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diff --git a/old/65590-0.txt b/old/65590-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 03d4671..0000000 --- a/old/65590-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8320 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of William Again, by Richmal Crompton - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: William Again - -Author: Richmal Crompton - -Release Date: June 11, 2021 [eBook #65590] - -Language: English - -Produced by: deaurider, Alan and the Online Distributed Proofreading - Team at https://www.pgdp.net - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WILLIAM AGAIN *** - - - - - -WILLIAM AGAIN - - - - -[Illustration: "GOOD MORNING, LITTLE BOY," SAID THE VISITOR. - -"UMPH!" REPLIED WILLIAM. - -"WHAT'S YOUR NAME, DEAR?" SHE ASKED. - -"PETER," SAID WILLIAM.] - - - - - WILLIAM AGAIN - - - BY - - RICHMAL CROMPTON - - - [Illustration] - - ILLUSTRATED BY - THOMAS HENRY - - - LONDON - GEORGE NEWNES, LIMITED - SOUTHAMPTON ST., STRAND, W.C. - - - - - _First Published_ _June 1923_ - _Reprinted_ _September 1923_ - _Reprinted_ _December 1923_ - _Reprinted_ _February 1924_ - _Reprinted_ _July 1924_ - _Reprinted_ _November 1924_ - _Reprinted_ _January 1925_ - _Reprinted_ _July 1925_ - _Reprinted_ _November 1925_ - _Reprinted_ _February 1926_ - _Reprinted_ _August 1926_ - _Reprinted_ _December 1926_ - _Reprinted_ _July 1927_ - _Reprinted_ _January 1928_ - _Reprinted_ _November 1928_ - _Reprinted_ _October 1929_ - _Reprinted_ _October 1930_ - _Reprinted_ _October 1931_ - _Reprinted_ _October 1932_ - _Reprinted_ _November 1933_ - _Reprinted_ _December 1934_ - _Reprinted_ _August 1936_ - _Reprinted_ _October 1937_ - _Reprinted_ _May 1939_ - _Reprinted_ _February 1940_ - - - _Printed in Great Britain by - Wyman & Sons, Limited, London, Fakenham and Reading._ - - - - -CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER PAGE - - I. WHAT DELAYED THE GREAT MAN 11 - - II. THE CURE 29 - - III. THAT BOY 44 - - IV. WILLIAM THE REFORMER 58 - - V. NOT MUCH 74 - - VI. WILLIAM AND THE WHITE CAT 92 - - VII. WILLIAM'S SECRET SOCIETY 108 - - VIII. THE NATIVE PROTÉGÉ 133 - - IX. JUST WILLIAM'S LUCK 148 - - X. THE GREAT DETECTIVE 166 - - XI. THE CIRCUS 181 - - XII. WILLIAM SELLS THE TWINS 197 - - XIII. WILLIAM'S HELPING HAND 214 - - XIV. WILLIAM GETS WRECKED 233 - - - - - TO - TOMMY - - - - -CHAPTER I - -WHAT DELAYED THE GREAT MAN - - -WILLIAM, taking his character as a whole, was not of the artistic -genre. He had none of the shrinking sensitiveness and delicate -imaginativeness of the true artist. But the fact remains that this -summer he was impelled by some inner prompting to write a play. - -The idea had been growing in his mind for some time. He had seen plays -acted by the village amateur dramatic society which was famous more for -a touching reliance on the prompter than for any real histrionic talent. - -William had considered them perfect. He had decided, after their -last performance, to go on the stage. But none of his friends could -inform him of the preliminary steps necessary for getting on the -stage. It is true that the man in the boot-shop, whose second cousin -was a scene-shifter in a provincial music-hall, had promised to use -his influence, but when William was told the next week that the second -cousin had been dismissed for appearing in a state of undeniable -intoxication and insisting on accompanying the heroine on to the stage, -he felt that all hopes from that direction must be abandoned. It was -then that he had the brilliant idea. He would write a play himself and -act in that. - -William had great confidence in his own powers. He had no doubts -whatever of his ability to write a play and act in it. If he couldn't -go on _the_ stage he'd go on _a_ stage. Surely no one could object to -that. All he'd want would be some paper and ink and a few clothes. -Surely his family--bent as they always were on clouding his moments of -purest happiness--couldn't object to that? - -"Jus' ink an' paper an' a few ole clothes," he said wistfully to his -mother. - -She eyed him with a mistrust that was less the result of a suspicious -nature than of eleven years' experience of her younger son. - -"Won't pencil do?" she said. - -"Pencil!" he said scornfully. "Did--did Shakespeare or--or the man wot -wrote 'The Red Gang'--well, did _they_ write in pencil?" - -Mrs. Brown, having no knowledge of the subject, shifted her point of -attack. - -"What sort of clothes will you want?" she said. - -"Oh--jus' clothes," said William vaguely. - -"Yes, but what sort?" - -"How can I tell," said William irritably, "till I've _wrote_ the play?" - - * * * * * - -William's family long remembered the silence and peace that marked the -next few afternoons. During them, William, outstretched upon the floor -of the summer-house, wrote his play with liberal application of ink -over his person and clothes and the surrounding woodwork. William was -not of that class of authors who neglect the needs of the body. After -every few words he took a deep draught from a bottle of Orange Ale that -stood on his right and a bite from an ink-coated apple on his left. -He had laid in a store of apples and sweets and chocolates under the -seat of the summer-house for his term of authorship. Every now and then -he raised a hand to his frowning brow in thought, leaving upon it yet -another imprint of his ink-sodden fingers. - -"Where is he?" said his father in hushed wonder at the unwonted peace. - -"He's in the summer-house writing a play," said his wife. - -"I hope it's a nice long one," said her husband. - - * * * * * - -William had assembled his caste and assigned them their parts. Little -Molly Carter was to be the heroine, Ginger the hero, Henry the hero's -friend, Douglas a crowd of outlaws, William himself was to be the -villain, stage-manager and prompter. He handed them their parts with a -lofty frown. The parts were in a grimy exercise book. - -"It's all wrote out," he said. "You jus' learn it where it says your -names. Molly's Lady Elsabina----" - -"Elsabina isn't a name _I've_ ever heard," said that lady pertly. - -"I didn't say it was, did I?" said William coldly. "I shu'n't be -surprised if there was lots of names you'd never heard of. An' Ginger -is Sir Rufus Archibald Green an' Henry is the Hon. Lord Leopold, an' -I'm Carlo Rupino, a villain. All you've gotter do is to learn your -parts an' Wednesday morning we'll go through it jus' to practise it, -an' Wednesday afternoon we'll do it." - -"We can't three learn out of one book," said the leading lady, who was -inclined to make objections. - -"Yes, you _can_," said William. "You can take turns sitting in the -middle." - -Lady Elsabina sniffed. - -"And such writing!" she said scornfully. - -"Well, I don't count on my fingers," said William, returning scorn for -scorn, "not so's everyone can see me, at any rate." - -At which public allusion to her arithmetical powers, Lady Elsabina took -refuge in another sniff, followed by a haughty silence. - - * * * * * - -The rehearsal was not an unqualified success. The heroine, as is the -way of heroines, got out of bed the wrong side. After a stirring -domestic scene, during which she bit her nurse and flung a basin of -bread and milk upon the floor, she arrived tearful and indignant and -half an hour late at the rehearsal. - -"Can't you come a bit later?" said the stage-manager bitterly. - -"If you're going to be nasty to me," returned the heroine stormily, -"I'm going back home." - -"All right," muttered the stage-manager, cowed, like most -stage-managers, by the threatening of tears. - -The first item on the agenda was the question of the wardrobe. -William had received an unpleasant surprise which considerably -lowered his faith in human nature generally. On paying a quiet and -entirely informal visit to his sister's bedroom in her absence, to -collect some articles of festive female attire for his heroine, he -had found every drawer, and even the wardrobe, locked. His sister had -kept herself informed of the date of the performance, and had taken -measures accordingly. He had collected only a crochet-edged towel, -one of the short lace curtains from the window, and a drawn-thread -work toilet-cover. Otherwise his search was barren. Passing through -the kitchen, however, he found one of her silk petticoats on a -clothes-horse and added it to his plunder. He found various other -articles in other parts of the house. The dressing up took place in an -outhouse that had once been a stable at the back of William's house. -The heroine's dress consisted of Ethel's silk petticoat with holes cut -for the arms. The lace curtain formed an effective head-dress, and the -toilet-cover pinned on to the end of the petticoat made a handsome -train. - -The effect was completed by the crochet-edged towel pinned round her -waist. Sir Rufus Archibald Green, swathed in an Indian embroidered -table-cover, with a black satin cushion pinned on to his chest, a -tea-cosy on his head, and an umbrella in his hand, looked a princely -hero. The Hon. Lord Leopold wore the dining-room table-cloth and the -morning-room waste-paper basket with a feather, forcibly wrested from -the cock's tail by William, protruding jauntily from the middle. -Douglas, as the crowd, was simply attired in William's father's top hat -and a mackintosh. - -William had quietly abstracted the top hat as soon as he heard -definitely that his father would not be present at the performance. -William's father was to preside at a political meeting in the village -hall, which was to be addressed by a Great Man from the Cabinet, who -was coming down from London specially for the occasion. - -"Vast as are the attractions of any enterprise promoted by you, -William," he had said, politely at breakfast, "duty calls me elsewhere." - -William, while murmuring perfunctory sorrow at these tidings, hastily -ran over in his mind various articles of his father's attire that could -therefore be safely utilised. The robing of William himself as the -villain had cost him much care and thought. He had finally decided upon -the drawing-room rug pinned across his shoulder and a fern-pot upon his -head. It was a black china fern-pot and rather large, but it rested -upon William's ears, and gave him a commanding and sinister appearance. -He also carried an umbrella. - -These preparations took longer than the caste had foreseen, and, when -finally large moustaches had been corked upon the hero's, villain's and -crowd's lips, the lunch-bell sounded from the hall. - -"Jus' all finished in time!" said William the optimist. - -"Yes, but wot about the rehearsal," said the crowd gloomily, "wot about -that?" - -"Well, you've had the book to learn the stuff," said William, "that's -enough, isn't it? I don't s'pose real acting people bother with -rehearsals. It's quite easy. You jus' learn your stuff an' then say it. -It's silly wasting time over rehearsals." - -"Have you learnt wot you say, William Brown?" said the heroine shrilly. - -"I _know_ wot I say," said William loftily, "I don't need to _learn!_" - -"William!" called a stern sisterly voice from the house, "mother says -come and get ready for lunch." - -William merely ejected his tongue in the direction of the voice and -made no answer. - -"We'd better be taking off the things," he said, "so's to be in time -for this afternoon. Haf-past two it begins, then we can have a nice -long go at it. Put all the things away careful behind that box so's -bothering ole people can't get at them an' make a fuss." - -"William, where _are_ you?" called the voice impatiently. - -The tone goaded William into reply. - -"I'm somewhere where _you_ can't find me," he called. - -"You're in the stable," said the voice triumphantly. - -"Seems as if folks simply couldn't leave me alone," said William -wistfully, as he removed his fern-pot and fur rug and walked with slow -dignity into the house. - -"Wash yourself first, William," said the obnoxious voice. - -"I _am_ washed," returned William coldly, as he entered the -dining-room, forgetting the presence of a smudgy, corked moustache upon -lips and cheeks. - - * * * * * - -It was an unfortunate afternoon as far as the prospects of a large -audience were concerned. Most of the adults of the place were going -to listen to the Great Man. Most of the juveniles were going to watch -a football match. Moreover, the caste, with the instincts of the very -young, had shrouded the enterprise so deeply in mystery in order to -enjoy the sensation of superiority, that they had omitted to mention -either the exact nature of the enterprise or the time at which it would -take place. - -On the side-gate was pinned a notice: - -[Illustration: THIS WAY TO THE BLOODY HAND ➔] - -In the stable was a row of old chairs all turned out of the house at -various times because of broken backs and legs. As a matter of fact, -the caste were little concerned with the audience. The great point -was that they were going to act a play--they scarcely cared whether -anyone watched it or not. Upon a broken chair in the middle sat a small -child, attracted by the notice. Her chair had only lost one leg, so, -by sitting well on to one side, she managed to maintain an upright -position on it. At a stern demand for money from William, she had shyly -slipped a halfpenny into the fern-pot, which served the double purpose -of head-gear and pay-desk. She now sat--an enthralled spectator--while -the caste dressed and argued before her. - -Outside down the road came the Great Man. He had come by an earlier -train by mistake and was walking slowly towards the village hall, -intensely bored by the prospect of the afternoon. He stopped suddenly, -arrested by a notice on a side gate: - -[Illustration: THIS WAY TO THE BLOODY HAND ➔] - -He took out his watch. Half an hour to spare. He hesitated a moment, -then walked firmly towards the Bloody Hand. Inside an outhouse a group -of curiously-dressed children stared at him unsmilingly. One of them, -who was dressed in a rug and a fern-pot, addressed him with a stern -frown. - -[Illustration: INSIDE AN OUTHOUSE A GROUP OF CURIOUSLY-DRESSED CHILDREN -STARED AT HIM UNSMILINGLY.] - -"We're jus' going to begin," he said, "sit down." - -The Great Man sat down obediently and promptly collapsed upon the floor. - -"You shu'n't have sat on a chair with two legs gone," said William -impatiently. "You've broke it altogether now. You can manage all right -if you try one with only one gone. We're jus' going to begin." - -The Great Man picked up himself and his hat and sat down carefully upon -the farthermost edge of a three-legged chair. - -William, holding the mangled remains of an exercise book in his hand, -strode forward. - -"'The Bloody Hand,' by William Brown," he announced in a resonant voice. - -"Well, an' wot about us?" said the heroine shrilly. - -"You didn't write it, did you?" said William. "I'm only saying who -wrote it." - -"Well, aren't you going to say who axe it?" she said pugnaciously. - -"No, I'm _not!_" said the stage-manager firmly. "You jus' say the one -wot wrote it. You don't go on saying all them wot axe it." - -"Well, I'm not going to be in it, then," she said. "I'm going home." - -William decided to be a woman-hater for the rest of his life. - -"All right," he capitulated, "'f you're going to be so -disagreeable--jus' like a girl"--he strode forward again and raised -his voice, "'The Bloody Hand,' wrote, every bit of it, by William -Brown--acted by Molly Carter an Ginger an' Douglas an' Henry--they jus' -learnt wot William Brown wrote. Now, if you'll be quiet a minute," he -went on to his silent audience, "we'll begin. You begin," he said to -the damsel in the lace curtain. - -She advanced. The rest of them stood in a corner and watched. - -"She's _on_," William announced to the audience. "We're _off_. Go on!" -he repeated to her. - -"I'm jus' going to," she replied irritably, "soon as you stop talking." -Then, changing her voice to one of shrill artificiality, "Ho! Where am -I? Lorst in a dreadful forest----" - -"It's meant to be a forest," explained the author to the audience. - -"I wish you'd stop keep on saying things," said the heroine. "I forget -where I am. Lorst in a dreadful forest. What shall I do? Ah, me! -Crumbs! Who is this who yawns upon my sight?" - -"_Dawns!_" corrected the prompter. - -"A fierce villain," went on the heroine, ignoring him, "methinks. I -shouldn't be surprised if it wasn't Carlo Rupino of the Bloody Hand. Oh -Lor! what shall I do? Ah me! He draws nearer." - -"It is him," prompted William. - -"I was jus' going to say that, if you wouldn't keep on interrupting. -It is him. I was jus' going to say it. Ah me! what shall I do? Whither -shall I flee? Nowhere. Gadzooks! He draws nearer." - -"I come on now," explained William to the audience, holding on to -his plant-pot with one hand to steady it. "I'm him." He advanced -threateningly upon the maiden. "Aha!" he sneered. "Gadzooks! doest thou -happen to know who I am?" - -"I am lorst in the dreadful forest," she replied. "Ah me! What shall I -do?" - -"I am Carlo Rupino of the Bloody Hand. Go on, _faint!_" he urged in an -undertone. - -"'F you think I'm going to faint on this dirty ole floor," she -replied, "I'm jus' not. You should have brushed it up a bit 'f you -wanted me to faint on it." - -"You don't know how to," he jeered. - -"I _do!_ I _can!_ I can faint beautifully on our drawing-room carpet. -I'm jus' not going to faint on a dirty ole stable floor an' I'm not -going to be _in_ your nasty ole play 'f you're not going to be nice to -me." - -"All right, then, don't be. You jus' take off my sister's petticoat, -an' our lace curtain an' don't be in it, if you don't want to be." - -"Well, I jus' _won't_, 'f you're going on like this at me." - -"Well, 'f you keep on talkin' not out of the play who's to know when -you're talkin' play an' when you're jus' talkin' yourself?" - -"Anyone with any sense could----" - -"Oh, get on with it," said the hero off the scenes. "You'll never get -to where I come in, if you're going on like this all day. _Pretend_ -she's fainted and go on from there." - -"All right," said the villain obligingly. "Aha! I hast thee in my -power. I wilt hang thee ere dawn dawns from my remote mountain lair." -The toilet-cover train caught on a nail and the petticoat tore with -an echoing sound. "That's right," he went on, "go on messin' up my -sister's things, so's she'll never be able to wear them again." - -"'F you're going to keep on being nasty to me," said the heroine again, -"I'm going straight back home an' I'm not going to be _in_ your ole -play." - -"Well, anyway," said William, with a mental determination that his next -play should contain no heroines, "now we go off and they come on." - -The hero and his friend advanced. - -"Alas!" said Sir Rufus Archibald Green, "I see no trace of her. What -canst have happened to her? I hope she hast not met yon horrible ole -villain, Carlo Rupino, of the Bloody Hand. Seest thou any footmarks of -her, the Hon. Lord Leopold?" - -The Hon. Lord Leopold examined the stable floor. - -"Lookin' for footmarks," explained the stage-manager to the audience. - -"Ah me! None!" said the Hon. Lord Leopold. Then, looking more closely. -"Crikey! Yes!" he said. "I seest footmarks. 'Tis hers and Carlo -Rupino's. I knowest their boots." - -"Ah me!" said the hero. "What cattastrop is here? Gadzooks! Let us -follow to his remote mountain lair. I will kill him dead and cut out -his foul black heart and put an end to his foul black life." - -He waved Mrs. Brown's best umbrella threateningly as he spoke. "Now -they come off," explained William, "an' we come on. Here's the gallows." - -He carried forward a small reading stand, taken from his father's -study, then advanced holding the hand of the fair Elsabina. The crowd -in his top hat and mackintosh stood in attendance. - -"Aha!" said Carlo Rupino to his victim, "I hast thee in my power, thou -ole girl! I am now going to hang thee from yon lofty gallows! Go on!" -he addressed the crowd. - -The crowd took off his top hat and uttered a feeble "Hurray!" - -"You couldn't hang me from that old thing," remarked the heroine -scornfully. - -"That's not in the play," said William. - -"I know it isn't. I'm jus' saying that myself." - -"Well, say wot's in the play." - -At that point the chair, upon which the Great Man was with difficulty -sitting, collapsed suddenly, precipitating the Great Man among its -fragments. William turned upon him sternly. - -"'F you're going to keep on making noises breaking chairs," he said, -"how d'you think we're going to get on?" - -The Great Man raised himself from the _débris_ with a murmured apology, -brushed himself as well as he could, and sat down quietly upon an -adjacent packing-case. - -"Well, go on!" said William to the heroine. - -"Something about 'Oh, mercy, spare me!' an' then I've forgot what comes -after that." - -"Well, why didn't you learn it?" - -"I can't read your nasty old writing--all blots an' things spilt on it." - -"Well, you can't write a play at all, so you needn't go making remarks -about people's writing what can." - -"Oh, go on!" said the egoistical hero off the stage. "Let's get to -where I come on." - -William studied his exercise-book carefully. - -"Here's wot you say," he said, "'Oh, mercy, spare me----'" - -"I said that." - -"Be quiet! 'Oh, mercy, spare me----'" - -"I _said_ that." - -"Be _quiet!