, William, I’m sure you’d like to help, and I’m sure you wouldn’t +like your father to hear that you wouldn’t even do a little thing like +that for poor Mrs. Butler. And she’s got such a headache.”</p> + +<p>“<em>A little thing like that!</em>” repeated William out of the bitterness of +his soul.</p> + +<p>But the Fates were closing round him. He was aware that he would know no +peace till he had done the horrible thing demanded of him. Sorrowfully +and reluctantly he bowed to the inevitable.</p> + +<p>“All right,” he muttered, “I’ll be down in a minute.”</p> + +<p>He heard them fussing over the baby in the hall. Then he heard his elder +brother’s voice.</p> + +<p>“You surely don’t mean to say, mother,” Robert was saying with the +crushing superiority of eighteen, “that you’re going to trust that child +to—William.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said William’s mother, “someone has to take him out. It’s such a +lovely afternoon.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> I’m sure it’s very kind of William, on his +half-holiday, too. And she’s got <em>such</em> a headache.”</p> + +<p>“Well, of course,” said Robert in the voice of one who washes his hands +of all further responsibility, “you know William as well as I do.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, dear!” sighed William’s mother. “And everything so nicely settled, +Robert, and you must come and find fault with it all. If you don’t want +William to take him out, will you take him out yourself?”</p> + +<p>Robert retreated hastily to the dining-room and continued the +conversation from a distance.</p> + +<p>“I don’t want to take him out myself—thanks very much, all the same! +All I say is—you know William as well as I do. I’m not finding fault +with anything. I simply am stating a fact.”</p> + +<p>Then William came downstairs.</p> + +<p>“Here he is, dear, all ready for you, and you needn’t go far away—just +up and down the road, if you like, but stay out till tea-time. He’s a +dear little baby, isn’t he? And isn’t it a nice Willy-Billy den, to take +it out a nice ta-ta, while it’s mummy goes bye-byes, den?”</p> + +<p>William blushed for pure shame.</p> + +<p>He pushed the pram down to the end of the road and round the corner. In +comparison with William’s feelings, the feelings of some of the early +martyrs must have been pure bliss. A nice way for an Outlaw to spend the +afternoon! He dreaded to meet any of his brother-outlaws, yet, +irresistibly and as a magnet, their meeting-place attracted him. He +wheeled the pram off the road and down the country lane towards the +field which held their sacred barn. He stopped at the stile<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> that led +into the field and gazed wistfully across to the barn in the distance. +The infant sat and sucked its thumb and stared at him. Finally it began +to converse.</p> + +<p>“Blab—blab—blab—blab—blub—blub—blub!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, you shut up!” said William crushingly.</p> + +<p>Annoyed at the prolonged halt, it seized its pram cover, pulled it off +its hooks, and threw it into the road. While William was picking it up, +it threw the pillow on to his head. Then it chuckled. William began to +conceive an active dislike of it. Suddenly the Great Idea came to him. +His face cleared. He took a piece of string from his pocket and tied the +pram carefully to the railings. Then, lifting the baby cautiously and +gingerly out, he climbed the stile with it and set off across the fields +towards the barn. He held the baby to his chest with both arms clasped +tightly round its waist. Its feet dangled in the air. It occupied the +time by kicking William in the stomach, pulling his hair, and putting +its fingers in his eyes.</p> + +<p>“It beats me,” panted William to himself, “what people see in babies! +Scratchin’ an’ kickin’ and blindin’ folks and pullin’ their hair all +out!”</p> + +<p>When he entered the barn he was greeted by a sudden silence.</p> + +<p>“Look here!” began one outlaw in righteous indignation.</p> + +<p>“It’s a kidnap,” said William, triumphantly. “We’ll get a ransom on it.”</p> + +<p>They gazed at him in awed admiration. This was surely the cream of +outlawry. He set the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> infant on the ground, where it toddled for a few +steps and sat down suddenly and violently. It then stared fixedly at the +tallest boy present and smiled seraphically.</p> + +<p>“Dad—dad—dad—dad—dad!”</p> + +<p>Douglas, the tallest boy, grinned sheepishly. “It thinks I’m its +father,” he explained complacently to the company.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Henry, who was William’s rival for the leadership of the +Outlaws, “What do we do first? That’s the question.”</p> + +<p>“In books,” said the outlaw called Ginger, “they write a note to its +people and say they want a ransom.”</p> + +<p>“We won’t do that—not just yet,” said William hastily.</p> + +<p>“Well, it’s not much sense holdin’ somethin’ up to ransom and not +tellin’ the folks that they’ve got to pay nor nothin’, is it?” said +Ginger with the final air of a man whose logic is unassailable.</p> + +<p>“N——oo,” said William. “But——” with a gleam of hope—“who’s got a +paper and pencil? I’m simply statin’ a fact. Who’s got a paper and +pencil?”</p> + +<p>No one spoke.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes!” went on William in triumph. “Go on! Write a note. Write a +note without paper and pencil, and we’ll all watch. Huh!”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Ginger sulkily, “I don’t s’pose they had paper and pencils +in outlaw days. They weren’t invented. They wrote on—on—on leaves or +something,” he ended vaguely.</p> + +<p>“Well, go on. Write on leaves,” said William still more triumphant. +“We’re not stoppin’ you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span> are we? I’m simply statin’ a fact. Write on +leaves.”</p> + +<p>They were interrupted by a yell of pain from Douglas. Flattered by the +parental relations so promptly established by the baby, he had ventured +to make its further acquaintance. With vague memories of his mother’s +treatment of infants, he had inserted a finger in its mouth. The infant +happened to possess four front teeth, two upper and two lower, and they +closed like a vice upon Douglas’ finger. He was now examining the marks.</p> + +<p>“Look! Right deep down! See it? Wotcher think of that! Nearly to the +bone! Pretty savage baby you’ve brought along,” he said to William.</p> + +<p>“I jolly well know that,” said William feelingly. “It’s your own fault +for touching it. It’s all right if you leave it alone. Just don’t touch +it, that’s all. Anyway, it’s mine, and I never said you could go fooling +about with it, did I? It wouldn’t bite <em>me</em>, I bet!”</p> + +<p>“Well, what about the ransom?” persisted Henry.</p> + +<p>“Someone can go and tell its people and bring back the ransom,” +suggested Ginger.</p> + +<p>There was a short silence. Then Douglas took his injured finger from his +mouth and asked pertinently:</p> + +<p>“Who?”</p> + +<p>“William brought it,” suggested Henry.</p> + +<p>“Yes, so I bet I’ve done my share.”</p> + +<p>“Well, what’s anyone else goin’ to do, I’d like to know? Go round to +every house in this old place and ask if they’ve had a baby taken off<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span> +them and if they’d pay a ransom for it back? That’s sense, isn’t it? You +know where you got it from, don’t you, and you can go and get its +ransom.”</p> + +<p>“I can, but I’m not goin’ to,” said William finally. “I’m simply statin’ +a fact. I’m not goin’ to. And if anyone says I daren’t,” (glancing round +pugnaciously) “I’ll fight ’em for it.”</p> + +<p>No one said he daren’t. The fact was too patent to need stating. Henry +hastily changed the subject.</p> + +<p>“Anyway, what have we brought for the feast?”</p> + +<p>William produced his licorice water and half cake, Douglas two slices of +raw ham and a dog biscuit, Ginger some popcorn and some cold boiled +potatoes wrapped up in newspaper, Henry a cold apple dumpling and a +small bottle of paraffin-oil.</p> + +<p>“I knew the wood would be wet after the rain. It’s to make the fire +burn. That’s sense, isn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“Only one thing to cook,” said Ginger sadly, looking at the slices of +ham.</p> + +<p>“We can cook up the potatoes and the dumpling. They don’t look half +enough cooked. Let’s put them on the floor here, and go out for +adventures first. All different ways and back in a quarter of an hour.”</p> + +<p>The Outlaws generally spent part of the afternoon dispersed in search of +adventure. So far they had wooed the Goddess of Danger chiefly by +trespassing on the ground of irascible farmers in hopes of a chase which +were generally fulfilled.</p> + +<p>They deposited their store on the ground in a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> corner of the barn, and +with a glance at the “kidnap,” who was seated happily upon the floor +engaged in chewing its hat-strings, they went out, carefully closing the +door.</p> + +<p>After a quarter of an hour Ginger and William arrived at the door +simultaneously from opposite directions.</p> + +<p>“Any luck?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“Same here. Let’s start the old fire going.”</p> + +<p>They opened the door and went in. The infant was sitting on the floor +among the stores, or rather among what was left of the stores. There was +paraffin-oil on its hair, face, arms, frock and feet. It was drenched in +paraffin-oil. The empty bottle and its hat lay by its side. Mingled with +the paraffin-oil all over its person was cold boiled potato. It was +holding the apple-dumpling in its hand.</p> + +<p>“Ball!” it announced ecstatically from behind its mask of potato and +paraffin-oil.</p> + +<p>They stood in silence for a minute. Then, “Who’s going to make that fire +burn now?” said Ginger, glaring at the empty bottle.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said William slowly, “an’ who’s goin’ to take that baby home? I’m +simply statin’ a fact. Who’s goin’ to take that baby home?”</p> + +<p>There was no doubt that when William condescended to adopt a phrase from +any of his family’s vocabularies, he considerably overworked it.</p> + +<p>“Well, it did it itself. It’s no one else’s fault, is it?”</p> + +<p>“No, it’s not,” said William. “But that’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> the sort of thing folks never +see. Anyway, I’m goin’ to wash its face.”</p> + +<p>“What with?”</p> + +<p>William took out his grimy handkerchief and advanced upon his prey. His +bottle of licorice water was lying untouched in the corner. He took out +the cork.</p> + +<p>“Goin’ to wash it in that dirty stuff?”</p> + +<p>“It’s made of water—clean water—I made it myself, so I bet I ought to +know, oughtn’t I? That’s what folks wash in, isn’t it?—clean water?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” bitterly, “and what are we goin’ to drink, I’d like to know? +You’d think that baby had got enough of our stuff—our potatoes and our +apple-dumpling, an’ our oil—without you goin’ an’ givin’ it our +licorice water as well.”</p> + +<p>William was passing his handkerchief, moistened with licorice water, +over the surface of the baby’s face. The baby had caught a corner of it +firmly between its teeth and refused to release it.</p> + +<p>“If you’d got to take this baby home like this,” he said, “you wouldn’t +be thinking much about drinking licorice water. I’m simply statin’——”</p> + +<p>“Oh, shut up saying that!” said Ginger in sudden exasperation. “I’m sick +of it.”</p> + +<p>At that moment the door was flung open and in walked slowly a large cow +closely followed by Henry and Douglas.</p> + +<p>Henry’s face was one triumphant beam. He felt that his prestige, +eclipsed by William’s kidnapping coup, was restored.</p> + +<p>“I’ve brought a cow,” he announced, “fetched<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span> it all the way from Farmer +Litton’s field—five fields off, too, an’ it took some fetching, too.”</p> + +<p>“Well, what for?” said William after a moment’s silence.</p> + +<p>Henry gave a superior laugh.</p> + +<p>“What for! You’ve not read much about outlaws, I guess. They always +drove in cattle from the surroundin’ districks.”</p> + +<p>“Well, what for?” said William again, giving a tug at his handkerchief, +which the infant still refused to release.</p> + +<p>“Well—er—well—to kill an’ roast, I suppose,” said Henry lamely.</p> + +<p>“Well, go on,” said William. “Kill it an’ roast it. We’re not stoppin’ +you, are we? Kill it an’ roast it—an’ get hung for murder. I s’pose +it’s murder to kill cows same as it is to kill people—’cept for +butchers.”</p> + +<p>The cow advanced slowly and deprecatingly towards the “kidnap,” who +promptly dropped the handkerchief and beamed with joy.</p> + +<p>“Bow-wow!” it said excitedly.</p> + +<p>“Anyway, let’s get on with the feast,” said Douglas.</p> + +<p>“Feast!” echoed Ginger bitterly. “Feast! Not much feast left! That baby +William brought’s used all the paraffin-oil and potatoes, and it’s +squashed the apple-dumpling, and William’s washed its face in the +licorice water.”</p> + +<p>Henry gazed at it dispassionately and judicially.</p> + +<p>“Yes—it looks like as if someone had washed it in licorice water—and +as if it had used up all the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> oil and potatoes. It doesn’t look like as +if it would fetch much ransom. You seem to have pretty well mucked it +up.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, shut up about the baby,” said William picking up his damp and now +prune-coloured handkerchief. “I’m just about sick of it. Come on with +the fire.”</p> + +<p>They made a little pile of twigs in the field and began the process of +lighting it.</p> + +<p>“I hope that cow won’t hurt the ‘kidnap,’” said Douglas suddenly. “Go +and see, William; it’s your kidnap.”</p> + +<p>“Well, an’ it’s Henry’s cow, and I’m sorry for that cow if it tries +playin’ tricks on that baby.”</p> + +<p>But he rose from his knees reluctantly, and threw open the barn door. +The cow and the baby were still gazing admiringly at each other. From +the cow’s mouth at the end of a long, sodden ribbon, hung the chewed +remains of the baby’s hat. The baby was holding up the dog biscuit and +crowed delightfully as the cow bent down its head and cautiously and +gingerly smelt it. As William entered, the cow turned round and switched +its tail against the baby’s head. At the piercing howl that followed, +the whole band of outlaws entered the barn.</p> + +<p>“What are you doing to the poor little thing?” said Douglas to William.</p> + +<p>“It’s Henry’s cow,” said William despairingly. “It hit it. Oh, go on, +shut up! Do shut up.”</p> + +<p>The howls redoubled.</p> + +<p>“You brought it,” said Henry accusingly, raising his voice to be heard +above the baby’s fury and indignation. “Can’t you stop it? Not much<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> +sense taking babies about if you don’t know how to stop ’em crying!”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 384px;"> +<img src="images/p162.png" width="384" height="470" +alt="The baby holding out the dog biscuit for the cow to sniff." +title="Page 162" /> +<span class="caption">FROM THE COW’S MOUTH HUNG THE CHEWED REMAINS OF THE HAT. +THE COW AND THE BABY GAZED ADMIRINGLY AT EACH OTHER.</span> +</div> + +<p>The baby was now purple in the face.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Outlaws stood around and watched it helplessly.</p> + +<p>“P’raps it’s hungry,” suggested Douglas.</p> + +<p>He took up the half cake from the remains of the stores and held it out +tentatively to the baby. The baby stopped crying suddenly.</p> + +<p>“Dad—dad—dad—dad—dad,” it said tearfully.</p> + +<p>Douglas blushed and grinned.</p> + +<p>“Keeps on thinking I’m its father,” he said with conscious superiority. +“Here, like some cake?”</p> + +<p>The baby broke off a handful and conveyed it to its mouth.</p> + +<p>“It’s eating it,” cried Douglas in shrill excitement. After thoroughly +masticating it, however, the baby repented of its condescension and +ejected the mouthful in several instalments.</p> + +<p>William blushed for it.</p> + +<p>“Oh, come on, let’s go and look at the fire,” he said weakly.</p> + +<p>They left the barn and returned to the scene of the fire-lighting. The +cow, still swinging the remains of the baby’s hat from its mouth, was +standing with its front feet firmly planted on the remains of what had +been a promising fire.</p> + +<p>“Look!” cried William, in undisguised pleasure. “Look at Henry’s cow! +Pretty nice sort of cow you’ve brought, Henry. Not much sense taking +cows about if you can’t stop them puttin’ folks’ fires out.”</p> + +<p>After a heated argument, the Outlaws turned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> their attention to the cow. +The cow refused to be “shoo’d off.” It simply stood immovable and stared +them out. Ginger approached cautiously and gave it a little push. It +switched its tail into his eye and continued to munch the baby’s +hat-string. Upon William’s approaching it lowered its head, and William +retreated hastily. At last they set off to collect some fresh wood and +light a fresh fire. Soon they were blissfully consuming two blackened +slices of ham, the popcorn, and what was left of the cake.</p> + +<p>After the “feast,” Ginger and William, as Wild Indians, attacked the +barn, which was defended by Douglas and Henry. The “kidnap” crawled +round inside on all fours, picking up any treasures it might come across +<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">en route</i> and testing their effect on its palate.</p> + +<p>Occasionally it carried on a conversation with its defenders, bringing +with it a strong perfume of paraffin oil as it approached.</p> + +<p>“Blab—blab—blab—blab—blub—blub—Dad—dad—dad—dad—dad. +Go—o—o—o.”</p> + +<p>William had insisted on a place on the attacking side.</p> + +<p>“I couldn’t put any feelin’,” he explained, “into fightin’ for that +baby.”</p> + +<p>When they finally decided to set off homewards, William gazed hopelessly +at his charge. Its appearance defies description. For many years +afterwards William associated babies in his mind with paraffin-oil and +potato.</p> + +<p>“Just help me get the potato out of its hair,” he pleaded; “never mind +the oil and the rest of it.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 437px;"> +<img src="images/p165.png" width="437" height="350" +alt="William, holding the baby and talking to the boys in the ditch." +title="Page 165" /> +<span class="caption">“THAT’S MY PRAM!” SAID WILLIAM TO THE CARGO, AS THEY +EMERGED JOYFULLY FROM THE DITCH.</span> +</div> + +<p>“My hat! doesn’t it smell funny!—and doesn’t it look funny—all oil and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> +potato and bits of cake!” said Ginger.</p> + +<p>“Oh! shut up about it,” said William irritably.</p> + +<p>The cow followed them down to the stile and watched them sardonically as +they climbed it.</p> + +<p>“Bow-wow!” murmured the baby in affectionate farewell.</p> + +<p>William looked wildly round for the pram, but—the pram was gone—only +the piece of string dangled from the railings.</p> + +<p>“Crumbs!” said William, “Talk about bad luck! I’m simply statin’ a fact. +Talk about bad luck!”</p> + +<p>At that minute the pram appeared, charging down the hill at full speed +with a cargo of small boys. At the bottom of the hill it overturned into +a ditch accompanied by its cargo. To judge from its appearance, it had +passed the afternoon performing the operation.</p> + +<p>“That’s my pram!” said William to the cargo, as it emerged, joyfully, +from the ditch.</p> + +<p>“Garn! S’ours! We found it.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I left it there.”</p> + +<p>“Come on! We’ll fight for it,” said Ginger, rolling up his sleeves in a +businesslike manner. The other Outlaws followed his example. The pram’s +cargo eyed them appraisingly.</p> + +<p>“Oh, all right! Take your rotten old pram!” they said at last.</p> + +<p>Douglas placed the baby in its seat and William thoughtfully put up the +hood to shield his charge as far as possible from the curious gaze of +the passers-by. His charge was now chewing the pram cover and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> talking +excitedly to itself. With a “heart steeled for any fate” William turned +the corner into his own road. The baby’s mother was standing at his +gate.</p> + +<p>“There you are!” she called. “I was getting quite anxious. Thank you +<em>so</em> much, dear.”</p> + +<p>BUT THAT IS WHAT SHE SAID BEFORE SHE SAW THE BABY!</p> + +<hr /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER IX<br /> + +WILLIAM AND WHITE SATIN</h2> + +<p>“I’d simply love to have a page,” murmured Miss Grant wistfully. “A +wedding seems so—second-rate without a page.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brown, her aunt and hostess, looked across the tea-table at her +younger son, who was devouring iced cake with that disregard for +consequences which is the mark of youth.</p> + +<p>“There’s William,” she said doubtfully. Then, “You’ve had quite enough +cake, William.”</p> + +<p>Miss Grant studied William’s countenance, which at that moment expressed +intense virtue persecuted beyond all bearing.</p> + +<p>“<em>Enough!</em>” he repeated. “I’ve had hardly any yet. I was only jus’ +beginning to have some when you looked at me. It’s a plain cake. It +won’t do me any harm. I wu’nt eat it if it’d do me any harm. Sugar’s +<em>good</em> for you. Animals eat it to keep healthy. <em>Horses</em> eat it an’ it +don’t do ’em any <em>harm</em>, an’ poll parrots an’ things eat it an’ it don’t +do ’em any——”</p> + +<p>“Oh, don’t argue, William,” said his mother wearily.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span></p> + +<p>William’s gift of eloquence was known and feared in his family circle.</p> + +<p>Then Miss Grant brought out the result of her study of his countenance.</p> + +<p>“He’s got such a—<em>modern</em> face!” she said. “There’s something +essentially mediæval and romantic about the idea of a page.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brown (from whose house the wedding was to take place) looked +worried.</p> + +<p>“There’s nothing mediæval or romantic about William,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Well,”—Miss Grant’s intellectual face lit up—“what about his cousin +Dorita. They’re about the same age, aren’t they? Both eleven. Well, the +<em>two</em> of them in white satin with bunches of holly. Don’t you think? +Would you mind having her to stay for the ceremony?” (Miss Grant always +referred to her wedding as “the ceremony.”) “If you don’t have his hair +cut for a bit, he mightn’t look so bad?”</p> + +<p>William had retired to the garden with his three bosom friends—Ginger, +Henry, and Douglas—where he was playing his latest game of +mountaineering. A plank had been placed against the garden wall, and up +this scrambled the three, roped together and wearing feathers in their +caps. William was wearing an old golf cap of his mother’s, and mentally +pictured himself as an impressive and heroic figure. Before they reached +the top they invariably lost their foothold, rolled down the plank and +fell in a confused and bruised heap at the bottom. The bruises in no way +detracted from the charm of the game. To William the fascination of any +game consisted mainly in the danger to life<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> and limb involved. The game +had been suggested by an old alpenstock which had been thoughtlessly +presented to William by a friend of Mr. Brown’s. The paint of the +staircase and upstairs corridor had been completely ruined before the +family knew of the gift, and the alpenstock had been confiscated for a +week, then restored on the condition that it was not to be brought into +the house. The result was the game of mountaineering up the plank. They +carried the alpenstock in turns, but William had two turns running to +mark the fact that he was its proud possessor.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brown approached William on the subject of his prospective <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">rôle</i> +of page with a certain apprehension. The normal attitude of William’s +family towards William was one of apprehension.</p> + +<p>“Would you like to go to Cousin Sybil’s wedding?” she said.</p> + +<p>“No, I wu’nt,” said William without hesitation.</p> + +<p>“Wouldn’t you like to go dressed up?” she said.</p> + +<p>“Red Injun?” said William with a gleam of hope.</p> + +<p>“Er—no, not exactly.”</p> + +<p>“Pirate?”</p> + +<p>“Not quite.”</p> + +<p>“I’d go as a Red Injun, or I’d go as a Pirate,” he said firmly, “but I +wu’nt go as anything else.”</p> + +<p>“A page,” said Miss Grant’s clear, melodious voice, “is a mediæval and +romantic idea, William. There’s the glamour of chivalry about it that +should appeal strongly to a boy of your age.”</p> + +<p>William turned his inscrutable countenance upon her and gave her a cold +glare.</p> + +<p>They discussed his costume in private.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 368px;"> +<img src="images/p171.png" width="368" height="450" +alt="Mrs. Brown leaning over an armchair in which William is sitting." +title="Page 171" /> +<span class="caption">“WOULD YOU LIKE TO GO TO COUSIN SYBIL’S WEDDING?” SHE +ASKED. “NO, I WU’NT,” SAID WILLIAM WITHOUT HESITATION.</span> +</div> + +<p>“I’ve got a pair of lovely white silk stockings,” said his mother.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> +“They’d do for tights, and Ethel has got a satin petticoat that’s just +beginning to go in one place. I should think we could make some sort of +costume from that, don’t you? We’ll buy some more white satin and get +some patterns.”</p> + +<p>“No, I won’t wear Ethel’s ole clothes,” said William smouldering. “You +all jus’ want to make me look ridiclus. You don’t care how ridiclus I +look. I shall be ridiclus all the rest of my life goin’ about in Ethel’s +ole clothes. I jus’ won’t do it. I jus’ won’t go to any ole weddin’. No, +I <em>don’t</em> want to see Cousin Sybil married, an’ I jus’ <em>won’t</em> be made +look ridiclus in Ethel’s ole clothes.”</p> + +<p>They reasoned and coaxed and threatened, but in vain. Finally William +yielded to parental authority and went about his world with an air of a +martyr doomed to the stake. Even the game of mountaineering had lost its +charm and the alpenstock lay neglected against the garden wall. The +attitude of his select circle of friends was not encouraging.</p> + +<p>“Yah! <em>Page!</em> Who’s goin’ to be a <em>page</em>? Oh, crumbs. A page all dressed +up in white. <em>Dear</em> little Willie. Won’t he look swe-e-e-et?”</p> + +<p>Life became very full. It was passed chiefly in the avenging of insults. +William cherished a secret hope that the result of this would be to +leave him disfigured for life and so unable to attend the wedding. +However, except for a large lump on his forehead, he was none the worse. +He eyed the lump thoughtfully in his looking-glass and decided that with +a little encouragement it might<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> render his public appearance in an +affair of romance an impossibility. But the pain which resulted from one +heroic effort at banging it against the wall caused him to abandon the +plan.</p> + +<p>Dorita arrived the next week, and with her her small brother, Michael, +aged three. Dorita was slim and graceful, with a pale little oval face +and dark curling hair.</p> + +<p>Miss Grant received her on the doorstep.</p> + +<p>“Well, my little maid of honour?” she said in her flute-like tones. +“Welcome! We’re going to be such friends—you and me and William—the +bride” (she blushed and bridled becomingly) “and her little page and her +little maid of honour. William’s a boy, and he’s just a <em>leetle</em> bit +thoughtless and doesn’t realise the romance of it all. I’m sure you +will. I see it in your dear little face. We’ll have some lovely talks +together.” Her eyes fell upon Michael and narrowed suddenly. “He’d look +sweet, too, in white satin, wouldn’t he?” turning to Mrs. Brown. “He +could walk between them.... We could buy some more white satin....”</p> + +<p>When they had gone the maid of honour turned dark, long-lashed, demure +eyes upon William.</p> + +<p>“Soft mug, that,” she said in clear refined tones, nodding in the +direction of the door through which the tall figure of Miss Grant had +just disappeared.</p> + +<p>William was vaguely cheered by her attitude.</p> + +<p>“Are you keen on this piffling wedding affair?” she went on carelessly, +“’cause I jolly well tell you I’m not.”</p> + +<p>William felt that he had found a kindred spirit. He unbent so far as to +take her to the stable and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> show her a field-mouse he had caught and was +keeping in a cardboard box.</p> + +<p>“I’m teachin’ it to dance,” he confided, “an’ it oughter fetch a jolly +lot of money when it can dance proper. Dancin’ mice do, you know. They +show ’em on the stage, and people on the stage get pounds an’ pounds +every night, so I bet mice do, too—at least the folks the mice belong +to what dance on the stage. I’m teachin’ it to dance by holdin’ a +biscuit over its head and movin’ it about. It bit me twice yesterday.” +He proudly displayed his mutilated finger. “I only caught it yesterday. +It oughter learn all right to-day,” he added hopefully.</p> + +<p>Her intense disappointment, when the only trace of the field-mouse that +could be found was the cardboard box with a hole gnawed at one corner, +drew William’s heart to her still more.</p> + +<p>He avoided Henry, Douglas and Ginger. Henry, Douglas and Ginger had +sworn to be at the church door to watch William descend from the +carriage in the glory of his white satin apparel, and William felt that +friendship could not stand the strain.</p> + +<p>He sat with Dorita on the cold and perilous perch of the garden wall and +discussed Cousin Sybil and the wedding. Dorita’s language delighted and +fascinated William.</p> + +<p>“She’s a soppy old luny,” she would remark sweetly, shaking her dark +curls. “The soppiest old luny you’d see in any old place on <em>this</em> old +earth, you betcher life! She’s made of sop. I wouldn’t be found dead in +a ditch with her—wouldn’t touch her with the butt-end of a bargepole. +She’s an assified cow, she is. Humph!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 377px;"> +<img src="images/p175.png" width="377" height="470" +alt="Dorita and Williamsitting on the garden wall." +title="Page 175" /> +<span class="caption">“SHE’S A SOPPY OLD LUNY!” DORITA REMARKED SWEETLY.</span> +</div> + +<p>“Those children are a <em>leetle</em> disappointing as regards character—to a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> +child lover like myself,” confided Miss Grant to her intellectual +<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">fiancé</i>. “I’ve tried to sound their depths, but there are no depths to +sound. There is none of the mystery, the glamour, the ‘clouds of glory’ +about them. They are so—so material.”