_ 'Oh, mercy, spare me an' let me return to my dear ole -mother an' father an' the young gentleman wot I'm going to marry. His -name is Sir Rufus Archibald Green.' That's wot you say." - -"Well, you've said it, so I needn't say it all over again." - -"'F you think I'm going to say all your stuff for you----" began -William. - -Elsabina, bored with the question, pointed an accusing finger at the -Great Man. - -"Look at him!" she said. "He's come in without paying any money." - -Overcome by embarrassment, the Great Man hastily took out a case and -handed a ten-shilling note to William. A half-crown would have won -rapturous gratitude. A ten-shilling note was beyond their ken. The -entire caste gathered round it. - -"It's paper money," said Douglas, impressed. - -"I don't suppose it's _real_," said William gloomily. "Well, where're -we got to?" - -He turned quickly, and the fern-pot descended sharply, extinguishing -his head. He struggled with it without success. - -"Can't anyone do anything?" said his muffled voice from inside the -fern-pot. "I can't go on acting like this--people can't _see_ me. Well, -isn't anyone going to _do_ anything?" - -The caste pulled without success. - -"I didn't say pull my head off," said the stern, sarcastic voice from -inside the pot, "I said pull the _thing_ off!" - -The Great Man arose from his packing-case and came to the rescue. -Finally William's face appeared. William put his hands to his head. -"Any one'd think you wanted to pull my nose an' ears off--the way you -did it," he said. "Now let's get on." He turned to the heroine. "'No, I -will not spare thee. I hatest thy mother and thy father and the young -gentleman thou ist going to marry. Thy mother, thy father, and the -young gentleman thou ist going to marry wilt see thy lifeless body -dangling on my remote mountain lair ere dawn dawns. Gadzooks!' Now go -on! Scream!" - -The heroine screamed. - -The crowd took off his top hat and cheered. - -"'I will keep thee in a deep, dark dungeon, with all sorts of rats an' -things crawling about till even, and then--and then----'" He consulted -his exercise-book, "'and then I'll'--I've forgot this bit, and I can't -read wot comes next----" - -"_Yah!_" yelled the heroine in shrill triumph. - -"Shut up!" retorted William. "Now, you come on," to the hero. "Let's do -the rest as quick as we can. I'm getting a bit tired of it. Let's go -down to the pond an' race boats when we've done." - -"Golly! Yes--_let's!_" said the crowd enthusiastically. - -"Girls won't be allowed," said William to Elsabina. - -Elsabina elevated her small nose. - -"'S if I wanted to sail _boats!_" she said scornfully. - - * * * * * - -William's father entered the house hastily. - -"Surely the meeting isn't over, dear?" said William's mother. - -"He hasn't come," said Mr. Brown. "Everybody's waiting. We met the -train, but he wasn't on it. The station-master says that he came by an -earlier one and walked up, but no one can find him. He must have lost -his way." - -"William seems to have collected an old tramp in the stable," said Mrs. -Brown; "he may have seen him on the road." - -"I'll go and see," said Mr. Brown. - -In the stable a fight was going on between his son in a fur rug and his -son's friend in a table-cloth and a tea-cosy. Upon both faces were the -remains of corked moustaches. A broken fern-pot and a battered top hat -were on the floor. Another boy in a mackintosh and a little girl in a -lace curtain were watching. - -[Illustration: "THOU BEASTLY OLE ROBBER," DOUGLAS WAS SHOUTING, "I WILL -KILL THEE DEAD AND CUT OUT THY FOUL, BLACK HEART."] - -"Thou beastly ole robber," Douglas was shouting, "I will kill thee dead -and cut out thy foul, black heart." - -"Nay!" yelled his son. "I will hang thee from my mountain ere dawn -dawns and thy body shall dangle from the gallows----" - -A wistful-looking old man on a packing-case was an absorbed spectator -of the proceedings. When he saw William's father he took out his watch -with a guilty start. - -"Surely----" he said. "I'd no idea--_Heavens!_" - -He picked up his hat and almost ran. - - * * * * * - -The Great Man rose to address his audience. - -"Ladies and gentlemen--I must begin by apologising for my late -arrival," he said with dignity. "I have been unavoidably delayed." - -He tried not to meet William's father's eye as he made the statement. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -THE CURE - - -BREAKFAST was not William's favourite meal. With his father shut off -from the world by his paper, and his mother by her letters, one would -have thought that he would have enjoyed the clear field thus left for -his activities. But William liked an audience--even a hostile one -consisting of his own family. True, Robert and Ethel, his elder brother -and sister, were there; but Robert's great rule in life was to ignore -William's existence. Robert would have preferred not to have had a -small freckled, snub-nosed brother. But as Fate had given him such a -brother, the next best thing was to pretend that he did not exist. -On the whole, William preferred to leave Robert alone. And Ethel was -awful at breakfast--quite capable of summoning the Head of the Family -from behind his _Daily Telegraph_ when William essayed a little gentle -teasing. This morning William, surveying his family in silence in the -intervals of making a very hearty meal, came to the conclusion, not for -the first time, that they were hardly worthy of him: Ethel, thinking -she was so pretty in that stuck-up-looking dress, and grinning over -that letter from that soft girl. Robert talking about football and -nobody listening to him, and glaring at him (William) whenever he tried -to tell him what nonsense he was talking about it. No, it _wasn't_ -rounders he was thinking of--he knew 'bout football, thank you, he just -did. His mother--suddenly his mother put down her letter. - -"Great-Aunt Jane's very ill," she said. - -There was a sudden silence. Mr. Brown's face appeared above the _Daily -Telegraph_. - -"Um?" he said. - -"Great-Aunt Jane's very ill," said Mrs. Brown. "They don't seem to -think there's much chance of her getting better. They say----" She -looked again at the letter as if to make quite sure: "They say she -wants to see William. She's never seen him, you know." - -There was a gasp of surprise. - -Robert voiced the general sentiment. - -"Good Lord!" he said, "fancy anyone wanting to see _William!_" - -"When they're dying, too," said Ethel in equal horror. "One would think -they'd like to die in peace, anyway." - -"It hardly seems fair," went on Robert, "to show William to anyone -who's not strong." - -William glared balefully from one to the other. - -"Children! Children!" murmured Mrs. Brown. - -"How," said Mr. Brown, "are you going to get William over to Ireland?" - -"I suppose," said Mrs. Brown, "that someone must take him." - -"Good Lord! Who?" - -"Yes, who?" echoed the rest of the family. - -"I can't possibly leave the office for the next few weeks," said Mr. -Brown hastily. - -"I simply couldn't face the crossing alone--much less with William," -said Ethel. - -"I've got my finals coming off next year," said Robert. "I don't want -to waste any time. I'm working rather hard these vacs." - -"No one," said his father politely, "would have noticed it." - -"I can go alone, _thank_ you," said William with icy dignity. - - * * * * * - -In the end William and Mrs. Brown crossed to Ireland together. - -"If William drops overboard," was Robert's parting shot, "don't worry." - -The crossing was fairly eventful. William, hanging over the edge of -the steamer, overbalanced, and was rescued from a watery grave by one -of the crew who happened to be standing near and who caught him by his -trousers as the overbalancing occurred. William was far from grateful. - -"Pullin' an' tuggin' at me," he said, "an' I was all right. I was only -jus' lookin' over the edge. I'd have got back all right." - -But the member of the crew made life hideous to Mrs. Brown. - -"You know, lady," he muttered, "when I saved yer little boy's life, -I give myself such a wrench. I can feel it in my innards now, as it -were----" - -Hastily she gave him ten shillings. Yet she could not stem the flow. - -"I 'ope, lady," he would continue at intervals, "when that choild's -growd to be a man, you'll think sometoimes of the poor ole man wot -saved 'is life at the expense of 'is own innards, as you might say when -'e were a little 'un." - -A speech like that always won half-a-crown. In the end Mrs. Brown -spent her time avoiding him and fleeing whenever she saw him coming -along the deck. When a meeting was inevitable she hastily gave him the -largest coin she could find before he could begin on his "innards." - -Meanwhile a passenger had discovered William neatly balanced through -a porthole, and earned his undying hatred by hauling him in and -depositing him upside down on the floor. - -"Seems to me," said William to his mother, "that all these folks have -come for is to stop other folks having a good time. What do you come on -a boat for if you can't look at the sea--that's all I want to know?" - -A gale rose, and Mrs. Brown, pale and distraught, sat huddled up on -deck. William hovered round sympathetically. - -"I got some chocolate creams in my other coat. Like some of them?" - -"William, dear, don't bother to stay here. I'd just as soon you went -away and played." - -"Oh, no," said William nobly. "I wun't leave you feelin' bad." - -The boat gave a lurching heave. Mrs. Brown groaned. - -"Think you goin' to _be_ sick, mother?" said William with interest. - -"I--I don't know.... Wouldn't you like to go over to the other side for -a change?" - -William wandered away. Soon he returned, holding in his hands two -doughnuts--masses of yellowy, greasy-looking dough, bearing the impress -of William's grimy fingers. - -"I've got us one each," said William cheerfully. "You must be awful -hungry, mother." - -[Illustration: SOON WILLIAM RETURNED, HOLDING IN HIS HANDS TWO -DOUGHNUTS.] - -Mrs. Brown gave one glance and turned towards the sea. - - * * * * * - -In Great-Aunt Jane's drawing-room were assembled Uncle John and Aunt -Lucy and Cousin Francis. Francis was about the same age as William, but -inordinately fat and clad in white. He had fair curls and was the apple -of his parents' eyes. They had heard of William but none of them had -seen him. There was a murmur of excitement as the sound of the taxi was -heard, then William and his mother entered. Mrs. Brown was still pale. -William followed her, scowling defiantly at the world in general. - -"If you have any brandy----" said Mrs. Brown faintly. - -"Brandy?" said William cheerfully. "I never thought of that. I got you -nearly everything else, didn't I? I wanted to tempt her to eat," he -explained to the company. "I thought of choc'lates an' cakes an' cocoa -an' pork-pies--I _kept_ askin' her to try pork-pie--there was some -lovely ones on the boat--but I never thought of brandy. Have a good -drink of it, mother," he encouraged her, "an' then try an' have a go at -the chocolates." - -Mrs. Brown shivered slightly and sipped the brandy. - -"This, William," said Aunt Lucy, "is your cousin Francis." - -Cousin Francis held out his hand. "How do you do, William?" - -William took the proffered hand. "How do you do?" he said loudly, and -added _sotto voce_, "Fatty." - -Thus was war declared. - -Mrs. Brown was feeling better. - -"How is Great-Aunt Jane?" she said. - -"Sinking," said Uncle John in a voice of deepest gloom. "Sinking -fast--sinking fast." - -William's expression grew animated. - -"Where is she?" he said. "Is she out in the sea?" - -"Little boys," said Uncle John still gloomily, "should be seen and not -heard." - -At this point the nurse entered. - -"She can see the little boy now," she said, "if he's come." - -"Let the dear children go together," suggested Aunt Lucy. - -"Excellent," said Uncle John in his hushed, sepulchral voice. -"Excellent--together." - -William and Francis went upstairs behind the nurse. - -The bedroom was large and dim. At the far end lay Great-Aunt Jane, -propped up in a high old-fashioned bed. The nurse took them across. - -"I only wanted to see William," said Great-Aunt Jane feebly. "The other -need not have come. So this is Margaret's youngest, is it? I've seen -the others, Robert and Ethel. But I hadn't seen this one. I didn't want -to die without seeing all my family. He's not as beautiful as Francis, -but he's less fat. Do you trail clouds of glory, William? Francis -trails clouds of glory." - -"Clouds of fat more like," said William, who was beginning to be bored -by the whole affair. Great-Aunt Jane closed her eyes. - -"I'm going to rest a little," she said. "You can stay here and get me -anything I want while nurse goes to have her tea." - -The nurse went. - -Great-Aunt Jane fell asleep. - -William and Francis were left alone in the dim bedroom, sitting on -chairs, one on each side of the big bed as the nurse had placed them. -The silence grew oppressive. William fidgeted, then opened hostilities. - -"Hello, Fatty!" he whispered over Great-Aunt Jane's recumbent form. - -"'F you call me that again," whispered Francis, "I'll tell my mother." - -"'F you went telling tales of me, I'd pull your long hair off." - -Francis searched in his mind silent for a few minutes for a suitable -term of opprobrium. - -"Freckles!" he hissed across the bed at last. - -"Softy!" returned William. - -This was warfare after his own heart. - -"'F I got hold of you, I could throw you out of the window." - -"You couldn't. You'd just roll about. You couldn't throw anything. -You're too fat." - -"I told you what I'd do if you called me that again." - -"Tell-tale! Tell-tale! Silly ole tell-tale!" - -Still the deadly insults were being hurled across the bed in whispers, -and still Great-Aunt Jane slept. - -"I could bash your old freckled face in," whispered Francis. - -"I could knock your ole long-haired head off." - -"I could pull your ears out." - -"Come on, then. Have a try." - -"Come on yourself!" - -Worked up to fighting pitch, they stole round their corners of the bed -to the open space at the foot. Then they hurled themselves upon each -other. - -[Illustration: "GO IT, WILLIAM!" GREAT-AUNT JANE CRIED.... "ANOTHER, -ANOTHER!"...] - -They fought with fierce satisfaction, tearing at each other's hair, -punching each other's heads, squirming and rolling on the floor. -Suddenly they became aware of a spectator. Great-Aunt Jane was sitting -up in bed, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright. - -"Go it, William!" she said. "Get one in on his nose. That's right, -Fatty; well fended! Go on, William. Another, another! No biting, Fatty. -Go----Oh, dear!" - -There were footsteps on the stairs. - -"Quick!" said Great-Aunt Jane. - -They darted to their seats, smoothing their hair as they went. - -The nurse entered. - -"Whatever----" she began, then looked round the peaceful room. "Oh, it -must have been in the street!" - -Great-Aunt Jane opened her eyes. - -"I feel much better," she said. "_Ever_ so much better." - -"You _look_ better," said the nurse. "I hope the children were good." - -"Good as gold!" said Great-Aunt Jane, with the ghost of a wink at -William. - -"Look at them," said the nurse, smiling. "Both purple in the face with -holding their breaths. They'd better go now." - -Again Great-Aunt Jane winked at William. Downstairs Uncle John was -standing, gloomy as ever, by the fireplace. - -"How is she?" he said, as they entered. - -"I think she's risin' a bit," said William. - - * * * * * - -"What did you say he did this morning?" said Great-Aunt Jane to the -nurse. - -"He got up early," said the nurse, "and found a mouse in the mousetrap. -He put it into a cardboard box and almost covered the creature in -cheese, and made holes in the lid and put it into his pocket. He -wanted to keep it. Then the thing gnawed its way out at breakfast and -stampeded the whole table. It ran over Francis, and he yelled, and his -father nearly fainted. William was much annoyed. He said he'd meant to -teach it tricks." - -"It was yesterday, wasn't it," said Great-Aunt Jane, "that he dared -Fatty to walk on the edge of the rain tub, and he overbalanced and fell -in?" - -"Yes--and Fatty got in a temper and bit him, and they fought and rolled -down the bank together into the pond." - -"And Tuesday----" - -"Tuesday he brought the scarecrow in from the field in the evening and -put it in front of the fire where his uncle usually stands, and it -was rather dark, and they hadn't lit up yet, and his aunt came in and -talked to it for quite a long time before she discovered. She's rather -short-sighted, you know." - -"There was a terrible scuffle going on somewhere last night," said -Great-Aunt Jane eagerly. - -"Oh, yes--his Uncle John went downstairs about eleven for a book he'd -forgotten, and William heard him and thought he was a burglar, and -attacked him from behind. They fell downstairs on the top of each -other, and then William got his uncle rolled up in the hall rug with a -pair of gloves in his mouth and his eye-glasses broken before he found -out who he was--he's a curious boy!" - -Great-Aunt Jane was sitting up and looking quite bright. - -[Illustration: "THERE WAS A TERRIBLE SCUFFLING GOING ON SOMEWHERE, LAST -NIGHT."] - -"He certainly lends an interest to life. I feel ever so much better -since he came. You might send him up now, if he's in, nurse, will you?" - -On her way down the nurse met Uncle John. - -"How long is this young ruffian going to be here?" he said furiously. -William had successfully dispelled the air of hallowed gloom from the -house. "He's sent my nerves to pieces already--what his effect on that -poor sufferer must be----" - -"He seems to be strengthening _hers_," said the nurse. "She's just sent -for him." - -"That means a few minutes' peace for the rest of the house, at any -rate," he said. - -William entered the sick room sullenly. He was thoroughly bored with -life. Even his enemy, Fatty, was not to be found. Fatty retired every -afternoon with his mother to lie down. - -"Good afternoon, William," said Great-Aunt Jane, "are you enjoying your -visit?" - -"Well," said William vaguely, striving to temper truth with politeness, -"I wun't mind going home now. I've had enough." He sat down on her bed -and became confidential. "We've been here for weeks an' weeks----" - -"Four days," amended Great-Aunt Jane. - -"Well, four days, then," said William, "an' there's nothing left to do, -an' they make a fuss if I make a noise; an' I've got a lizard in a box -at home and I'm tryin' to teach it tricks, an' it'll have forgot me if -I stay here much longer. It was just gettin' to know me. I could tell -by its eyes. An' they might forget to feed it or _anything_--there's -nothing to _do_ here, an' mother's not been well since the sea made her -sick, an' I keep sayin'--why wait till she's all right to go back--case -the sea makes her sick again; better go back while she's feelin' bad -and get it all over again without the fuss of gettin' all right an' -then gettin' bad again; an' I keep sayin', _why_ are we stoppin' here -and stoppin' here an' stoppin' here--an' everyone sayin' '_Sh!_' when -you make a noise, or sing, or anything. I say--_why?_" - -Great-Aunt Jane's sunken lips were quivering, her eyes twinkling. - -"And why are you stoppin' an' stoppin' an' stoppin'?" - -"She says 'cause you're not out of danger, and we must stop till we -know which way it is. Well," he waxed still more confidential, "what I -say is, shurely you _know_ which way you're goin' to be. Can't you tell -us? Then if you're goin' to get better we'll go, an' if you're not----" - -"Yes, what then?" said Great-Aunt Jane. - -"Then we'll go, too. You don't want me hangin' round when you're -dyin'," he said coaxingly. "I'd like as not make a noise, or something, -and disturb you--and that lizard might have got out if I go waitin' -here much more--like wot that mouse did." - -Great-Aunt Jane drew a deep breath of utter content. - -"You're too priceless to be true, William," she said. - -"Can't you tell me which way?" said William ingratiatingly. - -"Yes," said Great-Aunt Jane, "I'm going to get better." - -"Oh, crumbs!" he said joyfully. "Can I go and tell mother to pack?" - -"You've turned the corner," said the doctor to Great-Aunt Jane an hour -later, "we needn't worry about you any more. All these relations of -yours can pack up and go." - -"William's packed already," said the nurse. "That boy is a cure!" - -Great-Aunt Jane laughed. - -"Yes, he's a cure, all right," she said. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -THAT BOY - - -WILLIAM had gone away with his family for a holiday, and he was not -enjoying it. For one reason it was not the sea. Last summer they had -gone to the sea and William had enjoyed it. He had several times been -rescued from a watery grave by passers-by. He had lost several pairs -of new shoes and stockings by taking them off among the rocks and then -roaming so far afield barefoot that he forgot where he had left them -and so came home without them. He got wet through every day as a matter -of course. Through the house where his family stayed his track was -marked by a trail of sand and seaweed and small deceased crabs. He had -upon one occasion floated out to sea in a boat which he had found on -the beach and loosened from its moorings, and narrowly escaped being -run down by a steamer. At the end of the holiday by the sea Mrs. Brown -had said weakly, "Let it be somewhere inland next year." - -William found things monotonous inland. There were no crabs and nothing -to do. Robert and Ethel, his grown-up brother and sister, had joined -a tennis club and were out all day. Not that William had much use for -Robert and Ethel. He preferred them out all day as a matter of fact. - -"All I say _is_," he said aggrievedly to his mother, "that no one -cares whether I'm havin' a nice time or not. You think that s' long -as father can go golfin'--or _tryin'_ to golf--and those two playin' -tennis--or what they _call_ tennis"--he added scornfully, "and you can -sit knittin', it's all _right_. You don't think of _me_. No one thinks -of me. I might just as well not be here. All I say _is_," he ended, "I -might jus' as well be _dead_ for all the trouble some people take to -make me happy." - -His mother looked at his scowling freckled countenance. - -"Well, dear," she said, "there are plenty of books about the house that -you haven't read." - -"_Books_," said William scornfully. "Sir Walter Scott's ole things--I -don't call that _books_." - -"You can go for walks." - -"_Walks!