</p> + +<p>The day of the ordeal drew nearer and nearer, and William’s spirits sank +lower and lower. His life seemed to stretch before him—youth, manhood, +and old age—dreary and desolate, filled only with humiliation and +shame. His prestige and reputation would be blasted for ever. He would +no longer be William—the Red Indian, the pirate, the daredevil. He +would simply be the Boy Who Went to a Wedding Dressed in White Satin. +Evidently there would be a surging crowd of small boys at the church +door. Every boy for miles round who knew William even by sight had +volunteered the information that he would be there. William was to ride +with Dorita and Michael in the bride’s carriage. In imagination he +already descended from the carriage and heard the chorus of jeers. His +cheeks grew hot at the thought. His life for years afterwards would +consist solely in the avenging of insults. He followed the figure of the +blushing bride-to-be with a baleful glare. In his worst moments he +contemplated murder. The violence of his outburst when his mother mildly +suggested a wedding present to the bride from her page and maid of +honour horrified her.</p> + +<p>“I’m bein’ made look ridiclus all the rest of my life,” he ended. “I’m +not givin’ her no present. I know what I’d <em>like</em> to give her,” he added +darkly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Yes, and I <em>do</em>, too.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brown forebore to question further.</p> + +<p>The day of the wedding dawned coldly bright and sunny. William’s +expressions of agony and complaints of various startling symptoms of +serious illnesses were ignored by his experienced family circle.</p> + +<p>Michael was dressed first of the three in his minute white satin suit +and sent down into the morning-room to play quietly. Then an unwilling +William was captured from the darkest recess of the stable and dragged +pale and protesting to the slaughter.</p> + +<p>“Yes, an’ I’ll <em>die</em> pretty soon, prob’ly,” he said pathetically, “and +then p’r’aps you’ll be a bit sorry, an’ I shan’t care.”</p> + +<p>In Michael there survived two of the instincts of primitive man, the +instinct of foraging for food and that of concealing it from his enemies +when found. Earlier in the day he had paid a visit to the kitchen and +found it empty. Upon the table lay a pound of butter and a large bag of +oranges. These he had promptly confiscated and, with a fear of +interruption born of experience, he had retired with them under the +table in the morning-room. Before he could begin his feast he had been +called upstairs to be dressed for the ceremony. On his return +(immaculate in white satin) he found to his joy that his treasure trove +had not been discovered. He began on the butter first. What he could not +eat he smeared over his face and curly hair. Then he felt a sudden +compunction and tried to remove all traces of the crime by rubbing his +face and hair violently with a woolly mat. Then<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> he sat down on the +Chesterfield and began the oranges. They were very yellow and juicy and +rather overripe. He crammed them into his mouth with both little fat +hands at once. He was well aware, even at his tender years, that life’s +sweetest joys come soonest to an end. Orange juice mingled with wool +fluff and butter on his small round face. It trickled down his cheeks +and fell on to his white lace collar. His mouth and the region round it +were completely yellow. He had emptied the oranges out of the bag all +around him on the seat. He was sitting in a pool of juice. His suit was +covered with it, mingled with pips and skin, and still he ate on.</p> + +<p>His first interruption was William and Dorita, who came slowly +downstairs holding hands in silent sympathy, two gleaming figures in +white satin. They walked to the end of the room. They also had been sent +to the morning-room with orders to “play quietly” until summoned.</p> + +<p>“<em>Play?</em>” William had echoed coldly. “I don’t feel much like <em>playing</em>.”</p> + +<p>They stared at Michael, openmouthed and speechless. Lumps of butter and +bits of wool stuck in his curls and adhered to the upper portion of his +face. They had been washed away from the lower portion of it by orange +juice. His suit was almost covered with it. Behind he was saturated with +it.</p> + +<p>“<em>Crumbs!</em>” said William at last.</p> + +<p>“<em>You’ll</em> catch it,” remarked his sister.</p> + +<p>Michael retreated hastily from the scene of his misdeeds.</p> + +<p>“Mickyth good now,” he lisped deprecatingly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span></p> + +<p>They looked at the seat he had left—a pool of crushed orange fragments +and juice. Then they looked at each other.</p> + +<p>“<em>He’ll</em> not be able to go,” said Dorita slowly.</p> + +<p>Again they looked at the empty orange-covered Chesterfield and again +they looked at each other.</p> + +<p>“Heth kite good now,” said Michael hopefully.</p> + +<p>Then the maid of honour, aware that cold deliberation often kills the +most glorious impulses, seized William’s hand.</p> + +<p>“Sit down. <em>Quick!</em>” she whispered sharply.</p> + +<p>Without a word they sat down. They sat till they felt the cold moisture +penetrate to their skins. Then William heaved a deep sigh.</p> + +<p>“<em>We</em> can’t go now,” he said.</p> + +<p>Through the open door they saw a little group coming—Miss Grant in +shining white, followed by William’s mother, arrayed in her brightest +and best, and William’s father, whose expression revealed a certain +weariness mingled with a relief that the whole thing would soon be over.</p> + +<p>“Here’s the old sardine all togged up,” whispered Dorita.</p> + +<p>“William! Dorita! Michael!” they called.</p> + +<p>Slowly William, Dorita and Michael obeyed the summons.</p> + +<p>When Miss Grant’s eyes fell upon the strange object that was Michael, +she gave a loud scream.</p> + +<p>“<em>Michael!</em> Oh, the <em>dreadful</em> child!”</p> + +<p>She clasped the centre of the door and looked as though about to swoon.</p> + +<p>Michael began to sob.</p> + +<p>“<em>Poor</em> Micky,” he said through his tears. “He feelth tho thick.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span></p> + +<p>They removed him hastily.</p> + +<p>“Never mind, dear,” said Mrs. Brown soothingly, “the other two look +sweet.”</p> + +<p>But Mr. Brown had wandered further into the room and thus obtained a +sudden and startling view of the page and maid of honour from behind.</p> + +<p>“What? Where?” he began explosively.</p> + +<p>William and Dorita turned to him instinctively, thus providing Mrs. +Brown and the bride with the spectacle that had so disturbed him.</p> + +<p>The bride gave a second scream—shriller and wilder than the first.</p> + +<p>“Oh, what have they done? Oh, the <em>wretched</em> children! And just when I +wanted to feel <em>calm</em>. Just when all depends on my feeling <em>calm</em>. Just +when——”</p> + +<p>“We was walkin’ round the room an’ we sat down on the Chesterfield and +there was this stuff on it an’ it came on our clothes,” explained +William stonily and monotonously and all in one breath.</p> + +<p>“<em>Why</em> did you sit down,” said his mother.</p> + +<p>“We was walkin’ round an’ we jus’ felt tired and we sat down on the +Chesterfield and there was this stuff on it an’ it came on——”</p> + +<p>“Oh, <em>stop!</em> Didn’t you <em>see</em> it there?”</p> + +<p>William considered.</p> + +<p>“Well, we was jus’ walking round the room,” he said, “an’ we jus’ felt +tired and we sat——”</p> + +<p>“<em>Stop</em> saying that.”</p> + +<p>“Couldn’t we make <em>cloaks</em>?” wailed the bride, “to hang down and cover +them all up behind. It wouldn’t take long——”</p> + +<p>Mr. Brown took out his watch.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 429px;"> +<img src="images/p181.png" width="429" height="370" +alt="William and Dorita with stained clothes, facing Mr. Brown." +title="Page 181" /> +<span class="caption">“THERE WAS THIS STUFF ON THE CHESTERFIELD, AND IT CAME ON OUR CLOTHES,” WILLIAM +EXPLAINED STONILY ALL IN ONE BREATH.</span> +</div> + +<p>“The carriage has been waiting a quarter of an hour already,” he said firmly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> +“We’ve no time to spare. Come along, my dear. We’ll continue the +investigation after the service. You can’t go, of course, you must stay +at home now,” he ended, turning a stern eye upon William. There was an +unconscious note of envy in his voice.</p> + +<p>“And I did so <em>want</em> to have a page,” said Miss Grant plaintively as she +turned away.</p> + +<p>Joy and hope returned to William with a bound. As the sound of wheels +was heard down the drive he turned head over heels several times on the +lawn, then caught sight of his long-neglected alpenstock leaning against +a wall.</p> + +<p>“Come on,” he shouted joyfully. “I’ll teach you a game I made up. It’s +mountaineerin’.”</p> + +<p>She watched him place a plank against the wall and begin his perilous +ascent.</p> + +<p>“You’re a mug,” she said in her clear, sweet voice. “I know a +mountaineering game worth ten of that old thing.”</p> + +<p>And it says much for the character and moral force of the maid-of-honour +that William meekly put himself in the position of pupil.</p> + +<p>It must be explained at this point that the domestics of the Brown +household were busy arranging refreshments in a marquee in the garden. +The front hall was quite empty.</p> + +<p>In about a quarter of an hour the game of mountaineering was in full +swing. On the lowest steps of the staircase reposed the mattress from +William’s father’s and mother’s bed, above it the mattress from Miss +Grant’s bed, above that the mattress from William’s bed, and on the top, +the mattress from Dorita’s bed. In all the bedrooms the bedclothes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span> lay +in disarray on the floor. A few nails driven through the ends of the +mattresses into the stairs secured the stability of the “mountain.” +Still wearing their robes of ceremony, they scrambled up in stockinged +feet, every now and then losing foothold and rolling down to the pile of +pillows and bolsters (taken indiscriminately from all the beds) which +was arranged at the foot of the staircase. Their mirth was riotous and +uproarious. They used the alpenstock in turns. It was a great help. They +could get a firm hold on the mattresses with the point of the +alpenstock. William stood at the top of the mountain, hot and panting, +his alpenstock in his hand, and paused for breath. He was well aware +that retribution was not far off—was in the neighbouring church, to be +quite exact, and would return in a carriage within the next few minutes. +He was aware that an explanation of the yellow stain was yet to be +demanded. He was aware that this was not a use to which the family +mattresses could legitimately be put. But he cared for none of these +things. In his mind’s eye he only saw a crowd of small boys assembled +outside a church door with eager eyes fixed on a carriage from which +descended—Miss Grant, Mrs. Brown, and Mr. Brown. His life stretched +before him bright and rose-coloured. A smile of triumph curved his lips.</p> + +<p>“Yah! Who waited at a church for someone what never came? Yah!”</p> + +<p>“I hope you didn’t get a bad cold waitin’ for me on Wednesday at the +church door.”</p> + +<p>“Some folks is easy had. I bet you all believed I was coming on +Wednesday.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 443px;"> +<img src="images/p184.png" width="443" height="470" +alt="William and Dorita climbing the mountain of mattresses." +title="Page 184" /> +<span class="caption">THEY USED THE ALPENSTOCK IN TURNS—IT WAS A GREAT HELP.</span> +</div> + +<p>Such sentences floated idly through his mind.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span></p> + +<p>“I say, my turn for that stick with the spike.”</p> + +<p>William handed it to her in silence.</p> + +<p>“I say,” she repeated, “what do you think of this marriage business?”</p> + +<p>“Dunno,” said William laconically.</p> + +<p>“If I’d got to marry,” went on the maid of honour, “I’d as soon marry +<em>you</em> as anyone.”</p> + +<p>“I wu’nt mind,” said the page gallantly. “But,” he added hastily, “in +ornery clothes.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes,” she lost her foothold and rolled down to the pile of pillows. +From them came her voice muffled, but clear as ever. “You betcher life. +In ornery clothes.”</p> + +<hr /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER X<br /> + +WILLIAM’S NEW YEAR’S DAY</h2> + +<p>William went whistling down the street, his hands in his pockets. +William’s whistle was more penetrating than melodious. Sensitive people +fled shuddering at the sound. The proprietor of the sweet-shop, however, +was not sensitive. He nodded affably as William passed. William was a +regular customer of his—as regular, that is, as a wholly inadequate +allowance would permit. Encouraged William paused at the doorway and +ceased to whistle.</p> + +<p>“’Ullo, Mr. Moss!” he said.</p> + +<p>“’Ullo, William!” said Mr. Moss.</p> + +<p>“Anythin’ cheap to-day?” went on William hopefully.</p> + +<p>Mr. Moss shook his head.</p> + +<p>“Twopence an ounce cheapest,” he said.</p> + +<p>William sighed.</p> + +<p>“That’s awful <em>dear</em>,” he said.</p> + +<p>“What isn’t dear? Tell me that. What isn’t dear?” said Mr. Moss +lugubriously.</p> + +<p>“Well, gimme two ounces. I’ll pay you to-morrow,” said William casually.</p> + +<p>Mr. Moss shook his head.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Go on!” said William. “I get my money to-morrow. You know I get my +money to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>“Cash, young sir,” said Mr. Moss heavily. “My terms is cash. ’Owever,” +he relented, “I’ll give you a few over when the scales is down to-morrow +for a New Year’s gift.”</p> + +<p>“Honest Injun?”</p> + +<p>“Honest Injun.”</p> + +<p>“Well, gimme them now then,” said William.</p> + +<p>Mr. Moss hesitated.</p> + +<p>“They wouldn’t be no New Year’s gift then, would they?” he said.</p> + +<p>William considered.</p> + +<p>“I’ll eat ’em to-day but I’ll <em>think</em> about ’em to-morrow,” he promised. +“That’ll make ’em a New Year’s gift.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Moss took out a handful of assorted fruit drops and passed them to +William. William received them gratefully.</p> + +<p>“An’ what good resolution are you going to take to-morrow?” went on Mr. +Moss.</p> + +<p>William crunched in silence for a minute, then,</p> + +<p>“Good resolution?” he questioned. “I ain’t got none.”</p> + +<p>“You’ve got to have a good resolution for New Year’s Day,” said Mr. Moss +firmly.</p> + +<p>“Same as giving up sugar in tea in Lent and wearing blue on Oxford and +Cambridge Boat Race Day?” said William with interest.</p> + +<p>“Yes, same as that. Well, you’ve got to think of some fault you’d like +to cure and start to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>William pondered.</p> + +<p>“Can’t think of anything,” he said at last. “You think of something for +me.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span></p> + +<p>“You might take one to do your school work properly,” he suggested.</p> + +<p>William shook his head.</p> + +<p>“No,” he said, “that wun’t be much fun, would it? Crumbs! It <em>wun’t!</em>”</p> + +<p>“Or—to keep your clothes tidy?” went on his friend.</p> + +<p>William shuddered at the thought.</p> + +<p>“Or to—give up shouting and whistling.”</p> + +<p>Williams crammed two more sweets into his mouth and shook his head very +firmly.</p> + +<p>“Crumbs, no!” he ejaculated indistinctly.</p> + +<p>“Or to be perlite.”</p> + +<p>“Perlite?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. ‘Please’ and ‘thank you,’ and ‘if you don’t mind me sayin’ so,’ +and ‘if you excuse me contradictin’ of you,’ and ‘can I do anything for +you?’ and such like.”</p> + +<p>William was struck with this.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I might be that,” he said. He straightened his collar and stood +up. “Yes, I might try bein’ that. How long has it to go on, though?”