_" said William. "It's no use goin' walks without 'Jumble'." - -His father lowered his newspaper. "Your arithmetic report was vile," he -said. "You might occupy your time with a few sums. I'll set them for -you." - -William turned upon his parent a glance before which most men would -have quailed. Even William's father, inured as he was by long -experience to that glare of William's, retired hastily behind his -paper. Then, with a short and bitter laugh, William turned on his heel -and left the room. That was the last straw. He'd finished with them. -He'd simply finished with them. - -He put his head in at the window as he went towards the gate. - -"I'm goin' out, mother," he said in a voice which expressed stern -sorrow rather than anger. - -"All right, dear," said Mrs. Brown sweetly. - -"I may not be coming back--never," he added darkly. - -"All right, dear," said William's mother. - -William walked with slow dignity down to the gate. - -"All I say _is_," he remarked pathetically to the gatepost as he -passed, "I might as well be _dead_ for all anyone thinks of tryin' to -make my life a bit happier." - -He walked down to the village--a prey to black dejection. What people -came away for holidays _for_ beat him. At home there was old Jumble to -take for a walk and throw sticks for, and the next-door cat to tease -and the butcher's boy to fight, and various well-known friends and -enemies to make life interesting. Here there was--well, all he said -_was_, he might as well be _dead_. - -A char-à-banc stood outside the post-office, and people were taking -their places in it. William looked at it contemptuously. He began to -listen in a bored fashion to the conversation of two young men. - -"I'm awfully glad you ran down," one of them was saying to the other; -"we can have a good tramp together. To tell you the truth I'd got so -bored that I'd taken a ticket for this char-à-banc show.... Can't stand -'em really." - -"Will they give you your money back?" said the other. - -"It doesn't matter," said the first. - -Then he met William's dark, unflinching gaze and said carelessly, -"Here, kid, like a ticket for the char-à-banc trip?" - -William considered the question. Anything that would take him away from -the immediate vicinity of his family seemed at that moment desirable. - -"Does it come back?" he said. - -"It's _supposed_ to," said the young man. - -[Illustration: "ALL I SAY _IS_," WILLIAM SAID PUGNACIOUSLY, TRYING TO -SCOWL UP AT BOTH SIDES AT ONCE, "THAT THERE'S NOT MUCH _ROOM_."] - -That seemed rather a drawback. William felt that he would have -preferred to go away from his family on something that did not come -back. However, this was better than nothing. - -"All right," he said graciously, "I don't mind going." - -The young man handed him the ticket. - - * * * * * - -William sat in the middle of a seat between a very fat lady and a very -fat gentleman. - -"Not much _room_," he remarked bitterly to the world in general. - -The fat lady and the fat gentleman turned crushing glances upon him -simultaneously. William received and returned them. He even enlarged -upon his statement. - -"All I say _is_," he said pugnaciously, trying to scowl up at both -sides at once, "that there's not much _room_." - -The fat lady put up lorgnettes and addressed the fat gentleman over -William's head. - -"What a very rude little boy!" she said. - -Being apparently agreed upon that point they became friendly and -conversed together for the rest of the journey, ignoring the -subterranean rumbles of indignation that came from the small boy -between them. - -At last the char-à-banc stopped at a country village. The driver -explained that the church was an excellent example of Early Norman -architecture. This left William cold. He did not even glance at it. -The driver went on to remark that an excellent meal could be obtained -at the village inn. Here William's expression kindled into momentary -animation only to fade again into despair. For William had spent his -last twopence that morning upon a stick of liquorice. It had caused -a certain amount of friction between himself and his elder brother. -William had put it--partially sucked--upon a chair while he went to -wash his hands, and Robert had come in from tennis and inadvertently -sat down upon it. Being in a moist condition it had adhered to Robert's -white flannel trousers. Even when detached the fact of its erstwhile -adherence could not be concealed. William had considered Robert's -attitude entirely unreasonable. - -"Well, I don't know what he's got to be mad about.... I didn't make him -sit down on it, did I? He talks about me spoilin' his trousers--well, -wot about him spoilin' my liquorice? All I say _is_--who wants to eat -it, now he's been sittin' on it?" - -Robert had unkindly taken this statement at its face value and thrown -the offending stick of liquorice into the fire. - -William sadly extricated himself from the char-à-banc, thinking -bitterly of the vanished twopence, and liquorice, and the excellent -meal to be obtained from the village inn. He regarded himself at that -moment as a martyr whose innocence and unjust persecution equalled that -of any in the pages of the Church History book. - -An elderly lady in _pince-nez_ looked at him pityingly. - -"What's the matter, little boy?" she said. "You look unhappy." - -William merely smiled bitterly. - -"Is your mother with you?" she went on. - -"Nope," said William, thrusting his hands into his pockets and scowling -still more. - -"Your father, then?" - -"Huh!" said William, as though bitterly amused at the idea. - -"You surely haven't come alone!" said the lady. - -William gave vent to the dark emotions of his soul. - -"All I say _is_," he said, "that if you knew my family you'd be jolly -glad to go anywhere alone if you was me." - -The lady made little clicking noises with her tongue expressive of -sorrow and concern. - -"Dear, dear, dear!" she said. "And are you going to have tea now?" - -William assumed his famous expression of suffering patience. - -"I've got no money. It's not much use goin' to have tea anywhere when -you haven't got no money." - -"Haven't they given you any money for your tea?" said the lady -indignantly. - -"Not _they!_" said William with a bitter laugh. - -"_They_ wun't of let me come if they'd known. _They_ wun't of paid -anything for me. It was a frien' gave me the ticket jus' to giv' me a -bit of pleasure," he said pathetically, "but _they_ wun't even give me -money for my tea." - -"Perhaps," said the lady, "you had a late lunch and they thought----" - -"Huh!" ejaculated William. "I din' have _any_ lunch worth speakin' of." -He thrust aside the mental picture of two helpings of steak and three -of rice pudding. - -"You _poor_ child," said the lady. "Come along. _I'll_ give you your -tea." - -"Thanks," said William humbly and gratefully, trudging off with her in -the direction of the village inn. - -He felt torn between joy at the immediate prospect of a meal and pity -for his unhappy home life. William, generally speaking, had only to say -a thing to believe it. He saw himself now as the persecuted victim of -a cruel and unsympathetic family, and the picture was not without a -certain pleasure. William enjoyed filling the centre of the stage in -any capacity whatsoever. - -[Illustration: "LITTLE BOY," SHE SAID SOULFULLY, "YOU MUST TELL ME -_ALL_.... IF I REPORTED THE CASE TO THE SOCIETY FOR PREVENTION OF -CRUELTY TO CHILDREN----"] - -"I suppose," said the lady uncertainly, as William consumed boiled eggs -with relish, "that your family are _kind to you_." - -"You needn't s'pose that," said William, his mouth full of -bread-and-butter, his scowling gaze turned on her lugubriously. "You -jus' needn't s'pose that. Not with _my_ family." - -"They surely aren't _cruel_ to you?" said the lady in horror. - -"_Crule_," said William with a shudder, "jus' isn't the word. All I say -_is_, crule isn't the word." - -The lady leant across the table. - -"Little boy," she said soulfully, "you must tell me _all_. I want to -_help_ you. I go about the world helping people, and I'm going to help -you. Don't be frightened. You know people can be put in prison for -being cruel to children. If I reported the case to the Society for -Prevention of Cruelty to Children----" - -William was slightly taken aback. - -"Oh, I wun't like you to do that!" he said hastily. "I wun't like to -get them into trouble." - -"Ah," she said, "but you must think of your happiness, not theirs!" - -She watched, fascinated, as William finished a third plate of -bread-and-butter, and yet his hunger seemed to be unappeased. She was -not acquainted with the digestive capacity of an average healthy boy of -eleven. - -"I can see you've been starved," she said, "and I could tell at once -from your expression that you were unhappy. Have you any brothers and -sisters?" - -William, who had now reached the second stage of his tea, put half a -cake into his mouth, masticated and swallowed it before replying. - -"Two," he said briefly, "one each. Grown up. But they jus' care for -nothin' but their own pleasure. Why," he went on warming to his theme, -"this morning I bought a few sweets with jus' a bit of money I happened -to have, an' he took them from me and threw them into the fire. Jus' -threw them into the fire." - -The lady made the sympathetic clicking sound with her tongue. - -"Dear! dear! dear!" she said again. "How very unkind!" - -William somewhat reluctantly refused the last piece of cake. He had, -as a matter of fact, done full justice to the excellent meal provided -by the village inn. It had given him a feeling of gentle, contented -melancholy. He was basking in the thought of his unhappy home life. - -"I'm sorry to keep reminding you of it," said the lady, "but I feel -I really want to get to the bottom of it. There's generally only one -explanation of an unhappy home. I've investigated so many cases. Does -your father drink?" - -William nodded sadly. - -"Yes," he said. "That's it." - -"Oh," breathed the lady, "your _poor_ mother!" - -But William wanted no division of sympathy. - -"Mother drinks, too," he said. - -"You _poor_, poor child!" said the lady. - -William wondered whether to make Robert and Ethel drink, too, then -decided not to. As an artist he knew the value of restraint. - -"Never mind," said the lady, "you shall have _one_ happy afternoon, at -any rate." - -She took him to the village shop and bought him chocolates, and sweets, -and bananas, and a top. William found some difficulty in retaining an -expression suggestive of an unhappy home life, but he managed it fairly -successfully. - -He began to feel very sleepy on the way home. He had had a lovely time. -His pockets were full of sweets and chocolates, and he held his top in -his hand. He even felt that he could forgive his family. He'd heap -coals of fire on Robert's head by giving him a chocolate.... He was -almost asleep when the char-à-banc drew up at the post-office. Everyone -began to descend. He took a polite and distant farewell of the elderly -lady and set off for his home. But he found that the elderly lady was -coming with him. - -"Where do you live?" she said. - -"Oh," said William vaguely, "jus' somewhere along here." - -"I'm coming to see your father," said the lady in a determined voice. - -William was aghast. - -"Oh--er--I wun't do that if I was you!" he said. - -"I often find," she said, "that a drunkard does not realise what -unhappiness he makes in his home. I often find that a few words of -warning are taken to heart----" - -"You'd better _not_," said William desperately. "He dun't mind _wot_ -he does! He'd throw knives at you or shoot you or cut your head off -soon as not. He'll be jus' mad drunk when we get in. He went off to the -public-house jus' after breakfast. You'd better not come _near_ our -house.... All I say _is_, you might jus' as well be _dead_ as coming to -our house." - -"But what about you?" - -"Oh, I'm used to it," said William valiantly. "I don't mind. Please, -you'd better not come," he urged. "I'm thinkin' of _you_----" - -"I shan't feel that I've done my duty till I've at any rate tried to -make him see his sin." - -They were in the street now in which William's family were living. -William looked pale and desperate. Matters seemed to have gone beyond -his control. Suddenly he had an idea. He would lead her past the house -and on and on till one or other of them dropped from fatigue. She'd -have to go home some time. She couldn't go on all night. He could say -he'd forgotten where he lived. He began to dislike her intensely. Fussy -ole thing! Believing everything everyone said to her! Interfering with -other people's drunken fathers! He was creeping cautiously and silently -past his house by the side of his unsuspecting companion, when a shrill -cry reached him. - -"William! Hi! William! Where have you been? Mother says come in at -once!" - -It was Ethel leaning out of an upstairs window. The sight of her pretty -white-clad figure brought no pleasure to her brother's heart. He put -out his tongue at her and sadly opened the garden gate. - -"You'd better not come in," he said faintly to his companion, in a last -feeble attempt to avert the catastrophe which Fate seemed determined to -bring upon him, "he gets _vilent_ about this time of day." - -With firm set lips his companion followed him. - -"I must do my _duty_," she said sternly. - - * * * * * - -Mr. Brown looked up from the evening paper as his younger son entered. -At first he merely noticed that his younger son looked unusually -sheepish. Then he noticed that his son was followed by a tall, thin -lady of prim appearance and uncertain age, wearing _pince-nez_. Mr. -Brown groaned inwardly. Had William killed her cat or merely broken one -of her windows? - -"Er--good evening," he said. - -"Good evening," said the visitor. "I have been spending the afternoon -with your little boy." - -Mr. Brown sent William a speaking glance. He didn't mind what -caricatures William picked up outside the house, but he wished he'd -keep them there. William refused to meet his father's glance. He sat on -the edge of a chair looking rather pale, his cap in his hand, measuring -with his eye the distance between the chair and the half-open door. - -"Very kind of you," murmured Mr. Brown. - -"He has told me something of the state of things in his home," burst -out the visitor. "I saw at once that he was unhappy and half-starved." - -Mr. Brown's jaw dropped. William very slowly and cautiously tiptoed to -the door. - -"He told me about you and his mother. I was sure--I am sure--that you -don't realise what you are doing--what your--er--failing--means to this -innocent child." - -Mr. Brown raised a hand to his brow. - -"Your conscience, you see," said the visitor triumphantly, "troubles -you. Why should the memory of childhood mean to that dear boy blows and -curses and unkindness--and just because you are a slave to your baser -appetites?" - -Mr. Brown removed his hand from his brow. - -"You'll pardon my interrupting you," he said feebly, "but perhaps you -would be good enough to give me some slight inkling of what you are -talking about." - -"Ah, you _know_," she said fervently, "in your soul--in your -conscience--you know! Why pretend to me? I have had that dear child's -company all afternoon and know what he has suffered." Here Mrs. Brown -entered and the visitor turned to her. "And you," she went on, "you -must be his mother. Can't you--won't you--give it up for the sake of -your child?" Her voice quivered with emotion. - -"I think, my dear," said Mr. Brown, "that you had better send for a -doctor. This lady is not well." - -"But who _is_ she?" said Mrs. Brown. - -"I don't know," said her husband; "she's someone William found." - -The someone William found flung out her arms. - -"Won't you?" she cried eloquently. "Can't you--for the sake of your own -happiness as well as his--give it up?" - -They stared at her. - -"Madam," said Mr. Brown despairingly, "what do you wish us to give up?" - -"_Drink_," she answered dramatically. - -Mr. Brown sat down heavily. - -"_Drink!_" he echoed. - -Mrs. Brown gave a little scream. - -"_Drink!_" she said. "But we're both teetotalers." - -It was the turn of the visitor to sit down heavily. - -"Surely," she said, "that boy did not deceive me!" - -"Madam," said that boy's father bitterly, "it is more than probable." - - * * * * * - -When the visitor, protesting, apologising, expostulating, and still -not quite convinced, had been escorted to the door and seen off the -premises, Mr. Brown turned grimly to his wife. - -"Now," he said, "where is that boy?" - -But a long and energetic search of house and garden failed to reveal -any traces of him. It was not till an hour later that William, inspired -more by the pangs of hunger than by pangs of conscience, emerged from -the boot cupboard in the kitchen and surrendered himself to justice. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -WILLIAM THE REFORMER - - -WILLIAM'S regular attendance at church on Sunday mornings did not -betoken any deeply religious feeling on his part. It was rather the -result of pressure from without, weekly applied and resisted by William -with fresh indignation on each occasion. His church-going was a point -on which his family insisted. It was not that they hoped that any real -improvement of William would result from it. As a matter of fact, it -generally seemed to have the opposite effect upon him. But it meant -that those of his family who did not go to church had one morning -at least in the sure knowledge that William's strident voice could -not dispel their Sabbath peace and calm, nor could William, with his -curious genius for such things, spring any awkward situation suddenly -upon them, while those who went to church had the comfortable knowledge -that William, cowed, and brushed, and washed, and encased in his hated -best suit, and scowling at the vicar from the front pew, could do -little harm beside the strange scuffling with his feet that he seemed -able to produce without even moving them. Moreover, they "knew where he -was." It was something to "know where he was." - -This Sunday the usual preliminaries took place. - -"I'm not going to church this morning," Robert happened to say, -carrying a deck-chair into the garden. - -"An' I'm not, either," said William, as he seized another chair. The -would-be light finality of his tone did not deceive even himself. - -"You must go, dear," said his mother placidly. "You know you always do." - -"Yes, but why me an' not him?" demanded William, pale with outrage. -"Why him not go an' me go?" - -Robert calmly stated his position. - -"If William's not going to church, I'm going, and if William's going to -church, I'm not. All I want is _peace_." - -"I shun't make a noise if I stayed at home," said William in a tone of -righteous indignation at the idea. "I'd jus' sit qui'tly readin'. I -don't feel like bein' rough or anything like that. I'm not feelin' well -at all," he ended plaintively. - -Mr. Brown came downstairs, tophatted and gloved. - -"What's the matter?" he said. - -"William's too ill to go to church," said Robert in an unfeeling tone -of voice. - -William raised his healthy, ruddy countenance. - -"I'd like to go to church," he explained to his father. "I'm -disappointed not to go. But I jus' don't feel well. I'm took ill -sudden. I'd jus' like to go an' lie down qui'tly--out of doors," -he stipulated hastily. "I feel's if I went to church I might worry -everybody with bein' so ill. I feel"--his Pegasean imagination soared -aloft on daring wings--"I feel 's if I might _die_ if I went to church -this mornin' feelin' 's ill as I do now." - -"If you're as bad as that," Mr. Brown said callously, as he brushed -his coat, "I suppose you might as well die in church as anywhere." - -This remark deprived William of the power of speech for some time. - -"Well," he said at last, darkly and bitterly, "I only hope you won't -be _too_ sorry afterwards--when you think of what you've done. I only -hope _that_--I only hope that when you think of what you've done -_afterwards_--you won't be _too_ sorry. When you----" - -"Hurry up, dear," said his mother patiently. "Don't keep us all -waiting." - - * * * * * - -Sitting between Ethel and his mother in the front pew, William allowed -his thoughts to wander at their own sweet will. He found the Litany -very long and trying. Its monotony had been relieved only by a choirboy -who occasionally brightened William's existence by putting out his -tongue at him from behind the cover of his psalter. From that a contest -in grimaces had arisen, begun furtively, but growing reckless in the -heat of rivalry, till a choirman had intervened by digging the choirboy -from behind, while Mrs. Brown leant forward and frowned at William. -William retired from the contest feeling distinctly exhilarated. He -considered that most decidedly he had won. The choirboy could not have -capped that last one of his. In a half-hearted way he began to listen -to the sermon. - -"We all owe our duty to others," the clergyman was saying. "We must all -try to save others beside ourselves. Not one of us must rest content -till we have recalled from evil ways at least one of those around us. -How many there are going down the broad path of evil who want just -the word to recall them to the path of virtue--just the word that the -youngest here could say...?" - -William considered this view. He found it distinctly intriguing. He had -been so frequently urged to reform himself that the appeal had lost its -freshness. But to reform someone else. There was much more sense in -that; he wouldn't mind doing that. His spirits rose. He'd rather like -to try reforming someone else. - -They stood up for the hymn. The choirboy was singing lustily. William -caught his eye and began to imitate his more open-mouthed efforts. This -led to a second contest in grimaces, checked for a second time when -at its height by the choirman and Mrs. Brown. William returned to his -meditations. Yes, it would be a noble deed to reform someone else, much -more interesting and less monotonous and possibly more successful than -the reforming of himself hitherto solely enjoined upon him. - -But who? That was the question. - - * * * * * - -After due consideration that afternoon in the apple-tree (where William -did most of his deep thinking) he came to the reluctant conclusion -that he must exclude his family from the list of possible reformees. -This was not because he did not think that his family were in need of -reformation. It was not because he thought them beyond reformation, -though he certainly was of that opinion. It was rather because he -doubted whether any member of his family was sufficiently broad-minded -to receive reformation at his hands. - -There is a certain proverb about a prophet in his own country. His -thoughts wandered over several masters at his school, whom he -considered to be in crying need of reformation, but the same applied -to them. When, finally, the tea-bell sounded forth its summons, he was -still undecided on whom to apply his latent powers of reformation. - -His family, who had not passed so peaceful a Sunday afternoon for -weeks, looked at him in curiosity as he entered the dining-room. - -"What have you been doing all afternoon, dear?" said his mother -solicitously. - -"Jus' thinkin'," said William coldly. Meditation on his family's need -for reformation had made him realise afresh all he suffered at their -hands. - -"Not dead yet?" said Robert jocularly. - -"No," said William with a quelling glance, "though anyone _might_ be -with what I've got to put up with. It's a good thing I'm _strong_." - -He then transferred his attention to a large piece of bread and butter -and the conversation drifted away from him. Idly he listened to it. - -"It's so funny," Ethel, his grown-up sister, was saying, "to come -to a country place like this and take no part in the life. He's so -mysterious. He took Beechwood over a month ago and hardly a soul's seen -him. He never has anyone in and he never goes out." - -"Of course," contributed Robert with the air of a man-of-the-world. -"A country place like this is an ideal place for murderers or other -criminals to hide in. That's notorious. Much safer than London." - -"And hardly anyone's seen him," said Ethel. - -"What does he look like?" said William excitedly. - -"Don't talk with your mouth full," said Ethel. - -"Don't listen to their nonsense, dear," said Mrs. Brown. - -But William was afire. Here was someone to be reformed at his very -doors--no mere ordinary trivial wrong-doer, but a murderer, a criminal, -the real thing. He was longing to begin. He could hardly wait till he -had finished his bread and butter. - -"May I go, mother?" he said hastily, swallowing a quarter of a slice of -bread as he spoke. - -"You've had no cake, dear," said his mother in surprise. - -William gave a look of set purposeful determination. - -"I don't want _cake_ to-day," he said in the voice of one who -scornfully waves aside some trifle unworthy of him. With that he strode -frowning from the room. - -"I do hope he's not ill," said Mrs. Brown uneasily. "He's been awfully -quiet to-day." - -"He's given us the first peaceful Sunday we've had for years," said -Ethel. - -"It's not over yet," said Robert, in a voice of warning. - - * * * * * - -William was already on his way to Beechwood. In the road he found -Ginger, his bosom friend on weekdays. On Sundays the two families, -inspired solely by a selfish desire for peace, tried to keep them as -far apart as possible. - -"_Sunday!