</p> + +<p>“Not long,” said Mr. Moss. “Only the first day gen’rally. Folks +generally give ’em up after that.”</p> + +<p>“What’s yours?” said William, putting four sweets into his mouth as he +spoke.</p> + +<p>Mr. Moss looked round his little shop with the air of a conspirator, +then leant forward confidentially.</p> + +<p>“I’m goin’ to arsk ’er again,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Who?” said William mystified.</p> + +<p>“Someone I’ve arsked regl’ar every New Year’s Day for ten year.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Asked what?” said William, gazing sadly at his last sweet.</p> + +<p>“Arsked to take me o’ course,” said Mr. Moss with an air of contempt for +William’s want of intelligence.</p> + +<p>“Take you where?” said William. “Where d’you want to go? Why can’t you +go yourself?”</p> + +<p>“Ter <em>marry</em> me, I means,” said Mr. Moss, blushing slightly as he spoke.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said William with a judicial air, “I wun’t have asked the same +one for ten years. I’d have tried someone else. I’d have gone on asking +other people, if I wanted to get married. You’d be sure to find someone +that wouldn’t mind you—with a sweet-shop, too. She must be a softie. +Does she <em>know</em> you’ve got a sweet-shop?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Moss merely sighed and popped a bull’s eye into his mouth with an +air of abstracted melancholy.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The next morning William leapt out of bed with an expression of stern +resolve. “I’m goin’ to be p’lite,” he remarked to his bedroom furniture. +“I’m goin’ to be p’lite all day.”</p> + +<p>He met his father on the stairs as he went down to breakfast.</p> + +<p>“Good mornin’, Father,” he said, with what he fondly imagined to be a +courtly manner. “Can I do anything for you to-day?”</p> + +<p>His father looked down at him suspiciously.</p> + +<p>“What do you want now?” he demanded.</p> + +<p>William was hurt.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 414px;"> +<img src="images/p190.png" width="414" height="500" +alt="William greeting his father." +title="Page 190" /> +<span class="caption">“GOOD MORNIN’, FATHER,” SAID WILLIAM WITH WHAT HE FONDLY IMAGINED TO BE A +COURTLY MANNER.</span> +</div> + +<p>“I’m only bein’ p’lite. It’s—you know—one of those things you take on New Year’s Day. Well, I’ve<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> +took one to be p’lite.”</p> + +<p>His father apologised. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You see, I’m not used to +it. It startled me.”</p> + +<p>At breakfast William’s politeness shone forth in all its glory.</p> + +<p>“Can I pass you anything, Robert?” he said sweetly.</p> + +<p>His elder brother coldly ignored him. “Going to rain again,” he said to +the world in general.</p> + +<p>“If you’ll ’scuse me contradicting of you Robert,” said William, “I +heard the milkman sayin’ it was goin’ to be fine. If you’ll ’scuse me +contradictin’ you.”</p> + +<p>“Look here!” said Robert angrily, “Less of your cheek!”</p> + +<p>“Seems to me no one in this house understands wot bein’ p’lite is,” said +William bitterly. “Seems to me one might go on bein’ p’lite in this +house for years an’ no one know wot one was doin’.”</p> + +<p>His mother looked at him anxiously.</p> + +<p>“You’re feeling quite well, dear, aren’t you?” she said. “You haven’t +got a headache or anything, have you?”</p> + +<p>“No. I’m bein’ <em>p’lite</em>,” he said irritably, then pulled himself up +suddenly. “I’m quite well, thank you, Mother dear,” he said in a tone of +cloying sweetness.</p> + +<p>“Does it hurt you much?” inquired his brother tenderly.</p> + +<p>“No thank you, Robert,” said William politely.</p> + +<p>After breakfast he received his pocket-money with courteous gratitude.</p> + +<p>“Thank you very much, Father.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Not at all. Pray don’t mention it, William. It’s quite all right,” said +Mr. Brown, not to be outdone. Then, “It’s rather trying. How long does +it last?”</p> + +<p>“What?”</p> + +<p>“The resolution.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, bein’ p’lite! He said they didn’t often do it after the first day.”</p> + +<p>“He’s quite right, whoever he is,” said Mr. Brown. “They don’t.”</p> + +<p>“He’s goin’ to ask her again,” volunteered William.</p> + +<p>“Who ask who what?” said Mr. Brown, but William had departed. He was +already on his way to Mr. Moss’s shop.</p> + +<p>Mr. Moss was at the door, hatted and coated, and gazing anxiously down +the street.</p> + +<p>“Goo’ mornin’ Mr. Moss,” said William politely.</p> + +<p>Mr. Moss took out a large antique watch.</p> + +<p>“He’s late!” he said. “I shall miss the train. Oh, dear! It will be the +first New Year’s Day I’ve missed in ten years.”</p> + +<p>William was inspecting the sweets with the air of an expert.</p> + +<p>“Them pink ones are new,” he said at last. “How much are they?”</p> + +<p>“Eightpence a quarter. Oh, dear, I shall miss the train.”</p> + +<p>“They’re very small ones,” said William disparagingly “You’d think +they’d be less than that—small ones like that.”</p> + +<p>“Will you—will you do something for me and I’ll <em>give</em> you a quarter of +those sweets.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span></p> + +<p>William gasped. The offer was almost too munificent to be true.</p> + +<p>“I’ll do <em>anythin’</em> for that,” he said simply.</p> + +<p>“Well, just stay in the shop till my nephew Bill comes. ’E’ll be ’ere in +two shakes an’ I’ll miss my train if I don’t go now. ’E’s goin’ to keep +the shop for me till I’m back an’ ’e’ll be ’ere any minute now. Jus’ +tell ’im I ’ad to run for to catch my train an’ if anyone comes into the +shop before ’e comes jus’ tell ’em to wait or to come back later. You +can weigh yourself a quarter o’ those sweets.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Moss was certainly in a holiday mood. William pinched himself just +to make sure that he was still alive and had not been translated +suddenly to the realms of the blest.</p> + +<p>Mr. Moss, with a last anxious glance at his watch, hurried off in the +direction of the station.</p> + +<p>William was left alone. He spent a few moments indulging in roseate day +dreams. The ideal of his childhood—perhaps of everyone’s childhood—was +realised. He had a sweet-shop. He walked round the shop with a conscious +swagger, pausing to pop into his mouth a Butter Ball—composed, as the +label stated, of pure farm cream and best butter. It was all his—all +those rows and rows of gleaming bottles of sweets of every size and +colour, those boxes and boxes of attractively arranged chocolates. +Deliberately he imagined himself as their owner. By the time he had +walked round the shop three times he believed that he was the owner.</p> + +<p>At this point a small boy appeared in the doorway. William scowled at +him.</p> + +<p>“Well,” he said ungraciously, “what d’you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> want?” Then, suddenly +remembering his resolution, “<em>Please</em> what d’you want?”</p> + +<p>“Where’s Uncle?” said the small boy with equal ungraciousness. “’Cause +our Bill’s ill an’ can’t come.”</p> + +<p>William waved him off.</p> + +<p>“That’s all right,” he said. “You tell ’em that’s all right. That’s +quite all right. See? Now, you go off!”</p> + +<p>The small boy stood, as though rooted to the spot. William pressed into +one of his hands a stick of liquorice and into the other a packet of +chocolate.</p> + +<p>“Now, you go <em>away!</em> I don’t <em>want</em> you here. See? You <em>go away</em> you +little—assified cow!”</p> + +<p>William’s invective was often wholly original.</p> + +<p>The small boy made off, still staring and clutching his spoils. William +started to the door and yelled to the retreating figure, “if you don’t +mind me sayin’ so.”</p> + +<p>He had already come to look upon the Resolution as a kind of god who +must at all costs be propitiated. Already the Resolution seemed to have +bestowed upon him the dream of his life—a fully-equipped sweet-shop.</p> + +<p>He wandered round again and discovered a wholly new sweetmeat called +Cokernut Kisses. Its only drawback was its instability. It melted away +in the mouth at once. So much so that almost before William was aware of +it he was confronted by the empty box. He returned to the more solid +charms of the Pineapple Crisp.</p> + +<p>He was interrupted by the entrance of a thin lady of uncertain age.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Good morning,” she said icily. “Where’s Mr. Moss?”</p> + +<p>William answered as well as the presence of five sweets in his mouth +would allow him.</p> + +<p>“I can’t hear a word you say,” she said—more frigidly than ever.</p> + +<p>William removed two of his five sweets and placed them temporarily on +the scale.</p> + +<p>“Gone,” he said laconically, then murmured vaguely, “thank you,” as the +thought of the Resolution loomed up in his mind.</p> + +<p>“Who’s in charge?”</p> + +<p>“Me,” said William ungrammatically.</p> + +<p>She looked at him with distinct disapproval.</p> + +<p>“Well, I’ll have one of those bars of chocolates.”</p> + +<p>William looking round the shop, realised suddenly that his own +depredations had been on no small scale. But there was a chance of +making good any loss that Mr. Moss might otherwise have sustained.</p> + +<p>He looked down at the twopenny bars.</p> + +<p>“Shillin’ each,” he said firmly.</p> + +<p>She gasped.</p> + +<p>“They were only twopence yesterday.”</p> + +<p>“They’re gone up since,” said William brazenly, adding a vague, “if +you’ll kin’ly ’scuse me sayin’ so.”</p> + +<p>“Gone up——?” she repeated indignantly.</p> + +<p>“Have you heard from the makers they’re gone up?”</p> + +<p>“Yes’m,” said William politely.</p> + +<p>“When did you hear?”</p> + +<p>“This mornin’—if you don’t mind me saying so.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span></p> + +<p>William’s manner of fulsome politeness seemed to madden her.</p> + +<p>“Did you hear by post?”</p> + +<p>“Yes’m. By post this mornin’.”</p> + +<p>She glared at him with vindictive triumph.</p> + +<p>“I happen to live opposite, you wicked, lying boy, and I know that the +postman did not call here this morning.”</p> + +<p>William met her eye calmly.</p> + +<p>“No, they came round to see me in the night—the makers did. You cou’n’t +of heard them,” he added hastily. “It was when you was asleep. If you’ll +’scuse me contradictin’ of you.”</p> + +<p>It is a great gift to be able to lie so as to convince other people. It +is a still greater gift to be able to lie so as to convince oneself. +William was possessed of the latter gift.</p> + +<p>“I shall certainly not pay more than twopence,” said his customer +severely, taking a bar of chocolate and laying down twopence on the +counter. “And I shall report this shop to the Profiteering Committee. +It’s scandalous. And a pack of wicked lies!”</p> + +<p>William scowled at her.</p> + +<p>“They’re a <em>shillin’</em>,” he said. “I don’t want your nasty ole tuppences. +I said they was a <em>shillin’</em>.”</p> + +<p>He followed her to the door. She was crossing the street to her house. +“You—you ole <em>thief!</em>” he yelled after her, though, true to his +Resolution, he added softly with dogged determination, “if you don’t +mind me sayin’ so.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll set the police on you,” his late customer shouted angrily back +across the street. “You wicked, blasphemous boy!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span></p> + +<p>William put out his tongue at her, then returned to the shop and closed +the door.</p> + +<p>Here he discovered that the door, when opened, rang a bell, and, after +filling his mouth with Liquorice All Sorts, he spent the next five +minutes vigorously opening and shutting the door till something went +wrong with the mechanism of the bell. At this he fortified himself with +a course of Nutty Footballs and, standing on a chair, began ruthlessly +to dismember the bell. He was disturbed by the entry of another +customer. Swallowing a Nutty Football whole, he hastened to his post +behind the counter.</p> + +<p>The newcomer was a little girl of about nine—a very dainty little girl, +dressed in a white fur coat and cap and long white gaiters. Her hair +fell in golden curls over her white fur shoulders. Her eyes were blue. +Her cheeks were velvety and rosy. Her mouth was like a baby’s. William +had seen this vision on various occasions in the town, but had never yet +addressed it. Whenever he had seen it, his heart in the midst of his +body had been even as melting wax. He smiled—a self-conscious, sheepish +smile. His freckled face blushed to the roots of his short stubby hair. +She seemed to find nothing odd in the fact of a small boy being in +charge of a sweet-shop. She came up to the counter.</p> + +<p>“Please, I want two twopenny bars of chocolate.”</p> + +<p>Her voice was very clear and silvery.</p> + +<p>Ecstasy rendered William speechless. His smile grew wider and more +foolish. Seeing his two half-sucked Pineapple Crisps exposed upon the +scales, he hastily put them into his mouth.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span></p> + +<p>She laid four pennies on the counter.</p> + +<p>William found his voice.</p> + +<p>“You can have lots for that,” he said huskily. “They’ve gone cheap. +They’ve gone ever so cheap. You can take all the boxful for that,” he +went on recklessly. He pressed the box into her reluctant hands. +“An’—what else would you like? You jus’ tell me that. Tell me what else +you’d like?”</p> + +<p>“Please, I haven’t any more money,” gasped a small, bewildered voice.</p> + +<p>“<em>Money</em> don’t matter,” said William. “Things is cheap to-day. Things is +awful cheap to-day. <em>Awful</em> cheap! You can have—anythin’ you like for +that fourpence. Anythin’ you like.”</p> + +<p>“’Cause it’s New Year’s Day?” said the vision, with a gleam of +understanding.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said William, “’cause it’s that.”</p> + +<p>“Is it your shop?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said William with an air of importance. “It’s all my shop.”</p> + +<p>She gazed at him in admiration and envy.</p> + +<p>“I’d love to have a sweet-shop,” she said wistfully.</p> + +<p>“Well, you take anythin’ you like,” said William generously.</p> + +<p>She collected as much as she could carry and started towards the door. +“<em>Sank</em> you! Sank you ever so!” she said gratefully.</p> + +<p>William stood leaning against the door in the easy attitude of the +good-natured, all-providing male.</p> + +<p>“It’s all right,” he said with an indulgent smile. “Quite all right. +Quite all right.” Then, with an inspiration born of memories of his +father earlier<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> in the day. “Not at all. Don’t +menshun it. Not at all. Quite all right.”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 382px;"> +<img src="images/p199.png" width="382" height="470" +alt="William behind the shop counter, talking to the girl." +title="Page 199" /> +<span class="caption">“MONEY DON’T MATTER,” SAID WILLIAM. +“THINGS IS CHEAP TO-DAY. AWFUL CHEAP!”</span> +</div> + +<p>He stopped, simply for lack of further expressions, and bowed with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span> +would-be gracefulness as she went through the doorway.</p> + +<p>As she passed the window she was rewarded by a spreading effusive smile +in a flushed face.</p> + +<p>She stopped and kissed her hand.</p> + +<p>William blinked with pure emotion.</p> + +<p>He continued his smile long after its recipient had disappeared. Then +absent-mindedly he crammed his mouth with a handful of Mixed Dew Drops +and sat down behind the counter.