_" said Ginger, bitterly voicing unconsciously the grievance -of the majority of his countrymen. "There's nothing to _do!_" - -"_I've_ jolly well got something to do, _I_ can tell you," said William -in a voice in which mystery and self-importance were mingled. - -Ginger brightened. - -"Lemme help!" he pleaded. "Lemme help an' I'll give you half the next -thing anyone gives me." - -"S'pose it's something you can't make a half of?" said William -guardedly. - -"Well, then, I'll let you have it in turn with me," said Ginger -generously. - -"Fair turns?" said William. - -"Rather!" said Ginger. - -"All right, then," said William. "Come on!" - -Ginger set off happily by his side. - -"What you goin' to do, William?" he asked. - -William sank his voice mysteriously. - -"I'm going to _re_form" (William put the accent on the first syllable) -"a murderer--make him give up murdering--same as what he said in church -this mornin.'" - -"Criky!" said Ginger, impressed. - - * * * * * - -They crept in at the open gates of Beechwood. - -"How're you goin' to begin?" said Ginger in a sibilant whisper. - -"Dunno yet," said William, who always trusted to the inspiration of the -moment. - -"S'pose--s'pose he murders us?" whispered Ginger. - -"If he does," said William grimly, still aggrieved by his family's -general attitude to him, "I know _some_ folks that'll p'raps be _sorry_ -for _some_ things!" - -Then suddenly---- - -"He's there!" said William excitedly. "Look! I can see him!" - -They crept behind some bushes and watched. A man was digging in the -middle of the lawn. He stood up to his neck in a large hole and -was throwing up spadeful after spadeful of earth on to the edge. -Occasionally he stopped to wipe his brow. He was a thin, youngish man. - -[Illustration: THEY CREPT ACROSS THE LAWN AND SUDDENLY OVERTURNED THE -HEAP OF FRESH-DUG EARTH OVER THE EDGE OF THE HOLE UPON ITS OCCUPANT.] - -"Diggin' graves for dead folks he's murdered," explained William. - -"Golly!" breathed Ginger, his eyes and mouth wide open. "How're you -goin' to stop him?" - -"Get him in the hole," said William, "an' then--an' then--I dunno yet," -he ended uncertainly. - -The man bent down for another spadeful. - -"Come on!" said William. - -They crept across the lawn and suddenly overturned the heap of -fresh-dug earth that was on the edge of the hole upon its occupant, -using feet and hands and head and body. It all happened in a second. -The man, up to his neck in the sudden avalanche of damp garden soil, -looked up at them, sputtering anger and earth. - -"I say! I say, you know," he said. "Look here!" - -William leant over the edge of the hole. - -"You jus' gotter _stop_ it," he said fiercely. "D'you see? You jus' -gotter _stop_ it!" - -The young man gazed at him in amazement. He made no effort to arise. He -lay back on his earthen couch. - -"You've jolly well winded me, you young devil!" he said, still ejecting -earth from his mouth as he spoke. "Stop what?" - -"_You_ know," said William mysteriously, bending still farther over the -edge of the hole. "You jolly well _know_, doesn't he, Ginger? How'd you -like someone to do it to you--murderin' you an' buryin' you in back -gardens? Jus' think of that! Jus' think of how you'd like _other_ folk -doin' it to you, 'fore you start doin' it to other folks." - -"I'll jolly well murder you, once I get out of here," said the man. -"I'll murder you and bury you ten times over. Don't you worry about -that." - -"You oughter _re_form an' start again on the--what was it?--the path of -virt--virt something--now I've told you like what he said--with jus' a -_word_. Well, I've said the word, an' you oughter reform an'----" - -"Just you wait, my son," said the young man grimly, beginning to -unearth himself. - -But Ginger had made a discovery. - -"Look, William," he said. "Look at this!" - -"This" was a tin, containing curious earth-covered coins, at the edge -of the hole. - -"He's a thief, too," said William indignantly. "Takin' folks' money as -well as buryin' them. He's goin' right down the broad evil path like -what he said. Well, he oughter stop. I've said it. I've said the word -like what he said, an' he oughter _re_form an' come back to the path of -virt--what he said." - -The young man was fast unearthing himself. He looked a curious sight. - -"Just you wait," he said again, as he began to climb out of the hole. -"Murder won't be in it." - -Instinctively and throwing the zeal of the reformer to the winds, -William and Ginger took to their heels and fled--across the lawn, down -the drive, down the road--with fleetness of foot gained in many a -flight from irate farmers and landowners. Ginger still hugged to his -breast the tin of coins. The earthen young man followed, leaving a -trail of soil as he ran. - -"Here!" he shouted. "Bring back that tin! Here! _Thieves!_" - -They threw him off at the first turning, and made for William's house. -They fled panting up the drive. - -"Look out!" said William breathlessly. "There's father!" - -Mr. Brown, putting on his hat in the hall for a quiet evening stroll, -turned to see his son and his son's friend walking slowly and -demurely up the drive. The son's friend held an old tin clasped to -his breast. Both were red and breathless in spite of their slow and -demure progress. Mr. Brown looked at his son with a suspicion born of -experience. - -"Where have you been?" he said. - -"Jus' for a walk," said William meekly and with wide-eyed, appealing -innocence. - -The two proceeded towards the stairs. - -"Where are you going now?" said Mr. Brown, still more suspiciously. - -"Jus' up to my room, father," said William. - -Mr. Brown fastened his stern gaze upon the tin. - -"What have you got there?" he demanded. - -"Jus' some ole things we've found," floated in William's dulcet tones -from halfway upstairs. - -"Crumbs!" said William upstairs, "I thought he was going to nab us." - -"My sainted Aunt!" said William's father downstairs, "that boy's up to -_something_ again!" - - * * * * * - -William's father, however, soon forgot William. It was a perfect -evening. Sabbath calm reigned supreme over the countryside. The trees -were just beginning to turn from green to gold. The birds' song rang -through the still evening air. As Mr. Brown walked along, a sense -of peace and well-being descended upon him. He completely forgot -William. Then, suddenly, he turned a bend in the road and saw a curious -figure--so curious that Mr. Brown pinched himself to make sure he was -awake. Sabbath calm ceased to reign supreme over the countryside and -Mr. Brown's sense of peace deserted him. The figure was that of a -hatless, wild-eyed young man, covered to the neck in soil, and bearing -traces of it upon his face. - -"I say," he began abruptly, "are you a resident of these parts?" - -"Yes," admitted Mr. Brown, debating in his mind on the safest method of -dealing with an escaped lunatic. - -"I've been robbed. Some most valuable coins. Simply robbed in broad -daylight." - -"You'd better go to the police about it," said Mr. Brown soothingly. -"Come with me. I'll show you the way." - -He thought the police-station the best receptacle for the strange -wanderer. - -"I've taken Beechwood, you know," went on the excited young man, -"and I'm doing some excavating there on my own. I belong to the -Archæological Society. I've found traces of Roman occupation here. -I've had some experts down and there's no doubt that there was a Roman -villa on the site of Beechwood. I found some most valuable coins this -afternoon and I've been robbed of them. They're irreplaceable!" - -"Who stole them?" said Mr. Brown. He was rather bored by the whole -proceeding. He was anxious to deposit the strange young man in the -police-station and continue his walk. - -"Mere boys," said the young man. "Mere boys. They pushed earth in on me -and shouted some gibberish and made off with the coins. Probably some -rival collector heard of the thing and sent them." - -"Probably," agreed Mr. Brown without interest. "Well, here's the -station. I'll say good-night and good luck." - -He touched his hat and was on the point of proceeding with his walk, -but the young man was pathetically anxious to confide the whole tale. - -"I've really no clue," he said sorrowfully. "The coins were in an old -tin--simply an old tin. Well, I suppose I'd better go in. Good-night." - -Mr. Brown was standing motionless. He seemed to have lost all desire -to proceed with his walk. His smile had faded from his face. He was -seeing a sudden vision of two small boys, red-faced and breathless, but -wearing looks of innocence that blazoned guilt far and wide, creeping -cautiously upstairs. One of the boys had held an old tin in his -hand--simply an old tin. He turned to the young man. The young man had -already reached the door of the police-station. - -"Here!" shouted Mr. Brown, "one minute!" - -The man returned to him. - -"You said boys," said Mr. Brown slowly. "What sort of boys? Could you -describe them?" - -"One was freckled," said the young man. "He called the other one -Ginger." - -Mr. Brown swallowed. - -"I think," he said, "that I can help you--if you'll come home with me." - -"Have you got a clue?" said the young man excitedly. - -"I think," said Mr. Brown, "that I have." - - * * * * * - -The young man, dropping garden soil with every movement upon -Mrs. Brown's drawing-room carpet, clasped his tin box to his -breast--William, frowning and injured, stood before an accusing family -circle and defended himself. - -[Illustration: WILLIAM DEFENDED HIMSELF. "WELL, HOW WAS I TO _KNOW?_ I -FOUND HIM DIGGIN' GRAVES FOR THE FOLKS HE'D MURDERED."] - -"Well, how was I to _know_? I found him diggin' graves for the folks -he'd murdered. I was trying to reform him--like what he said in church. -How was I to _know_ that he wasn't diggin' graves for the folks he'd -murdered? I wanted to _re_form someone same as he said. He _said_ he -was a murderer too--he as near as near murdered Ginger an' me--how was -I to _know_?" - -The young man interrupted, with a quick movement and another shower of -garden soil at which Mrs. Brown shut her eyes and breathed an inward -prayer. - -"Look here!" he said, "it was all a misunderstanding. I say, suppose -you come to tea with me to-morrow and we bury the hatchet instead of -the murdered--eh? I say, I'd better go and change, hadn't I?" - -"I'll see you down the road," said Mr. Brown. - -The young man went off, happily clasping his tin and scattering earth -thickly around him. - -The rest of the family turned up to William. - -"Well, you've done it _now!_" said Ethel. - -"I _said_ Sunday wasn't over!" said Robert. - -"The carpet is simply _ruined!_" moaned Mrs. Brown. - -"Well--how was I to _know?_" said William desperately. - -"It's ever so long after your bed-time, William," said Mrs. Brown with -a sigh. "He's simply _trodden_ the stuff in besides putting it there." - -"I advise you to go to bed before father comes back," said Robert with -a superior elder-brother air. - -William inwardly agreed. There was something to be said for being in -bed and asleep when his father came home. Explanations, put off to the -following day, are apt to lose the keenness of their edge. He turned to -the door. - -"Nothing I do ever seems to come out right," he said gloomily. "How was -I to _know_--diggin' away like that!" - -"I daresay you didn't mean anything, dear," said Mrs. Brown, "but it -was only new last January." - -William reached the bottom of the staircase, then had a sudden thought -and returned. - -"Anyway," he said, putting his head round the drawing-room door, "if -you hadn't made me go to church when I was feelin' so ill, I wun't have -known anything about _re_forming folks." - -"William," said Mrs. Brown wearily, "do go to bed." - -William complied, but again only reached the foot of the staircase. -Here another thought struck him, and he returned. - -"Anyway," he said, putting his head round the door again, "I bet _you_ -wun't have gone right up to a murderer, diggin' a grave for the folks -he'd murdered, an' I bet if he _had_ been a real murderer an' I'd been -dead _an'_ buried by now, _you'd_ be feelin' a bit----" - -"William," said Mrs. Brown, "are you going to bed?" - -William again retired. This time he got halfway upstairs. Then a third -thought struck him and again he descended. - -"Anyway," he said, and his family groaned as the familiar untidy shock -of hair and frowning freckled face once more appeared. "Didn't Ethel -say that he never had folks in, an' isn't he having me in to tea -to-morrow, so I bet you can't say I haven't _re_formed him." - -"_William!_" said Mrs. Brown, "are--you--going--to--bed?" - -William _was_. He had heard the click of the gate at the end of the -drive. - -When William's father entered the house three minutes later, William -was in bed and asleep. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -NOT MUCH - - -WILLIAM walked down the village street singing lustily. His strident, -unmelodious young voice rang out harshly. His face was purple with -vocal effort. - - "_Dare to be a Daniel, - Dare to stand alo--o--o--one, - Dare to have a purpose true--ue--ue, - Dare to make it know--ow--ow--own._" - -Becoming tired of that subject and not knowing the next verse, he -abruptly changed his tune-- - - "_I'm longing for the dear ole home agai--ai--ai--ain, - That cottage in the little winding la--a--a--ne, - I can see the roses climbing, I can hear the sweet bells chiming, - And I'm longing for the dear ole home agai--ai-ai--ain._" - -Inhabitants of the street along which William was passing hastily shut -their front windows or fled from their front rooms or uttered loud -objurgations of William according to their characters. William passed -along, singing and unmoved. A parrot, who had refused all invitations -to converse since its purchase, suddenly raised its voice with -William's in piercing screams. The quiet street had become a nightmare -uproar of inharmonious sound. A man threw a boot at William from an -upstairs window. It hit a hen in a neighbour's garden. The hen added -its voice to William's and the parrot's. William passed along, singing -and unmoved-- - - "_I've a girl in Navara, - I've a girl in Sahara, - I've got a few sweet girlies who--o--o--o I've - promised to--o--o be true--ue--ue--ue to--o--o--o._" - -He turned off the main street. The hideous sound died gradually away in -the distance and quiet reigned once more in that vicinity. Windows were -opened, people returned to their front rooms, the parrot relapsed into -his customary silence. - -William went on singing towards his home. At the gate of his garden he -changed his song for a toneless penetrating whistle. He whistled his -way blithely up the drive. His father flung up a window fiercely. - -"Stop that noise!" he called. - -William proceeded on his way. - -"Stop--that--noise!" - -William stopped. - -"What noise?" he said. - -"That--that foul noise you were making just now." - -"Whistlin'? I din't know you meant whistlin' when you said noise," -William went on, drawing near the window. "I din't know you was talking -to me at all jus' at first. I thought----" William was obviously -anxious to carry on a friendly conversation with a fellow-being. His -father hastily slammed the window and returned to his armchair. - -William opened his mouth as for a burst of song. Then he seemed -suddenly to change his mind and pursed his lips as if for a whistle. -Then, after a breathless moment of silence, he unpursed them and -humming untunefully under his breath he entered by the side door. - -The hall was empty. Through the open kitchen door he could see his -mother and Ethel, his grown-up sister, cutting sandwiches at one table -and the cook and housemaid at another. He went into the kitchen. - -"Who're you makin' sandwiches for?" he demanded. - -His mother surveyed him sadly. - -"I do wish you could keep clean for more than two minutes together, -William," she said. - -William smoothed back an obstreperous mop of hair with a grimy hand. - -"Yes," he agreed mechanically, "but who're you makin' sandwiches for?" - -Ethel paused with a butter-laden knife in mid-air. - -"Don't for Heaven's sake tell him," she said, "and let's hope and pray -that he'll keep out of the way till it's over. It'll be enough trouble -without him hanging round." - -William ejected the tip of his tongue in her direction behind his -mother's back. - -"Yes--but--who're--you--makin'--sandwiches--for?" he said slowly and -emphatically, with an air of patience tried beyond endurance. - -"I think he'd be rather a help than otherwise, you know," said his -mother, carefully arranging pieces of tongue on a slice of bread and -butter. - -Ethel merely shrugged her shoulders. - -"I s'pose," said William with heavy sarcasm, "you're makin' them jus' -for fun?" - -"Clever!" said Ethel, cutting off the crusts of a sandwich. - -William, whose appetite was a never-failing quality, fell upon the -crusts and began to eat them. - -"Don't spoil your lunch, dear," murmured Mrs. Brown. - -"No," promised William, -"but--all--I--want--to--know--is--who're--you--makin'--sandwiches--for?" - -"Oh, do say something and stop him saying that awful sentence," groaned -Ethel. - -"Well, dear," began his mother persuasively, "would you like a little -party this afternoon?" - -"People coming to tea?" asked William guardedly. - -"Yes, dear, you'd be such a help--and----" - -William interrupted. - -"I'll eat up all they leave afterwards for you," he said obligingly; -"but I think I won't come this time." - -"Thank Heaven!" murmured Ethel. - -"I'm not much good at parties," said William with perfect truth and -with a perfunctory grimace at his sister. - -"But wouldn't you like to help to hand things round, darling?" asked -Mrs. Brown. - -"No, thanks, but I'll eat up all they've left for you afterwards." - -"How kind!" said Ethel. - -William, goaded at last to verbal retaliation, turned on her. - -"If you say much more to me," he said darkly, "I'll--I'll--I'll not -help _you_ at any of your parties." - -He then echoed her derisive laughter in a piercing tenor. - -"William, darling," sighed Mrs. Brown, "do go and wash your face." - -William crammed a handful of crusts into his mouth, put the cushion -from the armchair on to the top of the cat, and went out into the hall. -Here he burst suddenly into a flood of raucous sound-- - - "_Oh, who will o'er the downs with me? - Oh, who will with me ri--i--i--i--ide?_" - -Mr. Brown opened the library door. - -"Will--you--stop--that--confounded--noise?" he demanded emphatically. - -"I'm sorry," said William amicably. "I forgot you din't like musick." - - * * * * * - -After lunch William sallied forth once more into the world. He was -feeling slightly bored. Ginger and Douglas and Henry, his three sworn -allies, were all away on their holidays. William did not consider -holidays unmixed blessings. Anyway, he considered that there ought -to be a law that everyone should go on their holidays at the same -time. He walked again down the village street. He did not sing this -time. Instead he threw stones at the telegraph poles. He stood at one -telegraph pole and tried to hit the one across the road. Every pole -that was hit was to William a magnificent tiger, falling lifeless, shot -by William through the heart. The parrot, catching sight of him again, -gave an excited scream. This put William off his aim. He screamed back -at the parrot, missed the telegraph pole and hit a King Charles spaniel -in a garden. He then dropped the rest of his stones and fled from the -indignant owner of the dog. She pursued him down the street. "You cruel -boy--I'll tell your father--a poor dumb animal----" She gave up the -chase at the end of the road, and William went on his way whistling, -his hands in his pockets. At a bend in the road he stood suddenly -silent. A group of children were walking along in front of him. They -had evidently just come out of the station. At their head walked a -tall, thin man. The children--boys and girls--were about William's age. -They were clean and tidy, but badly dressed, and with pale cockney -faces. William hurried along the road. A little girl turned round. - -"'Ullo," she said with a friendly grin, "did yer neerly git left -be'ind? Wot's yer nime!" - -William liked the almost incredible frizziness of her over-crimped -hair. He liked the dirty feather in her hat and the violent blue of her -dress. He liked her white stockings and yellow boots. He thought her -altogether and entirely charming. He liked the way she talked. He found -her whole personality intriguing. His grim freckled features relaxed -into an ingratiating smile. - -"William," he replied. "Wot's yours?" - -"Heglantine," she said. "Noice nime, ain't it? Me sister's called -'Oratia. Loverly, comin' on the trine, weren't it?" - -It was evident that she took him for one of her party. William grasped -at the opportunity of continuing the acquaintance. "Um," he said -non-committally. - -"Din't see yer on the trine. Such a crawd, were't there? Some from -St. Luke's an' some from St. Mary's. Oi dunno 'arf of 'em, an' don't -think much o' some of 'em by their looks. Oi were jus' lookin' aht fer -someone ter pal up wif." - -William's heart swelled with delight at this implied superiority. A boy -in front turned round. He was pale and undersized and wore a loud check -cap that would have fitted a grown man. - -"'Ullo, Freckles!" he said to William. - -William glared at him fiercely. - -"You jus' mind wot you say to me," he began darkly. - -Eglantine quickly interposed. - -"Nah then, Elbert 'Olmes," she said sharply, tossing her tight curls -and feathered hat. "None of your fice 'ere! You mind wot yer syes ter -me an' my frens." - -The boy grinned and dropped behind with them. - -"Wot we goin' ter do, anywyes," he said in a mollifying tone of -friendship. "Not much ter do in the country, is there? No pishers, no -nuffin'." - -"There's gimes," said William, deliberately adopting the accent of -his new friends. He decided to adopt it permanently. He considered it -infinitely more interesting than that used by his own circle. - -"Gimes!" said the boy in the check cap with infinite scorn. "Runnin' -rices an' suchlike. An' lookin' at cows an' pickin' flowers. Thanks! -_Not much!_" - -William stored up this expression for future use. - -"Well, yer needn't of come, Elbert 'Olmes," said Eglantine sharply, "if -yer din't of wanted to." - -"They said," said Elbert grimly, "as 'ow there'd be a tea, an' oi'm not -one ter miss a tea--a proper tea wif cike an' all--_not much!_" - -William was watching the large check cap with fascinating eyes. - -"Where'd you get that cap?" he said at last. - -"Dunno," said the boy. He took it off and looked at William's. - -"Loike ter swop?" - -William nodded. The boy whipped off the cap without a word and handed -it to William, taking William's school cap in return. William, with a -sigh of bliss, put it on. It enveloped his whole head and forehead, the -large peak standing out over his nose. He pulled it firmly down. It was -the cap of his dreams--the cap of a brigand chief. - -"We hare smart, ain't we?" said Eglantine with a little high-pitched -laugh. - -William felt blissfully happy walking along beside her. - -"Wot does yer farver do?" demanded Elbert of William suddenly. - -"Wot does yours?" replied William guardedly. - -"'E goes rahnd wiv a barrer sellin' things," said Elbert. - -"Moine sweeps chimeneys," said Eglantine shrilly, "'e gets that black." - -They both turned on William. - -"Wot does yours do?" - -William bowed his head in shame. He could not bear to confess that his -father neither sold things nor swept chimneys, but merely caught a -train to London and his office every morning. - -"Ain't got no father," he said doggedly. - -"You're a horphin, then," said Eglantine, with an air of wide knowledge -of the world. - -"Umph," grunted William. - -[Illustration: WILLIAM FELT BLISSFULLY HAPPY WALKING ALONG BESIDE HER.] - -At this point the tall, thin man in front stopped and collected his -flock around him. He wore a harassed and anxious expression. - -"Now," he said, "are we all here? One--two--three--four," he counted to -himself, wagging a thin forefinger round the group as he spoke. - -"Plears, sir, William's a horphin," said Eglantine excitedly. - -"Yes, yes," said the tall man. "Let me see--I seem to make you one too -many, but no matter----William an orphan? How sad! Poor little fellow! -Come along. We're going to play in the woods first, children, and then -go to a kind friend's to tea. The vicar rang her up this morning and -she very kindly offered to give you tea. Very kind! Very kind! Yes, -yes. This way, I think." - -Again the little procession moved on its way. - -"Softie!" commented Eglantine scornfully. "'E's one of the swanks, 'e -is! 'E's a friend of the vicar's, 'cause the vicar couldn't come. Ain't -got no patience wiv 'em myself. Whoi carn't they talk like other folks?" - -William redoubled his efforts to acquire his friend's intonation. - -"Yes, whoi-oi'd loike ter know," he said aggressively, pulling his -large and loud tweed cap yet farther over his eyes. The tall, thin man -at the head of the procession stopped again. - -"I'll just go into this house, children," he said, "and ask the way to -the woods." - -He went up the pathway and knocked at the door. The group of children -clustered round the gate and watched him. The door was opened by a -housemaid. The thin man disappeared inside. The door was shut. - -"Are we going to hang round _him_ all the time?" asked William -discontentedly. "Won't be any fun--_not much_," he added proudly, after -a slight pause. - -"Well, 'e knows the wye an' we don't," said Elbert. - -"I do," said William. "You come with me--quick--afore he comes out." - -They followed William silently round the back of the house and across a -field. From the other end of the field they had a glimpse of the tall -man coming out of the house, taking off his hat with a polite bow, then -standing at the gate and looking round in bewildered amazement. Then -they disappeared over a stile into another road. Here a small person at -the rear of the procession set up a plaintive cry. - -"Oo--oo--oo," she sobbed, "I'm tahred of the country. Oo--oo--oo, I -want to gow 'owm." - -Eglantine came to the rescue. - -"If you don't shut up makin' that noise, Christine 'Awkins," she said, -"a cow or sumphin 'll eat you up. Yer never knows in the country." - -The sound ceased as by magic. William led his friends along the road. -At a pair of iron gates leading past a lodge into a winding drive, -Eglantine stopped. - -"I'm tahred of walkin' along this 'ere road," she announced. "Let's go -in here." - -Even William was aghast. - -"It's someone's garden," he explained. - -"Fought yer could go anywheres yer loiked in the country," said -Eglantine aggrievedly. "That's wot they said, anyway. They said yer -could go anywheres yer loiked in the country. Dunno whoi we cime," she -ended wearily. - -The shrill wail rose again from the back of the crowd. - -"Oo--oo--oo--oo, I'm tahred of the country. I want to gow 'owm." - -Eglantine entered the gate determinedly. - -"Come orn!" she said. - -"They'll turn us out," said William. - -Eglantine squared her thin shoulders. - -"Let 'em jes' troi turnin' _me_ aht," she said. - -"_Not much_," murmured William proudly. - -They passed with no opposition up the first part of the drive. Then -Eglantine saw a hedge with a gate in it and marshalled her party -through that. Within they saw a lawn, some gardens, and a fountain. - -"Looks orl roight," commented Eglantine loftily. - -A young man rose languidly from a hammock in the trees. - -"I beg your pardon?" he said politely. - -"Grarnted," said Eglantine, not to be outdone in politeness. - -"Can I do anything for you?" said the young man. - -"We're St. Luke's and St. Mary's," explained Eglantine importantly. - -"I see," said the young man. "You, I presume are a St. Mary, and he of -the horsey headgear is a St. Luke." - -"'Im?" said Eglantine, pointing at William, "'e's a horphin." - -The young man adjusted a monocle. - -"Really," he said, "how intensely interesting!" - -"We've come into the country fer a 'oliday," went on Eglantine, "an' we -jes' cime in 'ere ter see wot it was loike in 'ere." - -"How extremely kind of you!" said the young man, "I hope you like it." - -Eglantine surveyed the scene distantly. - -"Wiv a band an' some swings an' a hice cream cart, it'd be orl roight," -she admitted. - -The young man sighed. - -"I suppose so," he said. - -Most of the children were already making the best of their -opportunities. Some were chasing butterflies, some picking flowers, -some had taken off shoes and stockings and were paddling in the -ornamental pond. The young man watched them rather despondently. - -"If I'd known that you were coming," he said, "I'd have procured -something in the way of a band and ice-cream cart." - -Eglantine again was not to be outdone in politeness. She stood, a -curious picture, in her blue dress, white stockings, yellow boots, with -her over-frizzed hair standing out around her sharp little face beneath -her feathered hat, and nodded slightly. - -"Hits of no consequence," she said graciously. - -She had the situation entirely in hand. Even William, born leader as -he was, was overshadowed by her, and was content that it should be so. -Just as two small boys had climbed the pedestal in the middle of the -ornamental pond and were endeavouring to stop up the fountain, a butler -came down the path with an expression of horror on his face. The young -man waved him away. - -"It's all right, Thomson," he said. - -"Yes, sir," said the man, "but her ladyship has arrived, sir. Her -ladyship has had her boxes sent upstairs. I thought I'd better warn -you, sir." - -The young man groaned. - -"Is there time for me to be summoned to town?" he asked. - -"I'm afraid not," replied the butler. "She's coming to find you now, -sir. Here she is, sir." - -A large woman bore down upon them. She wore a large cloak and a large -hat, and several Pomeranians trotted at her heels. - -The young man rose to receive her. - -"Here you are, Bertram," she said, "you didn't invite me, but I've -come." - -"How awfully good of you," said the young man dispiritedly. - -The lady put up her lorgnettes and surveyed the children. - -"Who--are--these--ragamuffins?" she said slowly and distinctly. - -"Oh, just a nice little party of mine," said the young man pleasantly. -"St. Luke's and St. Mary's. You'll get awfully fond of them. They're -very lovable." - -The lady's face became stony. - -"Are you aware," she said, "that they're trampling on the flowers and -splashing in the pond and sitting on the sundial?" - -"Oh, yes," he smiled. "Just jolly childish pranks, you know." - -"And that one in the awful tweed cap----" - -"He's an orphan," said the young man. "I'm going to give you the room -next his. He's got quite a jolly voice. I heard him humming to himself -a moment ago." - -At this point four things happened. - -One--William, who had wandered over the flower beds, was suddenly -impelled by the general brightness of the day to give vent to his -feelings by a burst of song-- - - "_One more river, an' that's the river of Jor--or--or--ordan, - One more river, there's one more river to cross...._" - -He yelled the words happily in his strident young voice. - -Two--The small pessimist again lifted up her voice in a wail. -"Oo--oo--oo--oo. I'm tahred of the country. I want to gow 'owm. -Oo--oo--oo." - -Three--Eglantine, who had surveyed the visitor in outraged silence for -a few moments, at last burst forth. She set her thin hands on her thin -hips and began. - -"An' oo're you ter talk abaht ragamuffins? Queen of Hengland, are yer? -An' wot abaht yer own 'at? A-hinsultin' of hother people in hother -people's gardings." - -Four--The five Poms, excited by the uproar, burst into simultaneous -yapping. - -Above the horrible sounds of William's song, the pessimist's wails, -Eglantine's recriminations, the Poms' yapping, the lady screamed to her -nephew. - -"I'm going straight home, Bertram. When you have a Christian house to -invite me to, perhaps you'll let me know." - -"Yes, aunt," he screamed back. "Shall I see you to your car?" - -He left them for a few minutes and returned, mopping his brow, in time -to rescue three boys from an early death from drowning in the pond. -William and a few other daring spirits were balancing themselves at a -dizzy height on the top of the wall. The young man was beginning to -look pale, when once more the butler appeared. - -[Illustration: WILLIAM YELLED THE WORDS IN HIS STRIDENT YOUNG VOICE.] - -"There's a gentleman at the front door, sir," he said respectfully, -"who seems in a great state, sir, and he says that he's lost some slum -children----" - -The young man's face brightened. - -"Ah," he said, "tell him I've found some, and ask him to come and see -whether they happen to be his. They've done me a very good turn, but I -shouldn't mind being relieved of them now." - - * * * * * - -"'E was one of the swanks an' no mistake," said Eglantine to William. -"Oi'd no patience wiv 'im an' 'is wye of talkin'. Oi can plye the toff -as well as anyone when oi loikes--oi did wiv 'im, din't oi? But oi -despises 'em." - -William was looking anxiously down the road where the tall man was -taking them. - -"Where we goin'?" he said distrustfully. - -"To the kind lady's who invited us to tea," said the tall man, -overhearing him. - -William walked along in silence. Eglantine began to expatiate again. - -"Look at all them 'ouses," she said, with a contemptuous glance at -the houses between which they were passing. "Wot they want wiv such -big 'ouses? Swank! That's all it is. Swank! Livin' in big 'ouses an' -talkin' so soft. Oi've no patience wiv 'em. Oi wouldn't be one of -'em--not fer nuffin'." - -But William was growing more and more uneasy. - -"What we're goin' along here for?" he muttered truculently. - -The tall man turned in at a gate. William moistened his lips. - -"He's making a _mistake_," he murmured, pulling his check cap still -farther over his eyes. - -At the door stood Mrs. Brown and Ethel. Their glance fell first on -Eglantine. - -"What a dreadful child," whispered Mrs. Brown. - -Next it fell on all that could be seen of Eglantine's companion. - -"What an appalling cap!" whispered Ethel. - -Then they advanced to welcome them. - -"Here we are," said the tall man, with a note of relief in his voice. -"Here we are ... we've had a delightful time--er--quite a delightful -time--er--on the whole--er--just a little misunderstanding at one -point--a--temporary separation, but all's well that ends well. It's too -kind of you. This is--er--Eglantine, and--er--this little boy is an -orphan, poor little chap!" - -Mrs. Brown laid her hand tenderly on the tweed cap. "Poor little boy," -she began. "Poor little----" then she met the eyes beneath the tweed -cap. "_William!_" she said sharply, "take off that horrible cap and go -and wash your face." - - * * * * * - -William, clean and brushed and frowning, sat and glared across the -table at his late friends. He felt himself disgraced for ever. He -was a pariah, outside the pale, one of the "swanks" who lived in big -houses and talked soft. His mother's and Ethel's intonation and accent -seemed at that moment a public humiliation to him. He did not dare to -meet Eglantine's eyes. Fiercely he munched a currant bun. Into his -unoccupied hand stole a small grimy one. - -"Never moind," whispered Eglantine, "yer carn't 'elp it." - -And William whispered gratefully, "_Not much_." - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -WILLIAM AND THE WHITE CAT - - -WILLIAM had before now met the strange species of male who succumbed to -the charms of his elder sister. William never could think what people -saw in Ethel. Red hair and blue eyes and a silly little voice.... Some -people (thought William) might call her pretty--but, Crumbs, what a -temper!--making a fuss if his dog Jumble chawed up any of her old -things, or if he jus' borrowed her bicycle, or if his pet rats got -loose in her room. - -She didn't even like interesting things like pistols and rabbits and -insects. Girls were bad enough when they were at school, thought -William, but they were heaps worse when they grew up. - -The female sex was an entire mystery to William. Except in the case -of his mother, he could see no reason for their existence. Yet he -grudgingly admitted to himself that Ethel's admirers had not been -useless to him. There was Mr. French, who had given him his first -couple of white rats, there was Mr. Drew, who had showered rare -postage-stamps upon him, there was Mr. Loughton, who had nervously -pressed sixpence into his hand whenever they met.... - -But Mr. Romford was different. He had a strange idea that William had -no influence with his elder sister. This happened to be true, but -that made it none the less annoying to William. He thought it only -right that any young man who was interested in Ethel should ensure his -(William's) sympathy by practical means. Mr. Romford treated him as if -he did not exist. William resented this very much. - -"Wot's he _come_ for?" he said, indignantly. "He doesn't take no -interest in Jumble, nor the rats, nor the tool-shed, nor the bridge wot -I'm making over the stream, nor _me_. Wot's he come for?" he demanded -of his assembled family. - -They all replied to him. - -Ethel said, coldly: - -"Don't talk about things that aren't your business." - -His mother said: - -"William, I wish something could be done about your hair. It _never_ -looks tidy!" - -His father said: - -"That reminds me, William, you'd better go and weed your garden. It's -in a disgraceful state." - -William went slowly to the door. - -"Mr. Romford's going to give me a Persian cat for a Christmas present," -Ethel went on to her mother. - -William stopped. - -"Wot about Jumble?" he said, indignantly. "Wot about Jumble with an ole -cat about the place? Wot about my rats? How d'you think they'll like -an ole cat about the place? My rats 've got as much right to live 's -an ole cat, you'd think, wun't you? My rats an' poor ole Jumble came -here first, I _think_--I _think_ they did, considering that the ole cat -hasn't come yet. You'd think that Jumble an' the poor old rats deserved -a _bit_ of peace...." - -"Go and give your hair a good brushing, William," said his mother. - -"Take every one of those weeds up. You can't have touched it for -weeks," said his father. - -"You aren't the only person in the world who can keep animals," said -Ethel. - -"A lot of int'rest you take in animals, don't you?--in _real_ animals." -William exploded bitterly. "A lot of int'rest you take in my insecks -an' rats an' things, don't you? I mus' say you take a lot of int'rest -in them," he went on in heavy sarcasm. - -"Cats! Who'd call cats an animal? They aren't int'restin', are they? -Who ever found cats int'restin'? They don't follow you like dogs, do -they? They haven't int'restin' habits like insecks--oh, I mus' say -they're very int'restin'!" - -He saw Ethel and his mother gathering breath to speak. His father had -retired behind a paper. - -He hastily went out, shutting the door firmly behind him. - -"_Cats!_" he remarked, contemptuously, to the empty hall. - -William was walking slowly along the road, with his hands in his -pockets, whistling. He felt at peace with all the world. He had a -half-crown in his pocket. It would soon be Christmas. He was going -to have a bicycle for Christmas. Ethel had insisted on his having a -bicycle for Christmas, not for love of William, but because William's -secret experiments with her bicycle had such dire results. - -"He'll only smash it up, if he has one, dear," his mother had said. - -"Well, he'll only smash up mine, if he doesn't," Ethel had replied. - -So William was going to have a bicycle and a mouth-organ and -pocket-compass, in addition, of course, to the strange things -always sent as presents by distant aunts and uncles. Those did not -count--pencil-boxes, and story-books about curious, exemplary boys, and -boxes of crayons and pens and things. They didn't count. - -Anyway, a bicycle was a bicycle. He wanted to be able to take a bicycle -right to pieces and put it together again. He'd never been able to have -a really good try at Ethel's. She made such a fuss. He was thinking -about this, with a faint smile on his face, when he observed a man -coming along with a covered basket in his hands. It was Mr. Romford. -William looked at him coldly. He had no hopes of a Christmas present -from Mr. Romford. But Mr. Romford stopped. - -"Are you going home, William?" he asked. - -"Yes," said William ungraciously. - -"Would you mind taking this to your sister? It's a present I am giving -her for Christmas. Don't open the lid. It's a very valuable white cat." - -William took it. Something was moving about inside. - -"It's in a highly nervous state," went on the donor; "I shouldn't look -at it if I were you." - -"All right," said William, coldly. - -William walked on down the road. His smile had gone. He no longer -thought about Christmas. He swung the basket carelessly as he walked. -An infuriated scratching and snarling came from inside. William swung -it still more carelessly. - -"I'm not a cat-carrier," he muttered, indignantly. "Makin' me into a -cat-carrier for him!" - -He sighted Ginger, his ever faithful friend and ally, in the distance, -and hailed him with a piercing whistle. Ginger came to him. - -"What d'you think's in here?" queried William. - -"Dunno!" - -"An ole cat! An' whose d'you think it is?" - -"Dunno!" - -"Well, a man's givin' it to my sister. An' how much d'you think he's -givin' me for takin' it?" - -"Dunno!" - -"_Nothin'!