</p> + +<p>As he crunched Mixed Dew Drops he indulged in a day dream in which he +rescued the little girl in the white fur coat from robbers and pirates +and a burning house. He was just leaping nimbly from the roof of the +burning house, holding the little girl in the white fur coat in his +arms, when he caught sight of two of his friends flattening their noses +at the window. He rose from his seat and went to the door.</p> + +<p>“’Ullo, Ginger! ’Ullo, Henry!” he said with an unsuccessful effort to +appear void of self-consciousness.</p> + +<p>They gazed at him in wonder.</p> + +<p>“I’ve gotta shop,” he went on casually. “Come on in an’ look at it.”</p> + +<p>They peeped round the door-way cautiously and, reassured by the sight of +William obviously in sole possession, they entered, openmouthed. They +gazed at the boxes and bottles of sweets. Aladdin’s Cave was nothing to +this.</p> + +<p>“Howd’ you get it, William?” gasped Ginger.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Someone gave it me,” said William. “I took one of them things to be +p’lite an’ someone gave it me. Go on,” he said kindly. “Jus’ help +yourselves. Not at all. Jus’ help yourselves an’ don’t menshun it.”</p> + +<p>They needed no second bidding. With the unerring instinct of childhood +(not unsupported by experience) that at any minute their Eden might be +invaded by the avenging angel in the shape of a grown-up, they made full +use of their time. They went from box to box, putting handfuls of sweets +and chocolates into their mouths. They said nothing, simply because +speech was, under the circumstances, a physical impossibility. Showing a +foresight for the future, worthy of the noble ant itself, so often held +up as a model to childhood, they filled pockets in the intervals of +cramming their mouths.</p> + +<p>A close observer might have noticed that William now ate little. William +himself had been conscious for some time of a curious and inexplicable +feeling of coldness towards the tempting dainties around him. He was, +however, loth to give in to the weakness, and every now and then he +nonchalantly put into his mouth a Toasted Square or a Fruity Bit.</p> + +<p>It happened that a loutish boy of about fourteen was passing the shop. +At the sight of three small boys rapidly consuming the contents, he +became interested.</p> + +<p>“What yer doin’ of?” he said indignantly, standing in the doorway.</p> + +<p>“You get out of my shop,” said William valiantly.</p> + +<p>“<em>Yer</em> shop?” said the boy. “Yer bloomin’<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> well pinchin’ things out o’ +someone else’s shop, <em>I</em> can see. ’Ere, gimme some of them.”</p> + +<p>“You get <em>out!</em>” said William.</p> + +<p>“Get out <em>yerself!</em>” said the other.</p> + +<p>“If I’d not took one to be p’lite,” said William threateningly, “I’d +knock you down.”</p> + +<p>“Yer would, would yer?” said the other, beginning to roll up his +sleeves.</p> + +<p>“Yes, an’ I would, too. You get out.” Seizing the nearest bottle, which +happened to contain Acid Drops, he began to fire them at his opponent’s +head. One hit him in the eye. He retired into the street. William, now +a-fire for battle, followed him, still hurling Acid Drops with all his +might. A crowd of boys collected together. Some gathered Acid Drops from +the gutter, others joined the scrimmage. William, Henry, and Ginger +carried on a noble fight against heavy odds.</p> + +<p>It was only the sight of the proprietor of the shop coming briskly down +the side-walk that put an end to the battle. The street boys made off +(with what spoils they could gather) in one direction and Ginger and +Henry in another. William, clasping an empty Acid Drop bottle to his +bosom, was left to face Mr. Moss.</p> + +<p>Mr. Moss entered and looked round with an air of bewilderment.</p> + +<p>“Where’s Bill?” he said.</p> + +<p>“He’s ill,” said William. “He couldn’t come. I’ve been keepin’ shop for +you. I’ve done the best I could.” He looked round the rifled shop and +hastened to propitiate the owner as far as possible. “I’ve got some +money for you,” he added soothingly, pointing to the four pennies that +represented his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span> morning’s takings. “It’s not much,” he went on with +some truth, looking again at the rows of emptied boxes and half-emptied +bottles and the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">débris</i> that is always and everywhere the inevitable +result of a battle. But Mr. Moss hardly seemed to notice it.</p> + +<p>“Thanks, William,” he said almost humbly. “William, she’s took me. She’s +goin’ ter marry me. Isn’t it grand? After all these years!”</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid there’s a bit of a mess,” said William, returning to the +more important matter.</p> + +<p>Mr. Moss waved aside his apologies.</p> + +<p>“It doesn’t matter, William,” he said. “Nothing matters to-day. She’s +took me at last. I’m goin’ to shut shop this afternoon and go over to +her again. Thanks for staying, William.”</p> + +<p>“Not at all. Don’t menshun it,” said William nobly. Then, “I think I’ve +had enough of that bein’ p’lite. Will one mornin’ do for this year, +d’you think?”</p> + +<p>“Er—yes. Well, I’ll shut up. Don’t you stay, William. You’ll want to be +getting home for lunch.”</p> + +<p>Lunch? Quite definitely William decided that he did not want any lunch. +The very thought of lunch brought with it a feeling of active physical +discomfort which was much more than mere absence of hunger. He decided +to go home as quickly as possible, though not to lunch.</p> + +<p>“Goo’-bye,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Good-bye,” said Mr. Moss.</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid you’ll find some things gone,” said William faintly; “some +boys was in.”</p> + +<p>“That’s all right, William,” said Mr. Moss,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span> roused again from his rosy +dreams. “That’s quite all right.”</p> + +<p>But it was not “quite all right” with William. Reader, if you had been +left, at the age of eleven, in sole charge of a sweet shop for a whole +morning, would it have been “all right” with you? I trow not. But we +will not follow William through the humiliating hours of the afternoon. +We will leave him as, pale and unsteady, but as yet master of the +situation, he wends his homeward way.</p> + +<hr /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XI<br /> + +THE BEST LAID PLANS</h2> + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p>“She’s—she’s a real Botticelli,” said the young man dreamily, as he +watched the figure of William’s sister, Ethel, disappearing into the +distance.</p> + +<p>William glared at him.</p> + +<p>“Bottled cherry yourself!” he said indignantly. “She can’t help having +red hair, can she? No more’n you can help havin’—havin’——” his eye +wandered speculatively over the young man in search of physical +defects—“having big ears,” he ended.</p> + +<p>The young man did not resent the insult. He did not even hear it. His +eyes were still fixed upon the slim figure in the distance.</p> + +<p>“‘Eyes of blue and hair red-gold,’” he said softly. “Red-gold. I had to +put that because it’s got both colours in it. Red-gold, ‘Eyes of blue +and hair red-gold.’ What rhymes with gold?”</p> + +<p>“Cold,” suggested William brightly. “That’s jolly good, too, ’cause she +has gotter cold. She was sneezing all last night.”</p> + +<p>“No. It should be something about her heart being cold.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Eyes of blue and hair red-gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heart of ice—so stony cold——”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>“That’s jolly good!” said William with admiration. “It’s just like what +you read in real books—poetry books!”</p> + +<p>The young man—James French by name—had met Ethel at an evening party +and had succumbed to her charm. Lacking courage to pursue the +acquaintance, he had cultivated the friendship of her small brother, +under a quite erroneous impression that this would win him her good +graces.</p> + +<p>“What would you like most in the world?” he said suddenly, leaning +forward from his seat on the top of the gate. “Suppose someone let you +choose.”</p> + +<p>“White rats,” said William without a moment’s hesitation.</p> + +<p>The young man was plunged in deep thought.</p> + +<p>“I’m thinking a way,” he said at last. “I’ve nearly got it. Just walk +home with me, will you? I’ll give you something when we get there,” he +bribed with pathetic pleading, noting William’s reluctant face. “I want +to tell you my idea.”</p> + +<p>They walked down the lane together. The young man talked volubly and +earnestly. William’s mouth opened wide with amazement and disapproving +horror. The words “white rats” were repeated frequently. Finally William +nodded his head, as though acquiescing.</p> + +<p>“I s’pose you’re balmy on her,” he said resignedly at the end, “like +what folks are in books. I want ’em with long tails, mind.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 385px;"> +<img src="images/p207.png" width="385" height="500" +alt="James French and William walking along the road." +title="Page 207" /> +<span class="caption">“WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE MOST IN THE WORLD?” HE SAID +SUDDENLY. “WHITE RATS!” SAID WILLIAM WITHOUT A MOMENT’S HESITATION.</span> +</div> + +<p>William was not unacquainted with the tender passion. He had been to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> +pictures. He had read books. He had seen his elder brother Robert pass +several times through every stage of the consuming fever. He had himself +decided in moments of deep emotion to marry the little girl next door as +soon as he should reach manhood’s estate. He was willing to further his +new friend’s suit by every legitimate means, but he was rather aghast at +the means suggested. Still—white rats were white rats.</p> + +<p>The next morning William assumed his expression of shining virtue—the +expression he reserved for special occasions.</p> + +<p>“You goin’ shoppin’ this mornin’?” he inquired politely of Ethel.</p> + +<p>“You know I am,” said Ethel shortly.</p> + +<p>“Shall I come with you to carry parcels an’ things?” said William +unctuously.</p> + +<p>Ethel looked at him with sudden suspicion.</p> + +<p>“What do you want?” she said. “I’m not going to buy you anything.”</p> + +<p>William looked pained.</p> + +<p>“I don’t want anything,” he said. “I jus’ want to <em>help</em> you, that’s +all. I jus’ want to carry your parcels for you. I—I jus’ don’t want you +to get tired, that’s all.”</p> + +<p>“All right.” Ethel was still suspicious. “You can come and you can carry +parcels, but you won’t get a penny out of me.”</p> + +<p>They walked down together to the shops, and William meekly allowed +himself to be laden with many parcels. Ethel’s grim suspicion passed +into bewilderment as he passed toyshop after toyshop<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span> without a glance. +In imagination he was already teaching complicated tricks to a pair of +white rats.</p> + +<p>“It’s—it’s awfully decent of you, William,” said Ethel, at last, almost +persuaded that she had misjudged William for the greater part of his +life. “Do you feel all right? I mean, you don’t feel ill or anything, do +you?”</p> + +<p>“No,” he said absently, then corrected himself hastily. “At least, not +<em>jus’</em> now. I feel all right jus’ <em>now</em>. I feel as if I might not feel +all right soon, but I don’t know.”</p> + +<p>Ethel looked anxious.</p> + +<p>“Let’s get home quickly. What have you been eating?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing,” said William indignantly. “It’s not that sort of not well. +It’s quite diff’rent.”</p> + +<p>“What sort is it?”</p> + +<p>“It’s nuffin’—not jus’ now. I’m all right jus’ now.”</p> + +<p>They walked in silence till they had left the road behind and had turned +off to the long country road that led to William’s house. Then, slowly +and deliberately, still clasping his burden of parcels, William sat down +on the ground.</p> + +<p>“I can’t walk any more, Ethel,” he said, turning his healthy countenance +up to her. “I’m took ill sudden.”</p> + +<p>She looked down at him impatiently.</p> + +<p>“Don’t be absurd, William,” she said. “Get up.”</p> + +<p>“I’m not absurd,” he said firmly. “I’m took ill.”</p> + +<p>“Where do you feel ill?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span></p> + +<p>“All over,” he said guardedly.</p> + +<p>“Does your ankle hurt?”</p> + +<p>“Yes—an’ my knees an’ all up me. I jus’ can’t walk. I’m took too ill to +walk.”</p> + +<p>She looked round anxiously.</p> + +<p>“Oh, what <em>are</em> we going to do? It’s a quarter of a mile home!”</p> + +<p>At that moment there appeared the figure of a tall young man. He drew +nearer and raised his hat.</p> + +<p>“Anything wrong, Miss Brown?” he said, blushing deeply.</p> + +<p>“Just <em>look</em> at William!” said Ethel, pointing dramatically at the small +figure seated comfortably in the dust of the road. “He says he can’t +walk, and goodness knows what we’re going to do.”</p> + +<p>The young man bent over William, but avoided meeting his eyes.</p> + +<p>“You feeling ill, my little man?” he said cheerfully.</p> + +<p>“Huh!” snorted William. “That’s a nice thing for <em>you</em> to ask when you +know you told me——”</p> + +<p>The young man coughed long and loud.</p> + +<p>“All right,” he said hastily. “Well, let’s see what we can do. Could you +get on my back, and then I can carry you home? Give me your parcels. +That’s right. No, Miss Brown. I <em>insist</em> on carrying the parcels. I +couldn’t <em>dream</em> of allowing you—well, if you’re <em>sure</em> you’d rather. +Leave me the big ones, anyway. Now, William, are we ready?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 408px;"> +<img src="images/p211.png" width="408" height="450" +alt="William sitting on the ground, looking up at Ethel." +title="Page 211" /> +<span class="caption">“I CAN’T WALK ANY MORE, ETHEL,” HE SAID, TURNING HIS HEALTHY COUNTENANCE UP +TO HER. “I’M TOOK ILL SUDDEN!”</span> +</div> + +<p>William clung on behind, nothing loth, and they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span> set off rather slowly down the road. +Ethel was overcome with gratitude.</p> + +<p>“It <em>is</em> kind of you, Mr. French. I don’t know what we should have done +without you. I do hope he’s not fearfully heavy, and I do hope he’s not +beginning anything infectious. Do let me take the other parcels. Won’t +you, really? Mother <em>will</em> be grateful to you. It’s such a strange +thing, isn’t it? I’ve never heard of such a thing before. I’ve always +thought William was so strong. I hope it’s not consumption or anything +like that. How does consumption begin?”</p> + +<p>Mr. French had had no conception of the average weight of a sturdy small +boy of eleven. He stumbled along unsteadily.</p> + +<p>“Oh, no,” he panted. “Don’t mention it—don’t mention it. It’s a +pleasure—really it is. No, indeed you mustn’t take the parcels. You +have quite enough already. Quite enough. No, he isn’t a bit heavy. Not a +bit. I’m so glad I happened to come by at a moment that I could do you a +service. <em>So</em> glad!” He paused to mop his brow. He was breathing very +heavily. There was a violent and quite unreasonable hatred of William at +his heart.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you think you could walk now—just a bit, William?” he said, with +a touch of exasperation in his panting voice. “I’ll help you walk.”</p> + +<p>“All right,” William acceded readily. “I don’t mind. I’ll lean on you +hard, shall I?”</p> + +<p>“Do you feel well enough?” said Ethel anxiously.