_" said William, bitterly. "Nothin'. Makin' a cat-carrier of -me for nothin'." - -"Listen at it!" said Ginger, enraptured. - -"It's been carryin' on something dreadful ever since I got it," said -William. "It's a beautiful, nice quiet cat, isn't it? It'll be nice for -Jumble an' those poor ole rats when this sort of wild thing gets loose, -won't it? It'll be nice for them, then." - -Sarcasm was a new weapon of William's, and as yet his use of it was -heavy. - -"Let's have a look at it," said Ginger. - -"Oh, yes," said William. "It's all right for you. You aren't going to -have looks at it all the res' of your life. You aren't going to have -your life an' the lives of your dog an' rats made a misery by it for -the rest of your life. I don't feel inclined to waste time lookin' at -it. Listenin' at its carryin' on's enough for me _jus'_ at present. -You've not been made a cat-carrier for nothing. You don't feel like I -do about it." - -"Let me jus' peep, William." - -"All right, if you take any int'rest in it. I don't. I should think -there's some law about givin' wil' animals for presents. There oughter -be. Human life oughter be sacreder than wot it seems to be to him. -All right. Look at it. Don't blame me if it leaves its mark on you -for life. It's a nice, quiet-tempered sort of cat. Oh, yes! Very!" he -laughed, sarcastically. - -Ginger cautiously opened the basket top a fraction of an inch. - -A small, white paw shot out. Ginger closed it hastily and sucked his -hand with an expression of agony on his face. - -"Golly!" he ejaculated. - -"There!" said William, triumphantly. "Didn't I tell you? It'll prob'ly -give you blood-poisoning. All I hope is, if you die of it, he'll get -hung. He oughter be--sendin' wild cats without tamin' them first." - -Ginger assumed a heroic expression. - -"It wasn't much of a scratch. Let's have another look." - -He opened the lid of the basket again. Both William and Ginger -disclaimed responsibility for what followed. William said he wasn't -touching it, and Ginger said that he only opened it a bit and he didn't -know that the creature was mad--not really mad--not right off its -head like that. Anyway, a white ball of fury hurled itself out of the -basket, dealt William a long scratch across his cheek, nearly tore off -Ginger's ear, and disappeared over the nearest wall. - -"Well," said William, coldly. "What you going to do now?" - -"_Me?_" said Ginger. - -"Yes. Jus' tell me how you're going to _re_place a valu'ble cat wot -you've just let loose. Jus' tell me wot I'm goin' to do. Am I going -home to say I've got a valu'ble cat, in a highly nervous state, and -then them find there's nothing in the basket but jus' air? This is all -I get for being his cat-carrier! Well, you let it loose, an' you've got -to _re_place it. That's sense, isn't it? I was jus' quietly carryin' a -valu'ble cat, in a highly nervous state, down the road, an' you come -along an' let it loose. Well, wot you goin' to do?" - -"Well, wot can I do?" said Ginger, helplessly. "I din't know the thing -was a cat lunatick, did I? It oughter be in a cat asylum. You never -told me you was carryin' a wild cat or a mad cat. You jus' said a cat. -You----" - -But the white ball of fury had appeared again, flying over the wall -and down the road at full speed. William grasped his empty basket, and -started after it. - -"Come on!" he shouted, as he ran. "Come on! Catch it! Catch it!" - -They raced down the road after the flying white ball--first the cat, -then William, then Ginger--through a garden, leaving a cursing gardener -in their rear--in and out of a house, leaving its irate owner ringing -up the police--first the cat, then William, then Ginger, breathless and -afire with the chase. - -Along a wall, the cat on the top and William and Ginger at the foot. - -They nearly got her then. She fell into a rain-tub in a private garden -at the foot of the wall, but scrambled out and fled again, dripping -and grimy ... through a muddy ditch ... the ball of fury was now, not -white, but a dingy grey ... and suddenly right into a tabby cat with a -broken ear, who was washing its face by the roadside. There was a whirl -of claws and flying fur.... - -"Get it now!" yelled William. "Get it while they're fighting." - -Ginger seized the basket and effected the capture neatly, but not -without a dozen or so more scratches. They fastened up the basket and -resumed their journey. - -[Illustration: THE WHITE CAT RAN SUDDENLY INTO A TABBY CAT WITH A -BROKEN EAR. THERE WAS A WHIRL OF FURY. "GET IT NOW!" YELLED WILLIAM. -"GET IT WHILE THEY'RE FIGHTING!"] - -"Well, you can't say I din't do that, can you?" said Ginger, -vaingloriously. "You can't say I din't do that pretty neatly! You can't -say you helped much there. I bet if _you'd_ got all these scratches -there'd be some sort of a fuss!" - -"Yes, and who let it loose? That's all I'm asking. Who let it loose?... -Oh, come on! Let's get it home. I'm about sick of it. I'm about sick -of being his cat-carrier!" - -They walked along in silence for a bit. - -"Seems a bit quieter, doesn't it?" said Ginger. - -"Speck it knows now it's no use makin' a fuss. Speck it din't quite -know before wot sort of cat-catchers we was." - -"Let's have another look at it, William!" - -"Oh, yes, an' go lettin' it loose all over the place again. Oh, yes, -do!" - -"It's quiet now. It'll not mind me lookin'. I want to see if it's got -very dirty." - -William weakened. - -"I'll have a look at it this time," he said, "then p'raps it won't get -loose all over the place!" - -Cautiously he opened the basket lid. Over his face came a look of -horror. It faded, leaving it grim and scornful. - -"Oh, yes, you did it," he said, with heavy sarcasm. "You did it pretty -neatly, as you said you did. Oh, yes, I din't help much. Oh, yes, you -caught it." - -He opened the basket wider. A friendly tabby, with a broken ear, -regarded them and gave a tentative purr. - -"Oh, yes, you caught it all right, but you caught the _wrong_ one!" - -Ginger looked at it, aghast, speechless. Then he pulled himself -together. - -"Well, we'll have to pretend that it's the one." - -"Oh, yes," said William. "She'll believe it's a valu'ble white cat, -in a highly nervous state, won't she? Oh, yes, she's quite likely to -believe that!" - -They sat down by the roadside and stared at each other -hopelessly. The tabby showed no signs of wishing to leave them, -though, in their despair, they had left the basket open. - -"We--might do something to make it nervous," suggested Ginger, feebly. - -He began to make strange noises of obviously hostile and insulting -intent to the cat. The cat began to purr. William watched with cold -scorn. - -"Oh, yes, and then do somethin' to make it valu'ble, an' then do -somethin' to make it white!" - -They were both strangely silent at this last suggestion. The -hopelessness of their countenances seemed to clear. - -"It mightn't stay on, of course," said William, "but it might make it -look all right for a bit." - -"Where can we get some?" asked Ginger, cryptically. - -"P'raps old Lawkins has some," said William. "You can pay for it." - -They carefully replaced the tabby cat in the basket and went towards -the village shop. - -William entered and stated his needs. - -"White paint?" said the shopman. "I think so. I think so. For iron -work?" - -"Well," admitted William, "it's really for fur--I mean----" he -corrected himself hastily, "for somethin'--for somethin' a bit softer -than iron." - -"For wood?" suggested the old man. - -"I 'speck that'd do," said William, "and a brush too, please." - -They retired to a deserted field to perform the delicate task. - -William took the brush in one hand and put down the paint-pot on the -grass by his feet. Then he took out the cat. - -"Now, _I'm_ going to do this," he explained "because I want it done -prop'ly. I don't want this cat let loose all over the place." - -He held the cat in one hand and drew a bold line of white paint down -its back. The next moment he was sucking a deep, red scratch on either -hand, and a white-flecked tabby cat was disappearing in the distance. - -"You did that all right, din't you?" said Ginger, not without -satisfaction. - -William rose wearily, picking up the empty basket. He was too -disheartened even to save what was left of the paint. - -"Oh, let's leave it and go home," said Ginger. - -"Oh, yes, that's all right," burst out William. "It's all right for -_you_. You've not to go home and say you've lost a valu'ble white cat, -in a highly nervous state, wot someone was giving to Ethel." - -"Well, what can I do?" snapped Ginger. - -"You can perduce some sort of a cat," said William firmly. "That's all -I say. You let the first one loose all over the place, and you can -perduce another. That's all I say. I'm not going home without some sort -of a cat. I don't mind about it bein' valu'ble, or white, or nervous; -but I must go home with some sort of a cat. All I ask you is to perduce -some sort of a cat." - -"I wish you'd stop saying that," said Ginger, irritably. - -"Well, perduce one an' I will," said William, imperturbably. - -"There ought to be lots of cats about," said Ginger. "Let's go to the -road again." - -They went down the village street. Only one cat was to be seen. William -and Ginger approached it cautiously. - -"Pretty pussy!" said William, hoarsely. - -"Puss, puss, puss!" said Ginger, in honeyed accents. - -"Pretty pussy! Pretty pussy! an' I feel more like murderin' it," said -William. - -The cat sidled up to them. - -William picked it up, stroking it affectionately with an expression of -intense hatred on his face. - -"Open the basket, Ginger, quickly." - -"Mother!" came a shrill voice in his rear. "Boys is stealin' our cat!" - -William dropped the cat and fled down the road, followed by a -broomstick, flung after him by the cat's owner, and a stone thrown by -the child. The extent to which William's spirit had been broken by his -troubles is shown by the fact that he endured these outrages without -retaliation. - -When it was safe to relax his speed, he turned to Ginger. - -"I'll try one more cat," he said, "and that's all. I've done with cats -after that." - -They found one more cat. It responded to William's oily flattering. It -deigned to be taken up in his arms and stroked. - -It was not till it was almost lowered into the basket that it showed -the falseness of its friendliness. Its wildness then surpassed even the -wildest of the first occupant of the fateful basket. - -"Well, I've done with cats," said William solemnly, withdrawing his -hand from his mouth and watching the furry, flying creature in the -distance. "I've done with cats. If they was to come in crowds now, -_askin'_ to be put in the basket, I wun't touch them. I've _done_ with -cats. I'll feel sick whenever I see a cat for the rest of my life." - -A boy came down the road, his pockets bulging with something that moved. - -"What's that?" said William, without interest or spirit. - -The boy took out a small furry animal. - -"Ferrit. Me Dad catches rabbits with 'um! You've gotter be careful 'ow -you 'olds 'em." - -"Will you sell it?" asked William sadly, taking out his half-crown. - -"It's not a cat," said Ginger, wearily. - -But William had not lost his optimism. - -"Some folks don't know much about animals," he said, hopefully. "They -might think it was a cat!" - -William's father and mother and sister were in the morning-room when he -entered with his basket. He held it out to Ethel. - -"There's your cat," he said. - -"From Mr. Romford?" - -"Yes," said William, gloomily. - -She opened the lid a fraction, then shut it in silence. She looked -mystified. - -"It isn't a cat!" - -William's face was expressionless. - -"All I can say is wot he told me," he said in a monotonous voice. "He -said it was a valu'ble white cat, in a highly nervous state." - -"_This?_" - -"It may have got a bit mixed up on the way, but that's what he said. He -said that it was a valu'ble white cat, in a highly nervous state." - -"You needn't keep on saying that," said Ethel, irritably. - -"It's wot he said," said William, doggedly. "He said distinctly that it -was a valu'ble white cat, in a----" - -"Be _quiet_, William!" - -[Illustration: "BE QUIET, WILLIAM," SAID WILLIAM'S SISTER. WILLIAM'S -FATHER LIFTED THE LID AND PEERED IN. SUDDENLY HE WITHDREW HIS FINGER -WITH A YELL OF PAIN.] - -William's father came across the room and held the lid open, peering -in. Suddenly he withdrew his finger with a yell of pain and rushed from -the room, uttering muffled curses. - -"Do you mean to say, William," said Mrs. Brown, "that Mr. Romford sent -Ethel that--whatever it is?" - -"All I can say is wot he told me," said William. "He said it was a -valu'ble----" - -"Mother, if William says that once more I shall go mad." - -William came across to it curiously. - -"Let's have a look at it," he said. "Oo--ow--_ow!_ It's bit me!" - -It was out of the basket suddenly and across the room. Ethel gave -a piercing scream. It met Jumble in the hall, and a mad chase -ensued--scampering down the hall--round the drawing-room--the crashing -of a small table and all its ornaments--the ferocious growling of -Jumble--then silence. - -"I can't stand much more of this," said Mrs. Brown. "I don't know -what's the matter, or what the animal is, or whether it's killed Jumble -or Jumble's killed it--but how _any_ man could send ... for a Christmas -present, too.... William your finger's bleeding, and it's covered with -dirt. You'd better go and wash it." - -"Yes, mother," said William meekly. - -Then he saw a man coming up the drive carrying a dirty, bedraggled -white cat. - -"Look!" he said in an awe-struck voice, "That's him." - -"It's Mr. Romford," said Ethel. - -She went out into the hall. The conversation was distinctly audible. - -"How d'you do, Miss Brown! I'm afraid there's been some little -accident. I've----" - -"Thank you very much," said Ethel, coldly. "But we don't want any more -_cats_ here." - -"I'm afraid there's been a mis----" - -"The kindest thing to think, Mr. Romford," said Ethel, "is that you -hadn't the least idea what you were doing." - -"There's been a mis----" - -"My father and my poor little brother have been very badly injured. -These things often prove fatal." - -"There's been a mis----" - -"My mother is terribly upset by it. You must excuse me if----" - -"I can explain, Miss Brown----" - -"I dare say you can. You must excuse me. Good-bye." - -She shut the door and returned to the morning-room. - -"Go and wash your hands, William," said Mrs. Brown. - -William was watching Mr. Romford's crestfallen departure. His -indignation returned. - -"Makin' me his cat-carrier!" he muttered. - -"William, will you go?" - -"An' how much do you think he gave me for bringing it?" - -"I've no idea, and if once the dirt gets right into a bite like -that----" - -"_Nothin'_," said William, dramatically, as he turned to the door. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -WILLIAM'S SECRET SOCIETY - - -WILLIAM considered that the microbe world was treating him unfairly. -Mild chicken-pox would be, on the whole, a welcome break in the -monotony of life. It would mean delicacies such as jelly and cream and -chicken. It would mean respite from the pressing claims of education. - -It would afford an excuse for disinclination to work for months -afterwards. William was an expert in the tired look and deep sigh -that, for many months after an illness, would touch his mother's heart -and make her tell him to put his books away and go out for a walk. No -one could rival William in extracting the last ounce of profit from a -slight indisposition. - -And now Henry, Douglas and Ginger, William's bosom friends and -companions in crime, had all succumbed to chicken-pox, and chicken-pox -had passed William by, leaving him aggrieved and lonely. William -himself spared no effort. He breathed in heavily the atmosphere of -Ginger's Latin Grammar, on which Ginger had been lately engaged, as -soon as he heard that Ginger had fallen a victim. It was no use. -William caught nothing. - -So William was left alone, bereft of his faithful friends, gloomily -picturing their existence as one glorified holiday. But his troubles -did not end there. Mr. Cremer, William's peaceful and long-suffering -form master, became ill, and the next morning his place was taken by -Mr. French. - -William's attitude to his schoolmasters was, as a rule, one of pitying -forbearance, but he was, on the whole, quite kindly disposed to them. -He indulged their whims, he smiled at their jokes, he endured their -sarcasm; but he refused to concentrate his mental powers on _x_'s and -_y_'s and dates like 1815 in the few precious hours that were at his -disposal in the evening. Instead of doing homework, he preferred to -play at Red Indians or Pirates, or to hunt for rats and rabbits with -Jumble, his mongrel dog. - -Until the coming of Mr. French, William's relations with his -schoolmasters had been fairly amicable. Mr. Cremer was a pacifist. He -wanted peace at any price. He frankly avoided conflict with William. If -he saw William quietly engaged in drawing beetles during his lesson, he -did not expostulate. He thanked Heaven for it. He was not a proud man. - -But Mr. French definitely disliked William. He kept him in till -unreasonable hours in the evening. Upon William's making a quiet and -unostentatious exit by way of the window when his back was turned, -he followed William to his home, appeared suddenly when William was -sitting down to a delayed but welcome meal, and led him ignominiously -back. - -When William and his special friends, according to their time-honoured -custom, had bought a large pork-pie, to be passed surreptitiously round -for a bite each, in order to beguile the tedium of a geometry lesson, -Mr. French descended upon William as he was in the act of making -the first bite, and condemned him to consume the mountainous whole -before the assembled form. It was not that the pork-pie was really too -much for William's digestive capacity. It was that even William felt -the procedure to be lacking in dignity. Moreover, there was a stormy -meeting afterwards of shareholders in the pie, who demanded their money -back.... - -But it was when William had spent the whole of afternoon school -laboriously writing the first chapter of what was to be an epoch-making -story, and Mr. French had seized upon it, read it aloud to the form, -and then burnt it publicly and disdainfully, that William felt it was -time that something happened to Mr. French. He was proud of that story; -he thought it sounded a jolly good yarn, even when read by Mr. French, -who didn't seem to know how to pronounce half the words. - -"The pleecemen rushed upon the outlor as he stood there so proud an' -manly. - -"'Ho, ho!' he cried. 'Come on, varlets, an I'll jolly well show you.' - -"With one sweep of his gorry blade three pleecemen's heads roled of -into a heep. He shot another through the brane, another fell strangled, -an another, wot had a week hart, fell down dead at the horrible site. -Only one was left. - -"The outlor gave a snarling laugh through his clenshed teeth. - -"'Come on varlets,' he said, waving his gorry blade in one hand an' his -gun in the other, an' holding a dagger in his clenshed teeth. - -"But the pleeceman slank of. - -"'Coward!' taunted the outlor through clenshed teeth." - -William felt strongly that it was a very good story. He'd have to write -the whole thing out again now. It was certainly time something happened -to Mr. French. He went home planning vengeance. - -He walked home slowly, his brow drawn into a stern frown, not leaping -in and out of the ditch, or hurling missiles at passing friends or -enemies, as was his usual custom. His thoughts were so entirely taken -up with schemes of vengeance that he walked past the turning that led -to his home and found himself in a road through which he did not often -pass. - -Two boys stood outside the gate of a house. They were boys whom -William's mother would have designated as "common." William, whose -tastes were lamentably low, looked at them with interest. He felt -suddenly lonely and eager for the society of his kind. The opportunity -of an introduction soon occurred. The larger of the two boys looked up -to find William's scowling gaze fixed upon him. - -"Ullo, Freckles!" he called, accompanying the insult with a grimace of -obviously hostile intent. - -William, forgetting all thoughts of Mr. French in the exhilaration of -the moment, advanced threateningly. - -"You jus' say that again," he said. - -The red-haired boy obligingly said it again, and William closed with -him. They rolled across the road and into the ditch and out of it -again. William pulled the red-haired boy's nose and the red-haired -boy rubbed William's head in the dust. It was quite a friendly -fight--merely an excuse for the display of physical energy. - -The second boy sat on the fence and watched. Every now and then he spat -in the dust with a certain conscious pride. At last, friendly relations -having been established by the bout, William and the red-haired boy sat -up in the dust and looked at each other. - -"What's your name?" demanded William. - -"Sam. Wot's yourn?" - -"William. D'you go to school?" - -The red-haired boy looked scornful. - -"School? Me? Not much! I'm workin', I am. I works there, I does." He -cocked his thumb in the direction of the house. "'E ain't much catch, -though, 'e ain't. Stingy ole blighter--never so much as says 'Take an -apple or two,' or 'Take a bunch of grapes or two'--not 'e--an' me the -gardener's boy." - -He relapsed into pensive gloom at this recital of his woes. - -"So don't you never get none?" said William, sympathetically. - -"_Don'_ I?" said Sam, with a wink. "Wot d'yer think? That's all I asks -yer. Wot d'yer think? But it 'ud be friendlier in 'im ter ask me ter -'ave one or two. Not," he admitted, "as it makes much difference. But -'e's a stingy bloke--allus 'as been. 'E's one of these 'ere school -teachers. Kinder disagreeable in 'is manner." - -"What's his name?" said William, with sudden interest. - -"Ole Frenchy we calls 'im," said Sam. "An' don' 'e think 'e's clever? -Not 'arf. Ho my!" - -Into William's inscrutable countenance had come a gleam of light. For -a moment his thoughts worked silently and daringly. - -"Would you like," he said at last, "to b'long to a secret serciety?" - -Sam put his cap on one side and chewed a blade of grass ruminatively. - -"Dunno," he said. "Never tried. Leastways, not as I can call to mind." - -"Well," said William, persuasively, "you can try now. I want to -start one an' you can b'long. I want you to b'long 'cause you're his -gardener's boy an' can _do_ things--'cause he's awful mean an' made me -eat all the ole pie an' burnt my tale an' said lots of things an' I -want to make a secret serciety for payin' him out." - -Sam seemed to grasp the situation. - -"Orl right," he said, "an' wot do I get fer it?" - -This slightly nonplussed William. - -"Oh," he said vaguely, "it's a serciety--you jus' -b'long--you--er--well, you jus' _b'long_." - -Sam was considering the idea. - -"Let's 'ave 'im," he said, pointing at the boy who was still sitting on -the fence and spitting proudly at intervals. "'E's errand-boy at the -grocer's, he is, an' 'e's offen round 'ere. 'E's called Halbert, 'e is." - -Albert was approached, and expressed himself willing to join. - -"I don't mind b'longing," he said, with a sigh of deep feeling. "I -wouldn't mind _murderin'_ of 'im sometimes, when 'e tells me to get out -of 'is garding scornful like. I would 'a' murdered 'im long ago if it -'adn't been for my poor ole mother." - -Even William was startled. - -"You needn't _murder_ him," he said, hastily. "He's only gotter be paid -out." - -The Secret Society of Vengeance met for the first time the next -afternoon, in an old barn on the hillside. - -Albert had brought a friend of the name of Leopold to swell their -numbers. Leopold wore a tweed cap, many sizes too large for him, pulled -down over his eyes. It gave him a dare-devil air. He announced, in a -husky voice, that he "din' care nuffin fer no one, so there!" - -William looked round at his small band with a proud heart. Though he -had not forgotten the aims of his secret society, it was the fact of -its existence that really thrilled him. - -"Now we've gotter take a sacred an' solemn oath," he said, "an' sign it -in our blood, an' get a secret password an' a secret sign an' a secret -langwidge." - -Leopold created a diversion by announcing, briefly and gruffly, that -no one was going to sign nothing in his blood. When threatened with -ejection by William, and taunted with cowardice by Sam, he flung -himself upon them in dramatic fury. They moved hastily aside in -opposite directions, and his outstretched fist came heavily in contact -with a nail in the barn door. As an adequate supply of blood seemed to -be promptly assured, he lost his anger and became unbearably conceited, -parading his bleeding fist and commenting on some people he knew who -would have made a fuss and no mistake over a little thing like that. He -didn't mind a little thing like that--he'd--well, anyway, hurry up with -that oath, or it would be drying up. - -William had found in his pocket a grimy piece of paper and the stump of -a pencil, and was writing with a set, purposeful expression. - -"Now listen," he said at last. "This is wot I've wrote: 'We, wot our -names are sined in blood under this riting, take an oath to revenge to -the deth any member of this serciety wot is treated unfair. This is a -Secret Serciety. The punishment for anyone wot does not revenge anyone -else, or wot tells about the Serciety, is not to be spoke to or played -with by any of the other people in the Serciety for ever till deth.'" - -The signatures were the next difficulty. Leopold signed his with a -scornful pride that was beginning to make him unpopular. William, -feeling that his reputation as founder of the society was at stake, -took out a battered penknife, made a slight incision with a dramatic -gesture, and signed his name beneath Leopold's. Albert said he wasn't -going to cut his finger, 'cause he was afraid of bleedin' to death, an' -then he wouldn't be able to support his poor ole mother when he was -a man. He got some red paint at home and he was going to fetch that. -He wouldn't take a minute. He repeated that he wouldn't mind cuttin' -off his head if it wasn't for his poor ole mother. Leopold's airs -were becoming insufferable. He ejaculated, "Ho, yuss!" at intervals -during Albert's speech, but the rest of the society seem to be agreed -to ignore him for the present. Sam, with an exaggerated expression of -agony, manfully endured, had been coaxing a two days' old scratch, and -had just completed his signature when Albert returned with the red -paint. - -When the document was complete, William folded it up and put it in his -pocket. - -"Now," he said, assuming a businesslike attitude, "we've gotter think -of a secret password." - -Leopold darkly suggested "'ell," but it was felt that, though sinister, -it was too indefinite. Albert, after deep thought, brought forward the -proposal: "Hengland hexpects." This was felt to be, on the whole, too -lofty, and finally Sam's suggestion of "Down wiv tyrants!" was accepted. - -William (proposed and seconded by himself) was elected president, -and the others (also on his proposal and seconding) were elected -secretaries. - -A whistle of penetrating and inharmonious tone was originated by -William as a secret sign of danger, at which the whole society was to -rally. Further, a member of the society, on meeting another member, -was to cross the thumb and first finger and to utter darkly the words -"Outlaw--Brother!" Finally, each member raised his right hand, uttered -slowly and solemnly the fatal words "Down wiv tyrants--till death!" and -the meeting dispersed. - - * * * * * - -Mr. French became thoughtful. The morning after he kept William in he -found (with painful consequences) a hornet in his boot. The evening -after he had showered on William his choicest sarcasms he found the -back tyre of his bicycle punctured. After another conflict with -William, he found various indispensable things missing from his bag -when he arrived at school, though he could have sworn he had put them -in. He found them later in the greenhouse. - -On another occasion he found that a little soot had been put in his hat -and had reposed on his head as he paid a call and (all unconscious of -his appearance) had tried to charm his head-master's daughter. It was -incredible, but----. He pondered deeply over the matter and always came -to the same conclusion. It was incredible, but----. He tried ignoring -William, and the curious, inexplicable annoyances ceased. It was -certainly incredible, but----. He left it at that. - -The aims of the society widened. When Mr. Beal, the squire of the -village, chased William in person out of his orchard, with the help of -dogs, sticks, and stones, he found the next morning in his orchard, in -full view of the road, a scarecrow bearing a curious resemblance to -himself and wearing a suit of his old clothes.... - -When the Rev. Cuthbert Pugh called William "a nasty, dirty little boy, -and, I am sure, a great trial to his dear mother," he discovered, the -next morning, horrid little gargoyle-like faces outlined in white paint -on all his trees--most unpleasant--and conspicuous--and unclerical. - -It was altogether a successful secret society. It achieved its aims. It -gave William back his self-respect, which Mr. French had considerably -impaired. The secretaries, Sam, Albert and Leopold, seemed to take -delight in avenging the insults heaped by an unsympathetic world on -their president. It was pure joy to William to meet any of them in the -streets or lanes, cross his finger and thumb and utter darkly the words -"Outlaw--Brother!" - -So far all was well.... - - * * * * * - -Then Ginger, Henry and Douglas, recovered from chicken-pox, came back -to school. The peaceful and inoffensive Mr. Cremer returned to his own -form-room, and Mr. French retired to his own fifth form. Mr. French -was not sorry to go. He went with one last speculative look at William, -and with the final thought that it was incredible, but----. - -Life held once more games and walks and daring adventures with Ginger, -Henry and Douglas. William lost his sense of grievance. He realised -from his friends' accounts of their illness that he had not missed -much. Gradually the once thrilling thought of his secret society ceased -to thrill him. At first he took delight in uttering the mysterious -password when he was with Ginger, Henry or Douglas, but he became bored -with it himself, even before it got on their nerves, and they took -active physical measures to get it off their nerves. - -"All right," agreed William, picking himself out of the ditch and -removing the dead leaves from his hair and mouth. "I won't say it -again, but I jolly well won't tell you _why_ I uster say it. It's a -deadly secret an' I guess you can't guess wot it means." - -"Yes, an' I guess we jolly well don't want to," returned Ginger. - -It was the next week that William called a final meeting of the secret -society to announce its dissolution. As the members appeared, he -realised how intensely he disliked them, Leopold especially. He hated -Leopold now. He hated his large cap and little eyes and projecting -teeth. He looked at him coldly and critically as he made his speech. - -"The Serciety's gotter stop now, 'cause I've gotter lot of other things -to do an' we're making a bridge over the stream in the field, an' I've -not got time for secret sercieties, an' I don't want revenging any more -'cause he's gone now, an' so we'll stop it." - -"Wot about 'till deth'?" said Leopold, hoarsely. - -"Things is changed since then," said William. - -"Ho, yuss!" said Leopold, scathingly. - -William's dislike of Leopold increased. - -"Anyway, I made it," he said aggressively, "so I can stop it." - -"Orl right," said Sam. "You can pay us off an' stop it." - -"Pay you off?" repeated William, aghast. - -"Yuss," agreed Albert. "You pay us off an' we'll stop it." - -"Ho, yuss!" said Leopold. - -"I've not got anything to pay you off with," said William, desperately. -"You don't be _paid_ for bein' in a secret serciety. I told you you -didn't. You jus' _b'long_." - -"Well," said Sam, as if astounded by the depravity of human nature, -"an' us workin' for you----" - -"Riskin' our lives for you," put in Leopold, pathetically. - -"To be treated like this 'ere," ended Albert, sadly. - -"But--wot d'you want?" said the president, wildly. "I've not _got_ any -money left this week, an' next week's an' the week's after's goin' -to pay for an ole clock bein' mended wot I was jus' lookin' at an' -I put it back all right, 'cept how was I to know there was too many -wheels in it? An' I tell you you don't be _paid_ for bein' in a secret -serciety--no one is--they jus'--they jus' _b'long_... I keep _tellin'_ -you ... you don't _understand_." - -"Wot about 'till deth'?" put in Leopold again in his sepulchral tones. - -"Orl right," said Sam, "we'll jus' go an' tell ole Frenchy an' Mr. -Beal an' Mr. Pugh an' your father that we did all those things, -but you put us up to them an' made us do 'em." He gazed at William -dispassionately. "I'm sorry for _you_. _You'll_ catch it." - -William's freckled countenance was full of horror and amazement. He -passed a grimy hand through his already wild hair. - -"But--but it's not _right_. You don't understand. It's a serciety. You -did the things 'cause you _b'longed_. You can't go an' tell of them -afterwards. You--you don't _understand_." - -"We won't tell of them if you'll pay us off," said Sam. - -"Wot about 'till deth'?" said Leopold triumphantly, with an air of -bringing forward an irrefutable argument. - -William took refuge in sarcasm. - -"I _b'lieve_ I've told you," he said, with a passable imitation of Mr. -French's manner, "that I've no money. I shall be very glad to _make_ -some money for you out of nothing if you'll show me how. Oh, yes! If -you can show someone wot's not got any money how to _make_ some money -out of nothing, I'll make some for you--as much as you like. Oh, yes! -I hope," he ended, remembering one of Mr. French's favourite phrases, -"that I make myself quite clear." - -They gazed at him in unwilling admiration of his eloquence. Sam brought -them back to the matter in hand. - -"It needn't be money," he said. "All we say is we oughter get something -for all the trouble an' danger we've took for you. Something to eat -would do--something nice an' big." - -"Yes, an' how am I to _get_ it?" demanded William, indignantly. "D'you -want me to _starve?_ D'you think my folks would look on an' watch me -starve to death givin' my food to you?--jus' 'cause you went an' put an -ole scarecrow in someone's garden? D'you think that's a good reason for -one person to starve to death, 'cause another person put a scarecrow in -another person's garden?" - -They were aware that in rhetoric William soared far beyond them. - -"Well, we'll go home with you," said Sam, ignoring the argument. - -"Either you jus' give us something nice an' big to eat or we'll tell -your father." - -William, though rather pale, laughed scornfully. - -"Yes, you jus' come home with me," he said. "I guess you've not seen -our dog, have you? Nearly as big as a horse. I guess there won't be -much of you left when our dog sees you. Huh!" - -With what was meant to be a sinister laugh he turned on his heel and -strolled off. With sinking heart he saw that they were accompanying -him, Leopold and his projecting teeth walking by his side, Sam and -Albert behind. With a slight swagger and humming airily to himself, but -with apprehension at his heart, William slowly wended his homeward way. - -At the gate stood Jumble, his dog, small and friendly and rapturously -glad to see them all. Jumble was no snob. Having assured William of his -lifelong devotion and ecstatic joy at seeing him again, he went on to -extend a tempestuous welcome to Sam, Albert and Leopold. William looked -at him with affectionate sorrow. Though he adored Jumble, he thought -he'd ask for a bloodhound for his next birthday present--a really -savage one that would recognise his enemies at a glance. He walked, -still with his careless swagger, but with his heart sinking lower at -every step, round to the side door. Sam, Albert and Leopold still -accompanied him. - -"Now," whispered Sam. "You go and get us something real slap-up to eat, -or we'll tell your father what you made us do." - -William entered the side door and shut it firmly. - -He went first to the kitchen. Cook was lifting a large pie out of the -oven. His gloomy expression lifted. - -"Wot's that for, cook?" he enquired, politely. - -"For some people as is coming to supper to-night, an' none of your -business, Master William." - -There was no love lost between William and cook. William wandered -casually over to the larder door and opened it gently. Cook wheeled -sharply round. - -"Please come away from that door and go out of my kitchen, Master -William. Your tea's laid in the dining-room." - -William uttered his famous scornful laugh. - -"Huh! If I wanted anything to eat, I wun't come _here_ for it. I wun't -care to eat anything out of _this_ larder. My goodness! I'd sooner -starve than eat stuff out of _this_ larder, if I make myself quite -clear." - -Cheered by these crushing remarks, but still apprehensive of what the -next few hours might bring him, he went into the dining-room. His -spirits rose still further at the sight of a lavish meal, but dropped -as he noticed the presence of his mother and grown-up sister, Ethel. -He would have preferred a clear field for his operations. - -He uttered the mumbling sound with which he generally greeted his -family. - -"You're rather late, dear," said his mother. "Are your hands clean?" - -William replied by the same non-committal grunt, pushed back his untidy -hair with his hands, then hastily sat down, keeping his hands beneath -the tablecloth till public interest in their colour should have waned. -Through the window he could plainly see the forms of Sam, Albert and -Leopold standing outside, and his apprehension increased. - -"Mother," he said faintly, "it feels kind of stuffy in here. May I take -my tea out into the garden? I think I could eat it better there." - -Mrs. Brown looked at him anxiously. - -"Do you feel ill, darling?" - -"Kind of," said William. "I feel kind of as if I'd like to have tea out -of doors. I could eat quite a big tea, but only out of doors. It's that -kind of a feeling. Sort of as if I felt faint and not hungry indoors, -but would be all right an' wantin' a big tea in the garden." - -"Fiddlesticks!" remarked Ethel, coldly. - -"If you feel like that, darling," said Mrs. Brown, "I think you'd -better lie down. I'll bring you up a nice little tea on a tray." - -William perceived that Sam was grimacing at him through the window and -pointing meaningly to the table. - -"It's not that sort of a feeling at all," said William. "It's quite -a different sort. I'd like jus' cake--lots of cake--in the garden. -I'd feel all right then, if I could jus' take a lot of cake to eat -outside." - -[Illustration: THROUGH THE WINDOW WILLIAM COULD PLAINLY SEE THE -MENACING FACES OF SAM, ALBERT AND LEOPOLD.] - -[Illustration: "WHO ARE THOSE BOYS?" ASKED HIS MOTHER. "THOSE BOYS?" -SAID WILLIAM SLOWLY, TO GAIN TIME. "JUS' FRENS OF MINE."] - -"William!" said Mrs. Brown, who had moved over to the window, "who are -those boys in the garden?" - -William moistened his lips. - -"Which boys?" he said, innocently, but with an expression of grim -despair. - -"There! By the hedge. They're pulling faces at you." - -"Oh, _those_!" said William, as if seeing them for the first time. "Do -you mean _those?_" - -"Who are they, William?" - -"Those boys?" said William slowly, to gain time. "Jus' frens of mine. -That's all. Jus' frens of mine that was interested in gardens an' -wanted to see----" - -"But they're horrid, common, rough boys." - -William gave a hollow laugh. - -"Oh, no," he said. "They're not really. They only _look_ like horrid, -common, rough boys. They're _dressed_ like horrid, common, rough boys. -They----" - -"Don't talk nonsense, William. Go and tell them to go away at once. -Have you finished your tea?" - -William glared bitterly at the people who seemed bent on bringing about -his doom. - -"Oh, yes," he said. "I've had all the tea I feel like having in here. -I don't know what'll happen to me later on," he went on pathetically, -"with not having been able to have my tea the way I felt like----" - -"Go and send those boys away at once, William, and never bring them -here again." - -William, whose opinion of life in general was, at this moment, -unprintable, went slowly into the garden. - -"You've gotter go away," he said in a hoarse whisper. "_She_ says so." - -"Orl right. We'll go an' tell your father----" - -"No," said William, "you wait by the gate an' I'll bring you something -soon an'--my goodness!