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes. I can walk now, if he wants—I mean if he doesn’t mind me +holding on to his arm. I feel<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span> as if I was goin’ to be <em>quite</em> all right +soon. I’m nearly all right now.”</p> + +<p>The three of them walked slowly up the drive to the Brown’s house, +William leaning heavily on the young man’s arm. Mrs. Brown saw them from +the window and ran to the door.</p> + +<p>“Oh, dear!” she said. “You’ve run over him on your motor-cycle. I knew +you’d run over somebody soon. I said when I saw you passing on it +yesterday——”</p> + +<p>Ethel interrupted indignantly.</p> + +<p>“Why, Mother, Mr. French has been so kind. I can’t think what I’d have +done without him. William was taken ill and couldn’t walk, and Mr. +French has carried him all the way from the other end of the road, on +his back.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I’m <em>so</em> sorry! How very kind of you, Mr. French. Do come in and +stay to lunch. William, go upstairs to bed at once and I’ll ring up Dr. +Ware.”</p> + +<p>“No,” said William firmly. “Don’t bother poor Dr. Ware. I’m all right +now. Honest I am. He’d be mad to come and find me all right.”</p> + +<p>“Of course you must see a doctor.”</p> + +<p>“No, I <em>mustn’t</em>. You don’t understand. It wasn’t that kind of not +wellness. A doctor couldn’t of done me no good. I jus’—jus’ came over +queer,” he ended, remembering a phrase he had heard used recently by the +charwoman.</p> + +<p>“What do you think, Mr. French?” said Mrs. Brown anxiously.</p> + +<p>Both Mrs. Brown and Ethel turned to him as to an oracle. He looked from +one to the other and a deep flush of guilt overspread his countenance.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Oh—er—well,” he said nervously. “He <em>looks</em> all right, doesn’t he? +I—er—wouldn’t bother. Just—er—don’t worry him with questions. +Just—let him go about as usual. I—er—think it’s best to—let him +forget it,” he ended weakly.</p> + +<p>“Of course he’s growing very fast.”</p> + +<p>“Yes. I expect it was just a sort of growing weakness,” said Mr. French +brightly.</p> + +<p>“But Mr. French was <em>splendid!</em>” said Ethel enthusiastically, “simply +splendid. William, I don’t think you realise how kind it was of Mr. +French. I think you ought to thank him.”</p> + +<p>William fixed his benefactor with a cold eye.</p> + +<p>“Thank you very much indeed for carrying me,” he said. Then, as his +mother turned to Ethel with a remark about the lunch, he added. “<em>Two</em>, +remember, and, with long tails!”</p> + +<p>Mr. French stayed for lunch and spent the afternoon golfing with Ethel +up at the links. William was wrapt up in rugs and laid upon the library +sofa after lunch and left to sleep off his mysterious complaint in +quietness with the blinds down.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brown, entering on tiptoe to see how her son was faring, found him +gone.</p> + +<p>“Oh, he’s gone,” she said anxiously to her husband. “I left him so +comfortable on the sofa, and told him to try to sleep. Sleep is so +important when you’re ill. And now he’s gone—he’ll probably stay away +till bedtime!”</p> + +<p>“All right,” said her husband sardonically. “Be thankful for small +mercies.”</p> + +<p>Ethel and her esquire returned to tea, and, yielding to the entreaties +of the family, who looked upon him as William’s saviour, he stayed to +dinner. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span> spent the evening playing inadequate accompaniments to +Ethel’s songs and ejaculating at intervals rapturous expressions of +delight. It was evident that Ethel was flattered by his obvious +admiration. He stayed till nearly eleven, and then, almost drunk with +happiness, he took his leave while the family again thanked him +profusely.</p> + +<p>As he walked down the drive with a smile on his lips and his mind +flitting among the blissful memories of the evening, an upper window was +opened cautiously and a small head peeped out. Through the still air the +words shot out——</p> + +<p>“<em>Two</em>, mind, an’ with long tails.”</p> + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>“Where did you get it from?” demanded Mr. Brown fiercely.</p> + +<p>William pocketed his straying pet.</p> + +<p>“A friend gave it me.”</p> + +<p>“<em>What</em> friend?”</p> + +<p>“Mr. French. The man what carried me when I was took ill sudden. He gave +me it. I di’n’t know it was goin’ to go into your slipper. I wun’t of +let it if I’d known. An’ I di’n’t know it was goin’ to bite your toe. It +di’n’t mean to bite your toe. I ’spect it thought it was me givin’ it +sumthin’ to eat. I expect——”</p> + +<p>“Be <em>quiet!</em> What on earth did Mr. French give you the confounded thing +for?”</p> + +<p>“I dunno. I s’pect he jus’ wanted to.”</p> + +<p>“He seems to have taken quite a fancy to William,” said Mrs. Brown.</p> + +<p>Ethel blushed faintly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span></p> + +<p>“He seems to have taken a spite against me,” said Mr. Brown bitterly. +“How many of the wretched pests have you got?”</p> + +<p>“They’re rats,” corrected William, “White ’uns. I’ve only got two.”</p> + +<p>“Good Heavens! He’s got <em>two</em>. Where’s the other?”</p> + +<p>“In the shed.”</p> + +<p>“Well, <em>keep</em> it there, do you hear? And this savage brute as well. Good +Lord! My toe’s nearly eaten off. They ought to wear muzzles; they’ve got +rabies. Where’s Jumble? He in the shed, too?” hopefully.</p> + +<p>“No. He dun’t like ’em. But I’m tryin’ to <em>teach</em> him to like ’em. I let +’em loose and let him look at ’em with me holdin’ on to him.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, go on doing that,” said Mr. Brown encouragingly. “Accidents +sometimes happen.”</p> + +<p>That night William obeyed the letter of the law by keeping the rats in a +box on his bedroom window-sill.</p> + +<p>The household was roused in the early hours of the morning by piercing +screams from Ethel’s room. The more adventurous of the pair—named +Rufus—had escaped from the box and descended to Ethel’s room by way of +the creeper. Ethel awoke suddenly to find it seated on her pillow softly +pawing her hair. The household, in their various sleeping attire, +flocked to her room at the screams. Ethel was hysterical. They fed her +on hot tea and biscuits to steady her nerves. “It was <em>horrible!</em>” she +said. “It was pulling at my hair. It just sat there with its pink nose +and long tail. It was perfectly <em>horrible!</em>”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 390px;"> +<img src="images/p217.png" width="390" height="470" +alt="William, holding a rat, looking up at his father." +title="Page 217" /> +<span class="caption">MR. BROWN IN LARGE PYJAMAS LOOKED FIERCELY DOWN AT +WILLIAM IN SMALL PYJAMAS.</span> +</div> + +<p>“Where <em>is</em> the wretched animal?” said Mr. Brown looking round with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span> +murder in his eyes.</p> + +<p>“I’ve got it, Father,” piped up William’s small voice at the back of the +crowd. “Ethel di’n’t understand. It was playin’ with her. It di’n’t mean +to frighten her. It——”</p> + +<p>“I told you not to keep them in the house.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Brown in large pyjamas looked fiercely down at William in small +pyjamas with the cause of all the tumult clasped lovingly to his breast. +Ethel, in bed, continued to gasp weakly in the intervals of drinking +tea.</p> + +<p>“They weren’t in the house,” said William firmly. “They were outside the +window. Right outside the window. Right on the sill. You can’t call +outside the window in the house, can you? I <em>put</em> it outside the house. +I can’t help it <em>comin’</em> inside the house when I’m asleep, can I?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Brown eyed his son solemnly.</p> + +<p>“The next time I catch either of those animals inside this house, +William,” he said slowly, “I’ll wring its neck.”</p> + +<p>When Mr. French called the next afternoon, he felt that his popularity +had declined.</p> + +<p>“I can’t think why you gave William such dreadful things,” Ethel said +weakly, lying on the sofa. “I feel quite upset. I’ve got such a headache +and my nerves are a wreck absolutely.”</p> + +<p>Mr. French worked hard that afternoon and evening to regain his lost +ground. He sat by the sofa and talked in low tones. He read aloud to +her. He was sympathetic, penitent, humble and devoted. In spite of all +his efforts, however, he felt that his old prestige was gone. He was no +longer the Man<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> Who Carried William Home. He was the Man Who Gave +William the Rat. He felt that, in the eyes of the Brown household, he +was solely responsible for Ethel’s collapse. There was reproach even in +the eyes of the housemaid who showed him out. In the drive he met +William. William was holding a grimy, blood-stained handkerchief round +his finger. There was reproach in William’s eyes also. “It’s bit me,” he +said indignantly. “One of those rats what you gave me’s bit me.”</p> + +<p>“I’m awfully sorry,” said Mr. French penitently. Then, with sudden +spirit, “Well, you asked for rats, didn’t you?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said William. “But not savage ones. I never asked for savage +ones, did I? I di’n’t ask for rats what would scare Ethel and bite me, +did I? I was jus’ teaching it to dance on its hind legs an’ holding up +its front ones for it an’ it went an’ bit me.”</p> + +<p>Mr. French looked at him apprehensively.</p> + +<p>“You—you’d better not—er—tell your mother or sister about your +finger. I—I wouldn’t like your sister to be upset any more.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t you want me to let ’em know?”</p> + +<p>“Er—no.”</p> + +<p>“Well, what’ll you give me not to?” said William brazenly.</p> + +<p>Mr. French plunged his hand into his pocket.</p> + +<p>“I’ll give you half-a-crown,” he said.</p> + +<p>William pocketed the coin.</p> + +<p>“All right!” he said. “If I wash the blood off an’ get my hands dirty +nobody’ll notice.”</p> + +<p>Things went well for several days after that. Mr. French arrived the +next morning laden with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span> flowers and grapes. The household unbent +towards him. Ethel arranged a day’s golfing with him. William spent a +blissful day with his half-crown. There was a fair in full swing on the +fair ground, and thither William and Jumble wended their way. William +had eleven consecutive rides on the merry-go-round. He had made up his +mind to have twelve, but, much to his regret, had to relinquish the +twelfth owing to certain unpleasant physical sensations. With a lordly +air, he entered seven tents in succession and sat gazing in a silent +intensity of rapture at the Strong Man, the Fat Woman, the Indiarubber +Jointed Boy, the Siamese Twins, the Human Eel, the Man-headed Elephant +and the Talking Monkey. In each tent he stayed, silent and enraptured, +till ejected by the showman to make room for others who were anxious to +feast their eyes upon the marvels. Having now completely recovered from +the sensations caused by the merry-go-round, he purchased a large bag of +pop-corn and stood leaning against a tent-pole till he had consumed it. +Then he purchased two sticks of nougat and with it drank two bottles of +ginger-beer. The remaining 4<i>d.</i> was spent upon a large packet of a red +sticky mixture called Canadian Delight.</p> + +<p>Dusk was falling by this time and slowly, very slowly, William returned +home. He firmly refused all food at supper. Mrs. Brown grew anxious.</p> + +<p>“William, you don’t look a bit well,” she said. “You don’t feel like you +did the other day, do you?”</p> + +<p>William met Mr. French’s eye across the table and Mr. French blushed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span></p> + +<p>“No, not a bit like that,” said William.</p> + +<p>When pressed, he admitted having gone to the fair.</p> + +<p>“Someone gave me half-a-crown,” he excused himself plaintively. “I jus’ +had to go somewhere.”</p> + +<p>“It’s perfectly absurd of people,” said Mrs. Brown indignantly, “to give +large sums of money to a boy of William’s age. It always ends this way. +People ought to know better.”</p> + +<p>As they passed out from the supper-table, William whispered hoarsely to +Mr. French:</p> + +<p>“It was the half-crown what you give me.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t tell them,” whispered Mr. French desperately.</p> + +<p>“What’ll you give me not to?”</p> + +<p>Furtively Mr. French pressed a two-shilling piece into his hand.</p> + +<p>Glorious vistas opened before William’s eyes He decided finally that Mr. +French must join the family. Life then would be an endless succession of +half-crowns and two-shilling pieces.</p> + +<p>The next day was Sunday, and William went to the shed directly after +breakfast to continue the teaching of Rufus, the dancing rat. Rufus was +to be taught to dance, the other, now christened Cromwell, was to be +taught to be friends with Jumble. So far this training had only reached +the point of Cromwell’s sitting motionless in the cage, while in front +of it William violently restrained the enraged Jumble from murder. +Still, William thought, if they looked at each other long enough, +friendship would grow. So they looked at each other each day till +William’s arm ached. As yet friendship had not grown.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span></p> + +<p>“William! It’s time for church.”</p> + +<p>William groaned. That was the worst of Sundays. He was sure that with +another half-hour’s practice Rufus would dance and Cromwell would be +friends with Jumble. He was a boy not to be daunted by circumstance. He +put Rufus in his pocket and put the cage containing Cromwell on the top +of a pile of boxes, leaving Jumble to continue the gaze of friendship +from the floor.</p> + +<p>He walked to church quietly and demurely behind his family, one hand +clutching his prayer-book, the other in his pocket clasping Rufus. He +hoped to be able to continue the training during the Litany. He was not +disappointed. Ethel was on one side of him, and there was no one on the +other. He knelt down devoutly, one hand shading his face, the other +firmly holding Rufus’s front paws as he walked it round and round on the +floor. He grew more and more interested in its progress.</p> + +<p>“Tell William to kneel up and not to fidget,” Mrs. Brown passed down via +Ethel.</p> + +<p>William gave her a virulent glance as he received the message and, +turning his back on her, continued the dancing lesson.</p> + +<p>The Litany passed more quickly than he ever remembered its doing before. +He replaced the rat in his pocket as they rose for the hymn. It was +during the hymn that the catastrophe occurred.</p> + +<p>The Browns occupied the front seat of the church. While the second verse +was being sung, the congregation was electrified by the sight of a +small, long-tailed white creature appearing suddenly upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span> Mr. Brown’s +shoulder. Ethel’s scream almost drowned the organ. Mr. Brown put up his +hand and the intruder jumped upon his head and stood there for a second, +digging his claws into his victim’s scalp. Mr. Brown turned upon his son +a purple face that promised future vengeance. The choir turned +fascinated eyes upon it, and the hymn died away. William’s face was a +mask of horror. Rufus next appeared running along the rim of the pulpit. +There was a sudden unceremonial exit of most of the female portion of +the congregation. The clergyman grew pale as Rufus approached and slid +up his reading-desk. A choir-boy quickly grabbed it, and retired into +the vestry and thence home before his right to its possession could be +questioned. William found his voice.</p> + +<p>“He’s took it,” he said in a sibilant whisper. “It’s mine! He took it!”</p> + +<p>“<em>Sh!</em>” said Ethel.</p> + +<p>“It’s mine,” persisted William. “It’s what Mr. French give me for being +took ill that day, you know.”</p> + +<p>“What?” said Ethel, leaning towards him.</p> + +<p>The hymn was in full swing again now.</p> + +<p>“He gave it me for being took ill so’s he could come and carry me home +’cause he was gone on you an’ it’s mine an’ that boy’s took it an’ it +was jus’ gettin’ to dance an’——”</p> + +<p>“<em>Sh!</em>” hissed Mr. Brown violently.</p> + +<p>“I shall never look anyone in the face again,” lamented Mrs. Brown on +the way home. “I think <em>everyone</em> was in church! And the way Ethel +screamed! It was <em>awful!</em> I shall dream of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span> it for nights. William, I don’t know how +you <em>could!</em>”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 396px;"> +<img src="images/p224.png" width="396" height="430" +alt="The Brown family in their pew, Mr. Brown with a rat on his head." +title="Page 224" /> +<span class="caption">WILLIAM’S FACE WAS A MASK OF HORROR.</span> +</div> + +<p>“Well, it’s mine,” said William. “That boy’d no business to take it. It<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span> +was gettin’ to know <em>me</em>. I di’n’t <em>mean</em> it to get loose, an’ get on +Father’s head an’ scare folks. I di’n’t mean it to. I meant it to be +quiet and stay in my pocket. It’s mine, anyway, an’ that boy took it.”</p> + +<p>“It’s not yours any more, my son,” said Mr. Brown firmly.</p> + +<p>Ethel walked along with lips tight shut.</p> + +<p>In the distance, walking towards them, was a tall, jaunty figure. It was +Mr. French, who, ignorant of what had happened, was coming gaily on to +meet them returning from church. He was smiling as he came, secure in +his reception, composing airy compliments in his mind. As Ethel came on +he raised his hat with a flourish and beamed at her effusively. Ethel +walked past him, without a glance and with head high, leaving him, +aghast and despairing, staring after her down the road. He never saw Mr. +and Mrs. Brown. William realised the situation. The future half-crowns +and two-shilling pieces seemed to vanish away. He protested vehemently.</p> + +<p>“Ethel, don’t get mad at Mr. French. He di’n’t mean anything! He only +wanted to do sumthin’ for you ’cause he was mad on you.”</p> + +<p>“It’s <em>horrible!</em>” said Ethel. “First you bringing that dreadful animal +to church, and then I find that he’s deceived me and you helped him. I +hope Father takes the other one away.”</p> + +<p>“He won’t,” said William. “He never said anything about that. The +other’s learnin’ to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span> friends with Jumble in the shed. I say, Ethel, +don’t be mad at Mr. French. He——”</p> + +<p>“Oh, don’t <em>talk</em> about him,” said Ethel angrily.</p> + +<p>William, who was something of a philosopher, accepted failure, and the +loss of any riches a future allied with Mr. French might have brought +him.</p> + +<p>“All right!” he said. “Well, I’ve got the other one left, anyway.”</p> + +<p>They entered the drive and began to walk up to the front-door. From the +bushes came a scampering and breaking of twigs as Jumble dashed out to +greet his master. His demeanour held more than ordinary pleasure: it +expressed pride and triumph. At his master’s feet he laid his proud +offering—the mangled remains of Cromwell.</p> + +<p>William gasped.</p> + +<p>“Oh, William!” said Ethel, “I’m so <em>sorry</em>.”</p> + +<p>William assumed an expression of proud, restrained sorrow.</p> + +<p>“All right!” he said generously. “It’s not your fault really. An’ it’s +not Jumble’s fault. P’r’aps he thought it was what I was tryin’ to teach +him to do. It’s jus’ no one’s fault. We’ll have to bury it.” His spirits +rose. “I’ll do the reel buryin’ service out of the Prayer Book.”</p> + +<p>He stood still gazing down at what was left of Jumble’s friend. Jumble +stood by it, proud and pleased, looking up with his head on one side and +his tail wagging. Sadly William reviewed the downfall of his hopes. Gone +was Mr. French and all he stood for. Gone was Rufus. Gone was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span> Cromwell. +He put his hand into his pocket and it came in contact with the +two-shilling piece.</p> + +<p>“Well,” he said slowly and philosophically, “I’ve got <em>that</em> left +anyway.”</p> + +<hr /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XII<br /> + +“JUMBLE”</h2> + +<p>William’s father carefully placed the bow and arrow at the back of the +library cupboard, then closed the cupboard door and locked it in grim +silence. William’s eyes, large, reproachful, and gloomy, followed every +movement.</p> + +<p>“Three windows and Mrs. Clive’s cat all in one morning,” began Mr. Brown +sternly.</p> + +<p>“I didn’t <em>mean</em> to hit that cat,” said William earnestly. “I +didn’t—honest. I wouldn’t go round teasin’ cats. They get so mad at +you, cats do. It jus’ got in the way. I couldn’t stop shootin’ in time. +An’ I didn’t <em>mean</em> to break those windows. I wasn’t <em>tryin’</em> to hit +them. I’ve not hit anything I was trying to hit yet,” wistfully. “I’ve +not got into it. It’s jus’ a knack. It jus’ wants practice.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Brown pocketed the key.</p> + +<p>“It’s a knack you aren’t likely to acquire by practice on this +instrument,” he said drily.</p> + +<p>William wandered out into the garden and looked sadly up at the garden +wall. But The Little Girl Next Door was away and could offer no +sympathy, even if he climbed up to his precarious seat on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span> top. Fate +was against him in every way. With a deep sigh he went out of the garden +gate and strolled down the road disconsolately, hands in pockets.</p> + +<p>Life stretched empty and uninviting before him without his bow and +arrow. And Ginger would have his bow and arrow, Henry would have his bow +and arrow, Douglas would have his bow and arrow. He, William, alone +would be a thing apart, a social outcast, a boy without a bow and arrow; +for bows and arrows were the fashion. If only one of the others would +break a window or hit a silly old cat that hadn’t the sense to keep out +of the way.</p> + +<p>He came to a stile leading into a field and took his seat upon it +dejectedly, his elbows on his knees, his chin in his hands. Life was +simply not worth living.</p> + +<p>“A rotten old cat!” he said aloud, “a rotten old cat!—and didn’t even +hurt it. It—it made a fuss—jus’ out of spite, screamin’ and carryin’ +on! And windows!—as if glass wasn’t cheap enough—and easy to put in. I +could—I could mend ’em myself—if I’d got the stuff to do it. I——” He +stopped. Something was coming down the road. It came jauntily with a +light, dancing step, fox-terrier ears cocked, retriever nose raised, +collie tail wagging, slightly dachshund body a-quiver with the joy of +life.</p> + +<p>It stopped in front of William with a glad bark of welcome, then stood +eager, alert, friendly, a mongrel unashamed.</p> + +<p>“Rats! Fetch ’em out!” said William idly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 434px;"> +<img src="images/p230.png" width="434" height="370" +alt="William sitting on the stile with the dog in front of him." +title="Page 230" /> +<span class="caption">IT STOPPED IN FRONT OF WILLIAM WITH A GLAD BARK OF WELCOME.</span> +</div> + +<p>It gave a little spring and waited, front paws apart and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span> +crouching, a waggish eye upraised to William. William broke off a stick +from the hedge and threw it. His visitor darted after it with a shrill +bark, took it up, worried it, threw it into the air, caught it, growled +at it, finally brought it back to William and waited, panting, eager, +unmistakably grinning, begging for more.</p> + +<p>William’s drooping spirits revived. He descended from his perch and +examined its collar. It bore the one word “Jumble.”</p> + +<p>“Hey! Jumble!” he called, setting off down the road.</p> + +<p>Jumble jumped up around him, dashed off, dashed back, worried his boots, +jumped up at him again in wild, eager friendship, dashed off again, +begged for another stick, caught it, rolled over with it, growled at it, +then chewed it up and laid the remains at William’s feet.</p> + +<p>“Good ole chap!” said William encouragingly. “Good ole Jumble! Come on, +then.”</p> + +<p>Jumble came on. William walked through the village with a self-conscious +air of proud yet careless ownership, while Jumble gambolled round his +heels.</p> + +<p>Every now and then he would turn his head and whistle imperiously, to +recall his straying <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">protégé</i> from the investigation of ditches and +roadside. It was a whistle, commanding, controlling, yet withal +careless, that William had sometimes practised privately in readiness +for the blissful day when Fate should present him with a real live dog +of his own. So far Fate, in the persons of his father and mother, had +been proof against all his pleading.</p> + +<p>William passed a blissful morning. Jumble<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span> swam in the pond, he fetched +sticks out of it, he shook himself violently all over William, he ran +after a hen, he was chased by a cat, he barked at a herd of cows, he +pulled down a curtain that was hanging out in a cottage garden to +dry—he was mischievous, affectionate, humorous, utterly +irresistible—and he completely adopted William. William would turn a +corner with a careless swagger and then watch breathlessly to see if the +rollicking, frisky little figure would follow, and always it came +tearing eagerly after him.</p> + +<p>William was rather late to lunch. His father and mother and elder +brother and sister were just beginning the meal. He slipped quietly and +unostentatiously into his seat. His father was reading a newspaper. Mr. +Brown always took two daily papers, one of which he perused at breakfast +and the other at lunch.</p> + +<p>“William,” said Mrs. Brown, “I do wish you’d be in time, and I do wish +you’d brush your hair before you come to table.”</p> + +<p>William raised a hand to perform the operation, but catching sight of +its colour, hastily lowered it.</p> + +<p>“No, Ethel dear, I didn’t know anyone had taken Lavender Cottage. An +artist? How nice! William dear, <em>do</em> sit still. Have they moved in yet?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Ethel, “they’ve taken it furnished for two months, I think. +Oh, my goodness, just <em>look</em> at William’s hands!”</p> + +<p>William put his hands under the table and glared at her.</p> + +<p>“Go and wash your hands, dear,” said Mrs. Brown patiently.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span></p> + +<p>For eleven years she had filled the trying position of William’s mother. +It had taught her patience.</p> + +<p>William rose reluctantly.</p> + +<p>“They’re not dirty,” he said in a tone of righteous indignation. “Well, +anyway, they’ve been dirtier other times and you’ve said nothin’. I +can’t be <em>always</em> washin’ them, can I? Some sorts of hands get dirty +quicker than others an’ if you keep on washin’ it only makes them worse +an’——”</p> + +<p>Ethel groaned and William’s father lowered his paper. William withdrew +quickly but with an air of dignity.</p> + +<p>“And just <em>look</em> at his boots!” said Ethel as he went. “Simply caked; +and his stockings are soaking wet—you can see from here. He’s been +right <em>in</em> the pond by the look of him and——”</p> + +<p>William heard no more. There were moments when he actively disliked +Ethel.</p> + +<p>He returned a few minutes later, shining with cleanliness, his hair +brushed back fiercely off his face.</p> + +<p>“His <em>nails</em>,” murmured Ethel as he sat down.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Mrs. Brown, “go on telling us about the new people. +William, do hold your knife properly, dear. Yes, Ethel?”</p> + +<p>William finished his meal in silence, then brought forth his momentous +announcement.</p> + +<p>“I’ve gotter dog,” he said with an air of importance.</p> + +<p>“What sort of a dog?” and “Who gave it to you?” said Robert and Ethel +simultaneously.</p> + +<p>“No one gave it me,” he said. “I jus’ got it. It began following me this +morning an’ I couldn’t<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span> get rid of it. It wouldn’t go, anyway. It +followed me all round the village an’ it came home with me. I couldn’t +get rid of it, anyhow.”</p> + +<p>“Where is it now?” said Mrs. Brown anxiously.</p> + +<p>“In the back garden.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Brown folded up his paper.</p> + +<p>“Digging up my flower-beds, I suppose,” he said with despairing +resignation.</p> + +<p>“He’s tied up all right,” William reassured him. “I tied him to the tree +in the middle of the rose-bed.”</p> + +<p>“The rose-bed!” groaned his father. “Good Lord!”</p> + +<p>“Has he had anything to eat?” demanded Robert sternly.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said William, avoiding his mother’s eye. “I found a few bits of +old things for him in the larder.”</p> + +<p>William’s father took out his watch and rose from the table.</p> + +<p>“Well, you’d better take it to the Police Station this afternoon,” he +said shortly.</p> + +<p>“The Police Station!” repeated William hoarsely. “It’s not a <em>lost</em> dog. +It—it jus’ doesn’t belong to anyone, at least it didn’t. Poor thing,” +feelingly. “It—it doesn’t want <em>much</em> to make it happy. It can sleep in +my room an’ jus’ eat scraps.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Brown went out without answering.</p> + +<p>“You’ll have to take it, you know, William,” said Mrs. Brown, “so be +quick. You know where the Police Station is, don’t you? Shall I come +with you?”</p> + +<p>“No, thank you,” said William hastily.</p> + +<p>A few minutes later he was walking down to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> the Police Station followed +by the still eager Jumble, who trotted along, unconscious of his doom.</p> + +<p>Upon William’s face was a set, stern expression which cleared slightly +as he neared the Police Station. He stood at the gate and looked at +Jumble. Jumble placed his front paws ready for a game and wagged his +tail.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said William, “here you are. Here’s the Police Station.”</p> + +<p>Jumble gave a shrill bark. “Hurry up with that stick or that race, +whichever you like,” he seemed to say.</p> + +<p>“Well, go in,” said William, nodding his head in the direction of the +door.</p> + +<p>Jumble began to worry a big stone in the road. He rolled it along with +his paws, then ran after it with fierce growls.</p> + +<p>“Well, it’s the Police Station,” said William. “Go in if you want.”</p> + +<p>With that he turned on his heel and walked home, without one backward +glance. But he walked slowly, with many encouraging “Hey! Jumbles” and +many short commanding whistles. And Jumble trotted happily at his heels. +There was no one in the garden, there was no one in the hall, there was +no one on the stairs. Fate was for once on William’s side.</p> + +<p>William appeared at the tea-table well washed and brushed, wearing that +air of ostentatious virtue that those who knew him best connected with +his most daring coups.</p> + +<p>“Did you take that dog to the Police Station, William?” said William’s +father.</p> + +<p>William coughed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 449px;"> +<img src="images/p236.png" width="449" height="350" +alt="William trudging dejectedly along with Jumble running behind." +title="Page 236" /> +<span class="caption">JUMBLE TROTTED ALONG UNCONSCIOUS OF HIS DOOM.</span> +</div> + +<p>“Yes, father,” he said meekly with his eyes upon his plate.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span></p> + +<p>“What did they say about it?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing, father.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose I’d better spend the evening replanting those rose-trees,” +went on his father bitterly.</p> + +<p>“And William gave him a <em>whole</em> steak and kidney pie,” murmured Mrs. +Brown. “Cook will have to make another for to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>William coughed again politely, but did not raise his eyes from his +plate.</p> + +<p>“What is that noise?” said Ethel. “Listen!”</p> + +<p>They sat, listening intently. There was a dull grating sound as of the +scratching of wood.</p> + +<p>“It’s upstairs,” said Robert with the air of a Sherlock Holmes.</p> + +<p>Then came a shrill, impatient bark.</p> + +<p>“It’s a <em>dog!</em>” said the four of them simultaneously. “It’s William’s +dog.”</p> + +<p>They all turned horrified eyes upon William, who coloured slightly but +continued to eat a piece of cake with an unconvincing air of +abstraction.</p> + +<p>“I thought you said you’d taken that dog to the Police Station, +William,” said Mr. Brown sternly.</p> + +<p>“I did,” said William with decision. “I did take it to the Police +Station an’ I came home. I s’pose it must of got out an’ come home an’ +gone up into my bedroom.”</p> + +<p>“Where did you leave it? In the Police Station?”</p> + +<p>“No—at it—jus’ at the gate.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Brown rose with an air of weariness.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Robert,” he said, “will you please see that that animal goes to the +Police Station this evening?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, father,” said Robert, with a vindictive glare at William.</p> + +<p>William followed him upstairs.</p> + +<p>“Beastly nuisance!” muttered Robert.</p> + +<p>Jumble, who was chewing William’s door, greeted them ecstatically.</p> + +<p>“Look!” said William bitterly. “Look at how it knows one! Nice thing to +send a dog that knows one like that to the Police Station! Mean sort of +trick!”</p> + +<p>Robert surveyed it coldly.</p> + +<p>“Rotten little mongrel!” he said from the heights of superior knowledge.</p> + +<p>“Mongrel!” said William indignantly. “There jus’ isn’t no mongrel about +<em>him</em>. Look at him! An’ he can learn tricks easy as easy. Look at him +sit up and beg. I only taught him this afternoon.”</p> + +<p>He took a biscuit out of his pocket and held it up. Jumble rose +unsteadily on to his hind legs and tumbled over backwards. He wagged his +tail and grinned, intensely amused. Robert’s expression of superiority +relaxed.</p> + +<p>“Do it again,” he said. “Not so far back. Here! Give it me. Come on, +come on, old chap! That’s it! Now stay there! Stay there! Good dog! Got +any more? Let’s try him again.”</p> + +<p>During the next twenty minutes they taught him to sit up and almost +taught him “Trust” and “Paid for.” There was certainly a charm about +Jumble. Even Robert felt it. Then Ethel’s voice came up the stairs.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Robert! Sydney Bellew’s come for you.”</p> + +<p>“Blow the wretched dog!” said the fickle Robert rising, red and +dishevelled from stooping over Jumble. “We were going to walk to +Fairfields and the beastly Police Station’s right out of our way.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll take it, Robert,” said William kindly. “I will really.”</p> + +<p>Robert eyed him suspiciously.</p> + +<p>“Yes, you took it this afternoon, didn’t you?”</p> + +<p>“I will, honest, to-night, Robert. Well, I couldn’t, could I?—after all +this.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” said Robert darkly. “No one ever knows what <em>you</em> are +going to do!”</p> + +<p>Sydney’s voice came up.</p> + +<p>“Hurry up, old chap! We shall never have time to do it before dark, if +you aren’t quick.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll take him, honest, Robert.”</p> + +<p>Robert hesitated and was lost.</p> + +<p>“Well,” he said, “you just mind you do, that’s all, or I’ll jolly well +hear about it. I’ll see <em>you</em> do too.”</p> + +<p>So William started off once more towards the Police Station with Jumble, +still blissfully happy, at his heels. William walked slowly, eyes fixed +on the ground, brows knit in deep thought. It was very rarely that +William admitted himself beaten.</p> + +<p>“Hello, William!”</p> + +<p>William looked up.</p> + +<p>Ginger stood before him holding his bow and arrows ostentatiously.</p> + +<p>“You’ve had your bow and arrow took off you!” he jeered.</p> + +<p>William fixed his eye moodily upon him for a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span> minute, then very +gradually his eye brightened and his face cleared. William had an idea.</p> + +<p>“If I give you a dog half time,” he said slowly, “will you give me your +bow and arrows half time?”</p> + +<p>“Where’s your dog?” said Ginger suspiciously.</p> + +<p>William did not turn his head.</p> + +<p>“There’s one behind me, isn’t there,” he said anxiously. “Hey, Jumble!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, he’s just come out of the ditch.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>Ginger considered thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>“All right,” he said laconically.</p> + +<p>William walked on to the Police Station without turning round.</p> + +<p>“Well?” whispered Robert sternly that evening.</p> + +<p>“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.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 379px;"> +<img src="images/p241.png" width="379" height="500" +alt="A man standing in the doorway watching William and Jumble." +title="Page 241" /> +<span class="caption">WILLIAM SAT IN THE BARN GAZING DOWN AT JUMBLE.</span> +</div> + +<p>“Well, if he comes to this house again,” said Robert, “I’ll wring his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span> +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. To-morrow William would roam the fields with bow and arrow and +Ginger would assume ownership of Jumble.</p> + +<p>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 door-post 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.</p> + +<p>“Good afternoon,” he said politely, “Do you remember what you were +thinking about just then?”</p> + +<p>William looked at him with a certain interest,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span> speculating upon his +probable insanity. He imagined lunatics were amusing people.</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Daddy!”</p> + +<p>The man sighed and put away his block.</p> + +<p>“You’ll do it again for me one day, won’t you, and I’ll keep my promise. +Hello!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Daddy!” she screamed. “It’s Jumble! It <em>is</em> Jumble! Oh, you horrid +dog-stealing boy!”</p> + +<p>Jumble ran to her with shrill barks of welcome, then ran back to William +to reassure him of his undying loyalty.</p> + +<p>“It <em>is</em> 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.”</p> + +<p>“I <em>didn’t</em> steal him,” said William indignantly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span> “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?”</p> + +<p>“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 +<em>good</em> dog. I mean he’s no pedigree.”</p> + +<p>“Then can I keep him jus’ for a bit?” said William, his voice husky with +eagerness.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Do you like Paris?” she asked William as they went towards Lavender +Cottage.</p> + +<p>“Never been there,” said William stolidly, glancing round +surreptitiously to see that Jumble was following.</p> + +<p>She shook her dark curly head from side to side—a little trick she had.</p> + +<p>“You funny boy. <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Mais vous parlez Français, n’est-ce pas?</i>”</p> + +<p>William disdained to answer. He whistled to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span> Jumble, who was chasing an +imaginary rabbit in a ditch.</p> + +<p>“Can you jazz?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” he said guardedly. “I’ve not tried. I expect I could.”</p> + +<p>She took a few flying graceful steps with slim black silk-encased legs.</p> + +<p>“That’s it. I’ll teach you at home. We’ll dance it to a gramophone.”</p> + +<p>William walked on in silence.</p> + +<p>She stopped suddenly under a tree and held up her little vivacious, +piquant face to him.</p> + +<p>“You can kiss me if you like,” she said.</p> + +<p>William looked at her dispassionately.</p> + +<p>“I don’t want to, thanks,” he said politely.</p> + +<p>“Oh, you <em>are</em> a funny boy!” she said with a ripple of laughter, “and +you look so rough and untidy. You’re rather like Jumble. Do you like +Jumble?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said William. His voice had a sudden quaver in it. His ownership +of Jumble was a thing of the past.</p> + +<p>“You can have him for always and always,” she said suddenly. “<em>Now</em> kiss +me!”</p> + +<p>He kissed her cheek awkwardly with the air of one determined to do his +duty, but with a great, glad relief at his heart.</p> + +<p>“I’d love to see you dance,” she laughed. “You <em>would</em> look funny.”</p> + +<p>She took a few more fairy steps.</p> + +<p>“You’ve seen Pavlova, haven’t you?”</p> + +<p>“Dunno.”</p> + +<p>“You must know.”</p> + +<p>“I mustn’t,” said William irritably. “I might<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span> have seen him and not +known it was him, mightn’t I?”</p> + +<p>She raced back to her father with another ripple of laughter.</p> + +<p>“He’s <em>such</em> a funny boy, Daddy, and he can’t jazz and he’s never seen +Pavlova, and he can’t talk French and I’ve given him Jumble and he +didn’t want to kiss me!”</p> + +<p>Mr. Jarrow fixed William with a drily quizzical smile.</p> + +<p>“Beware, young man,” he said. “She’ll try to educate you. I know her. I +warn you.”</p> + +<p>As they got to the door of Lavender Cottage he turned to William.</p> + +<p>“Now just sit and think for a minute. I’ll keep my promise.”</p> + +<p>“I do like you,” said Ninette graciously as he took his departure. “You +must come again. I’ll teach you heaps of things. I think I’d like to +marry you when we grow up. You’re so—<em>restful</em>.”</p> + +<p>William came home the next afternoon to find Mr. Jarrow in the armchair +in the library talking to his father.</p> + +<p>“I was just dry for a subject,” he was saying; “at my wits’ end, and +when I saw them there, I had a Heaven-sent inspiration. Ah! here he is. +Ninette wants you to come to tea to-morrow, William. Ninette’s given him +Jumble. Do you mind?” turning to Mr. Brown.</p> + +<p>Mr. Brown swallowed hard.</p> + +<p>“I’m trying not to,” he said. “He kept us all awake last night, but I +suppose we’ll get used to it.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span></p> + +<p>“And I made him a rash promise,” went on Mr. Jarrow, “and I’m jolly well +going to keep it if it’s humanly possible. William, what would you like +best in all the world?”</p> + +<p>William fixed his eyes unflinchingly upon his father.</p> + +<p>“I’d like my bow and arrows back out of that cupboard,” he said firmly.</p> + +<p>Mr. Jarrow looked at William’s father beseechingly.</p> + +<p>“Don’t let me down,” he implored. “I’ll pay for all the damage.”</p> + +<p>Slowly and with a deep sigh Mr. Brown drew a bunch of keys from his +pocket.</p> + +<p>“It means that we all go once more in hourly peril of our lives,” he +said resignedly.</p> + +<p>After tea William set off again down the road. The setting sun had +turned the sky to gold. There was a soft haze over all the countryside. +The clear bird songs filled all the air, and the hedgerows were bursting +into summer. And through it all marched William, with a slight swagger, +his bow under one arm, his arrows under the other, while at his heels +trotted Jumble, eager, playful, adoring—a mongrel unashamed—all sorts +of a dog. And at William’s heart was a proud, radiant happiness.</p> + +<p>There was a picture in that year’s Academy that attracted a good deal of +attention. It was of a boy sitting on an upturned box in a barn, his +elbows on his knees, his chin in his hands. He was gazing down at a +mongrel dog and in his freckled face was the solemnity and unconscious, +eager wistfulness that is the mark of youth. His untidy, unbrushed hair +stood up round his face.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span> The mongrel was looking up, quivering, +expectant, trusting, adoring, some reflection of the boy’s eager +wistfulness showing in the eyes and cocked ears. It was called +“Friendship.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brown went up to see it. She said it wasn’t really a very good +likeness of William and she wished they’d made him look a little tidier.</p> + +<p class="center">THE END</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><span class="smaller">Transcriber’s Note</span></h2> + +<p>Obvious punctuation errors have been corrected without comment.</p> + +<p>The following typographical errors have been corrected:</p> + +<ul class="none"> +<li><a href="#Page_91">Page 91</a>: pour forth her toubles. <span class="smaller">changed to</span> pour forth her troubles.</li> +<li><a href="#Page_159">Page 159</a>: goin’ an’ given’ it our <span class="smaller">changed to</span> goin’ an’ givin’ it our</li> +<li><a href="#Page_189">Page 189</a>: I’m going’ to be p’lite <span class="smaller">changed to</span> I’m goin’ to be p’lite</li> +<li><a href="#Page_215">Page 215</a>: me givin’s it <span class="smaller">changed to</span> me givin’ it</li> +<li><a href="#Page_244">Page 244</a>: <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">vous parlez Francais, n’est ce pas?</i> <span class="smaller">changed to</span> <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">vous parlez +Français, n’est-ce pas?</i></li></ul> + +<p>On page 108, the contraction Folks ’ll has been closed up.</p> + +<p>The abbreviation d. for penny is sometimes italicised, and sometimes +not. This has been retained.</p> + +<p>All other original spelling and punctuation has been retained.</p> + +<p>In this text:</p> + +<ul class="none"> +<li>both arm-chair and armchair are used</li> +<li>both bed-room and bedroom are used</li> +<li>both bed-time and bedtime are used</li> +<li>both country-side and countryside are used</li> +<li>both door-way and doorway are used</li> +<li>both house-maid and housemaid are used</li> +<li>both india-rubber and Indiarubber are used</li> +<li>both kitchen-maid and kitchenmaid are used</li> +<li>both life-long and lifelong are used</li> +<li>both mantel-piece and mantelpiece are used</li> +<li>both open-mouthed and openmouthed are used</li> +<li>both pop-corn and popcorn are used</li> +<li>both rose-bud and rosebud are used</li> +<li>both ship-loads and shiploads are used</li></ul> + +<p>Where full-page illustrations fall within paragraphs, they have been +moved to the nearest paragraph break.</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Just William, by Richmal Crompton + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JUST WILLIAM *** + +***** This file should be named 34414-h.htm or 34414-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/4/4/1/34414/ + +Produced by David Clarke, and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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