--it'll be a long time before I go in for any -more secret sercieties." - -They went furtively down the garden drive, and William returned to the -house. - -The guests were arriving. He caught sight of the Rev. Cuthbert Pugh -and Mr. Beal as they were ushered into the drawing-room. He hovered -disconsolately round the kitchen. Cook was securely in possession. She -watched his every movement suspiciously. The position was desperate. -Something must be done. - -At any moment the story of his crimes might be laid before his father. -As cook opened and shut the larder door, he caught sight of a large -pie, with brown, crisp-looking pastry, upon the top shelf. That surely -would pay off the blackmailing ex-secretaries of the Secret Society of -Vengeance. - -Quickly William formed his plans. To go to the larder by the kitchen -door was impossible. But, somehow, or other, he must get that pie. He -went out of the front door and crept round the house to the larder -window. It was unlatched. He opened it quietly and climbed in. Holding -his breath in suspense, his fierce and scowling gaze fixed upon the -door that led to the kitchen, he took the pie and silently climbed out -again. There was exultation in his heart. The end was in sight. But he -reckoned without Cæsar. - -Cæsar was a boarhound belonging to Mr. Beal, who accompanied his master -on all his social calls, and waited outside the front door for him. On -this occasion he seemed to be labouring under the delusion that William -was kindly bringing some refreshment for him to beguile his long -evening. - -He advanced to meet William with tail wagging, and nose eagerly -sniffing the delicious perfume of veal and ham pie. His whole bearing -expressed anticipation and gratitude. - -William said "Down!" in a fierce whisper, and held his precious pie -high above his head. Cæsar pranced along by his side, his eyes uplifted -towards the heavenly smell. William had planned to creep through a -shrubbery to the side gate, but it is difficult to creep through a -shrubbery holding a heavy pie above one's head in close company with -an enormous dog, whose energies are wholly concentrated on obtaining -possession of the pie. William managed the situation for some time. He -said "Down!" often, and fiercely, and struggled on bravely, dragging -the pie aloft through laurel and holly bushes. But Cæsar felt at last -that he had been trifled with long enough. - -He rose on two legs, placed his paws on William's shoulders, impelled -him gently to the ground, and plunged his nose into his delicious -supper. William sat up, rubbed a bruised elbow and looked around. -Cæsar's appetite and capacity were unlimited. Half the pie had -disappeared already, and the rest was fast disappearing. - -"Crumbs!" said William, remembering the title of a book he had read -lately, "Talk about 'Dogged by Fate'!" - -With that thought came the thought of the hero of the book, Dick the -Dauntless. _He'd_ have thought nothing of a thing like that. _He'd_ -have thought nothing of taking on Sam and Albert and Leopold all -together and licking them. He'd have just walked up to them and let -them see that they'd jolly well better leave _him_ alone in future. -_He'd_ have just laughed at that dog eating up all the pie. William -promptly uttered a harsh sound and Cæsar cocked an ear and looked up -apologetically. William was not a romancist for nothing. He had ceased -to be William. Dick the Dauntless swaggered down the path to the gate -with a dark scowl on his face. - -Sam peered through the dusk. - -"Well," he said, eagerly. "What 'vyou got?" - -Through the bushes Cæsar swallowed the last mouthful of veal and ham -pie and sat back with an expression of seraphic happiness, and Jumble -humbly came forward to lick the dish. - -"Nothin', you--you ole varlets," cried Dick the Dauntless. "An' I jolly -well won't get anything, ever--till death--so there--an' you jus' clear -off from outside my house, or I'll--" - -He flung himself upon Sam. Sam, who was taken by surprise, rolled into -the ditch. Albert and Leopold rushed upon William, Sam crawled out of -the ditch to join them, and the battle began. - - * * * * * - -"It's gone," said Mrs. Brown. "Simply gone." The three men looked at -her in bewilderment. - -"The veal and ham pie," exclaimed Mrs. Brown. "The one we were going to -have for supper. Cook says she put it in the larder only two minutes -ago, and now it's gone--simply gone. No one's been through the kitchen. -Cook's been near the larder door all the time. Some tramp must have -seen it through the window and taken it and----" - -"He can't have gone far," said Mr. Brown. - -Mr. Beal sprang up. - -"Let's catch him," he said. "He's probably eating it in the shrubbery -now." - -The three men went out and gazed upon the darkening garden. A faint -cracking of twigs in the shrubbery reached them. In single file and on -tiptoe they set out. At last they discerned a dim figure in front of -them carrying something in its arms and accompanied by a dog. - -"There he is!" - -"Quietly! We'll get him!" - -"He's made friends with Cæsar!" - -"Quite a small man." - -"Almost a boy." - -There was a horrible suspicion at the heart of William's father, but he -followed with the rest. The figure disappeared behind a laurel bush. -They followed, still on tip-toe. Behind the bush they found only Cæsar -finishing the remains of the pie and Jumble watching him with wistful -envy. - -"Catch the old villain before he makes off," said Mr. Beal, and they -hastened on to the hedge at the end of the garden and looked over it. -There a glorious sight met their eyes. Dick the Dauntless was fighting -for his life against hundreds of foes. He punched and butted and dodged -and closed. Thousands fell at each stroke. He was dimly aware of three -heads watching him over the hedge, but he had no time to look at them. -He heard vague sounds, such as: - -"Go it, William!" - -"Get one in now, old chap!" - -"Jolly good! Jolly good!" - -"Give it 'em strong!" - -Albert, with a bewildered cry of "Oh, 'elp!" and a bleeding nose, -began to run off towards home. There was very little left of Dick the -Dauntless, but with a desperate effort he flung Leopold into the ditch, -whence Leopold crawled forth and followed Albert. Only Sam was left. -Sam was large and no coward, and, in spite of a bruised eye, would have -kept up the fight longer had not Cæsar appeared. - -One glance at Cæsar was enough for Sam. Echoing Albert's cry of "Oh, -'elp!" he fled for dear life down the road. Then Dick the Dauntless -vanished, and William, his collar burst, his tie streaming, his coat -torn, his ear bleeding, turned to survey his audience of three from a -quickly-closing eye. - - * * * * * - -William, in his pyjamas, pondered for a moment over the mystery of -human life as he bestowed those few perfunctory brushes upon his shock -of hair that constituted its evening toilet. He had that day committed -almost every crime known to boyhood. - -He had brought "common" boys home. - -He had stolen a pie. - -He had fought openly on the high road. - -He had spoilt his collar and tie and coat, and acquired a thoroughly -disreputable black eye. - -Finally, turning from these crimes, fully expecting to meet with -retribution at the hands of his family, he had been acclaimed as a -hero. He was bewildered. He did not understand it. He did not know why -he was a hero instead of a criminal. Anyway, it wasn't worth bothering -over, and, anyway, he was going to have a jolly fine black eye, he -thought proudly. He turned a somersault from his chair to his bed, -which was his normal manner of entering it, and drew the clothes up -to his chin. Before he finally surrendered to the power of sleep, he -summed up his chief impressions of the evening. - -"They're jolly queer, grown-ups are," he said, sleepily. "Jolly queer!" - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -THE NATIVE PROTÉGÉ - - -THE person who was ultimately to blame was the secretary of the -Dramatic Society of the school of which William was a humble member. -The Dramatic Society had given an historical play in which Christopher -Columbus was depicted among the aborigines of America. William was -too unimportant a member of the institution which served him out -his daily ration of education to figure on the stage, but he was a -delighted spectator in the back row. Christopher Columbus interested -him not at all. Christopher Columbus was white, and except for his -rather curious and violently anachronistic costume, looked exactly as -the postman or William's own father might look. But the aborigines! -William could not take his eyes from them. They were Jones Minor and -Pinchin Major and Goggles, and all that crew. Of course he knew that. -Yet how different--how rapturously different. Browned from head to -foot--a lovely walnut brown. It made their eyes look queer and their -teeth look queer. It set them in a world apart. It must feel ripping. -William decided then and there that his life's happiness could never -be complete till he had browned himself like that. He wondered whether -brown boot polish would do it. Knife polish might. Something must. - -He went out with the stream of spectators at the end in a golden dream -of happiness. He saw himself, browned from head to foot, brandishing -some weapon and dancing on bare brown feet in a savage land. He was so -rapt in his day-dream that he collided with a tall lank VI. Form boy -who was coming along the passage carrying a box. - -"Look out where you're going, can't you?" said that superior individual -coldly. "Do you want me to drop this stuff all over the place?" - -He pointed with a languid hand to "this stuff." "This stuff" was sticks -of brown and red and black grease paint, pots of cold cream, and tins -of powder. - -William's eyes brightened. - -"Shall I carry it for you?" he said meekly. "So's to save you trouble?" - -The VI. Form boy started. William's attitude towards his intellectual -superiors generally lacked that respect which is the due of -intellectual superiors. - -"Er--all right," he said, handing the box to William and walking on -down the passage. - -William walked meekly behind with the box in his arms. Very neatly as -he turned the corner he transferred two sticks of brown grease paint -from the tray to his own pocket. He sternly informed his conscience -(never a very active force with William and quite easily subdued) -as he did so that he'd helped to pay for the beastly things, hadn't -he, anyway, by paying (or getting his mother to pay) two shillings -for a rotten seat in the rotten back row, where he could only see by -squinting round the feather in Dawson's mother's hat, and anyway he'd -like to know whose business it was but his. His conscience retired, -completely crushed. - -[Illustration: WILLIAM SURVEYED HIMSELF AGAIN IN THE GLASS, AND A -BLISSFUL SMILE STOLE OVER HIS COCOA-HUED FACE] - -At the door of the VI. Form room he handed the box to the secretary of -the Dramatic Society. - -The secretary of the Dramatic Society entered the holy sanctum. - -"That young Brown's manners," he remarked patronisingly to his peers, -"seem to be improving." - - * * * * * - -William surveyed the effect in the looking-glass. It was perfect. He -had completely used up the two sticks of brown grease paint upon the -exposed parts of his person. He found the question of clothing rather -a difficulty. He possessed no garment of the type that the aborigines -had worn, but his ordinary suit was, of course, unthinkable. Football -shorts seemed better--and a green football shirt that had been -Robert's. They partook in some way of the nature of fancy dress. Robed -in them he surveyed himself again in the glass and a blissful smile -stole over his cocoa-hued face. He was a perfect aborigine. It only -remained to go out into the world to seek adventures. - -Adventures came readily to William even when attired and coloured -simply as a boy. He hardly dared to think what might happen to him -as an aborigine--provided, of course, that he could get clear of the -parental abode. Otherwise his mahogany career might come to an abrupt -and untimely end. He looked cautiously out of the window. There was no -one in sight. He lowered himself to earth by means of a tree that grew -conveniently near his window. - -"William!" - -The voice came from the drawing-room. - -William beat a hasty retreat into a clump of laurel and remained -motionless. - -"I'm sure I heard that boy ... _William!_" - -He decided to take the bull by the horns. - -"Yes, mother!" he called obediently. - -"What are you doing?" - -"I'm jus' sittin' in the garden an' thinkin', mother," said William, in -a voice of honeyed wistfulness. - -Mrs. Brown, deeply touched, sought out her husband. - -"You know, dear," she said, "there's something awfully sweet about -William sometimes." - - * * * * * - -William, having gained the open field, felt a sensation of extreme -relief. For some time he crawled about in ditches tracking imaginary -wild animals and scalping imaginary white men. Then the occupation -began to pall, and he began to regret having carried off the _coup_ -in solitude. A few more aborigines might have been jollier. However, -the brown was staying on all right, and that was a comfort. He left -the fields and went into the woods. There he ran and leapt and climbed -trees for a blissful half-hour. He also shot an entire menagerie of -animals and slaughtered innumerable hosts of white men unaided. He went -along the woods, then across three fields (by way of the ditches), -and then down the valley, and then close by the side of a garden with -which he was not previously acquainted. And it looked an interesting -garden--just the sort of garden for an aborigine intent upon enjoying -life to the full. He saw a shrubbery, an orchard, a stream, and some -very climbable trees. He scrambled through a hole in the hedge to -the detriment of the green football shirt and shorts. Then he ran -riot in the jungle and along the sides of the raging torrent. In a -fierce encounter caused by the joint attack of a lion and elephant -and a rhinoceros (William did things upon a large scale) he ran (in -pursuit, not in flight) to the further end of the shrubbery. There he -was surprised to find an open lawn and a large concourse of people. The -people sat in rows in chairs. There was something expectant in their -expression. A tall man in black was standing in front of them with a -watch in his hand. They were obviously waiting for something. When they -saw William they rose as one man. - -"_There_ he is," they said. - -Before the bewildered William could realise what was happening they -surrounded him on all sides and drew him on to the lawn. The clergyman -held him by the hand. - -"Don't be frightened, little boy," he said kindly. - -"I don't suppose he understands English," said a tall, thin lady in a -small sailor hat. "They don't, you know--out there." - -A large motherly woman bore down upon him with a glass of milk and a -bun. William was hungry. In moments of uncertainty his rule was to lie -low and take the good things provided by the gods without question. -Moreover, it was perhaps safer in the circumstances not to understand -English--at any rate, not till he had consumed the bun and milk. They -led him to a table facing the audience and put the bun and milk before -him. People in the farther rows of chairs craned their necks to see -him. He gave them his inscrutable frown in the intervals of drinking -and consuming large mouthfuls of bun. The man stood up and addressed -the gathering in a high-pitched, drawling voice. - -"I need not inform my friends that we--er--see before us -our--er--little _protégé_ from Borneo and--er--let me say that -he--er--does us credit." He placed his hand upon William's head and -looked down at William with a proud smile. - -Meeting William's unflinching, unsmiling glare, his smile faded and he -quickly drew back his hand. - -"Er--credit," he resumed, putting a hand to his collar as he moved -a step farther from William. "To--er--those who may be strangers -here this afternoon let me say that we--er--of this--er--parish -have--er--for the past two years--made ourselves responsible for -the--er--rearing and--er--education of a little native of Borneo." - -He paused for applause, which was set going by the Vicar's wife, who -was the tall, thin lady in the small sailor hat. - -"The Reverend Habbakuk Jones, who is--er--at the native mission -school, has come--er--over to see us--bringing--er--our little native -_protégé_." Again he smiled lovingly and drew near to William. William, -whose mouth was fuller of currant bun than European etiquette would -have sanctioned, raised his face, and, without interrupting the process -of mastication, gave Mr. Theophilus Mugg such a look as sent him -precipitately to the farther end of the table. - -"Er--_protégé_," said Mr. Theophilus Mugg uncomfortably. "The Reverend -Habbakuk Jones wrote this--er--morning to say that he would call -with the--er--child"--he looked distrustfully at William--"and leave -him in our--er--loving care--while he--er--visited a relative in -the--er--vicinity. He--er--promised to be--er--with us--by half-past -three to--er--deliver his address. He--er--evidently dropped his -address. He--er--evidently dropped the--er--little boy--at the gate -and--er--will soon be--er--present himself." - -[Illustration: WILLIAM ROSE TO THE OCCASION. "BLINKELY MEN ONG," HE -SAID CLEARLY.] - -He sat down as far away from William's eye as possible and wiped his -brow. A crowd with a large preponderance of the feminine element -gathered round William as he drained the last drop of milk. A fat, -motherly woman handed him a piece of chocolate gingerly, as though he -were a strange sort of wild animal. - -"I wonder if he'll speak," said someone wistfully. - -"I expect he'll make some sort of thanks for the bun and milk and -chocolates," suggested someone else. - -"Not in English, I expect," said a third hopefully. - -William rose to the occasion. - -"Blinkely men ong," he said clearly. There was a murmur of rapt -admiration. - -"Hindustani, I believe," said the Vicar's wife doubtfully. "My father -was in India several years." - -William soared to further heights. - -"Clemmeny fal tog," he said. - -"The darling!" said the old lady. "I'm sure he's saying something -beautiful." She held out a second slab of chocolate. "I _love_ those -Eastern languages, so--_musical_." - -"It's certainly Hindustani," said the Vicar's wife. "It all comes back -to me." - -"Oh, what was he saying?" - -"He was saying," said the Vicar's wife, "'Thank you for your kindness -and food.'" - -"How beautiful!" said the fat lady, handing him a third slab of -chocolate. "I was taking this home for my son," she explained, "but I'd -_much_ rather give it to our dear little native _protégé_. Isn't it a -beautiful thought that we reared and clothed him all this time?" - -"I distinctly remember making that little green shirt," said the -Vicar's wife. - -"Bluff iffn," said William, who was growing bold. - -"The angel!" said the fat lady. "Doesn't it make you feel you'd do -_anything_ for him. What's his name?" she said to Mr. Theophilus Mugg. -"I'd love to call him by his name." - -"I--er--am not sure of his name," said Mr. Theophilus Mugg with dignity. - -"But wasn't it mentioned in the letter?" - -"It was spelt," said Mr. Theophilus Mugg with increasing dignity. -"Needless to say, it was not pronounced. I have no wish to make myself -ridiculous in the boy's eyes." - -"The mystery of these dark-skinned races," said the Vicar's wife. "The -beautiful inscrutable faces of them. The _knowledge_, the _wisdom_ they -seem to hold." - -"Certainly it is not an English cast of countenance," said Mr. -Theophilus Mugg. - -"Bunkum allis lippis," said William, feeling that something further was -expected of him. - -"Most _certainly_ Hindustani," said the Vicar's wife. - -It was here that a small voice piped from the back row, "It's William -Brown!" - -William, who was enjoying himself intensely, glared fiercely in the -direction of the voice. - -"Hush, hush, dear!" said the shocked voice of a parent. "Of course it -isn't William Brown. It's a poor little boy from a distant land over -the sea--or India's coral strand," she murmured vaguely. - -"It _is_ William Brown," persisted the shrill voice. - -"He may bear a resemblance to William Brown," said the parent, "but -William Brown is white, I suppose, and this little boy is black." - -"Yes," said a small, half-convinced voice, "I s'pose so." - -They approached the table. - -"My little girl," said the parent pleasantly, "sees a resemblance in -the child to one of her schoolfellows." - -"Would you like to talk to the little boy?" - -The little boy put out his tongue at her. - -"A native form of greeting, doubtless," said the Vicar's wife. - -"Oo, it _is_ William Brown," persisted the little girl shrilly. - -"If you say that again, dear," said the parent, "I shall have to take -you home. It isn't kind. It may hurt the little boy's feelings. He's -come a long, long way from a place where every prospect pleases and -only man is vile, and you ought to be kind to him. How would you like -to go to a strange far-away country and then have people say you were -William Brown?" - -This seemed unanswerable. The small child subsided. - -Mr. Theophilus Mugg looked anxiously towards the gate. - -"He doesn't seem to be coming," he said. "Shall we--er--adjourn to the -drawing-room for tea and--er--hear Mr Habbakuk Jones's--er--address -afterwards?" - -There was an animated murmur of acquiescence. - -"The--er--child of the sun," went on Mr. Mugg, "can stay out and we -will--er--send his tea to him." - -William's expression brightened. - -"Swishy," he said. - -"Thank you," translated the Vicar's wife to the rest of the audience. - -The small child had wandered round to the wake of William. - -"He's not black all the way down," she shrilled. "He is----" She -stopped abruptly, remembering the maternal threat. "Well, anyway, he -_is_," she ended decidedly. - -"Of _course_ he must be black all the way down. Don't be silly," said -the parent. - -"They _may_ not be," said an old lady with a kind face. "Of course, one -imagines they are, but, after all, one sees nothing but the exposed -portions." - -At this point William, who was very hot, raised a hand to his brow to -wipe away the perspiration. The sun was certainly having some effect -upon his complexion. A pale patch followed the track of his hand. His -hand in its downward journey rubbed upon his green shirt. A black patch -followed its track. There was a sudden silence. - -The vicar's wife voiced the general sentiments. - -"Curious!" she said. - -"Surely," said the old lady in a trembling voice, "we haven't been -imposed upon?" - -"Impossible," said Mr. Mugg, pale but firm. "I have known Mr. Habbakuk -Jones from childhood. He is incapable of deception." - -"Perhaps," said the old lady, "it's the effect of the sudden change of -climate acting upon the pigment of the skin." - -There was a murmur of relief at the suggestion. William merely scowled -at them. He was wondering how soon and on what pretext he could escape -to the woods. He felt that he had exhausted the powers of entertainment -of the present position but he did not wish to miss the tea. - -"We will not discuss the matter in the hearing of the child," said Mr. -Mugg. - -"But he doesn't speak English," put in the old lady. - -"He may _understand_ it," said Mr. Mugg with dignity. "Let -us--er--discuss the matter over the--er--cup that cheers but not -inebriates--ahem!" - -Rather bewildered and looking back suspiciously at the inscrutable -William, the company moved indoors. The old lady soon appeared with a -heavily-laden tray which she placed in front of William. She seemed -about to make some kind remark, but meeting William's implacable frown, -retired hastily. - -"He's certainly beginning to look very annoyed," she announced -excitedly in the drawing-room. - -"It is----" began the small shrill voice, then stopped abruptly. - -It was just as William was consuming the last of a large plate of cakes -that he noticed a couple of figures coming towards the house. One was a -clergyman. The other was a boy about William's age, rather more swarthy -than the average boy, and clad in an ordinary grey flannel suit. Nobody -knew exactly what happened then. Certainly on that occasion William -was _not_ the aggressor. The newcomer may have disliked the look of -William with his now streaky face and curious costume, he may have -been hungry and found the sight of William, devouring the last cake, -unbearable, he may simply have been feeling the heat. The fact remains -that he hurled himself upon William with the agility of a wild cat, -and William in sheer panic rushed through the open French window into -the drawing-room, followed by his antagonist. The two of them charged -through the crowded room. They left in their wake Mr. Theophilus Mugg -sitting upon a dish of cakes upon the floor, the Vicar's wife soaked -in hot tea, the old lady mixed up with the fragments of a Venetian -vase, and the parent of the child beneath the grand piano. Once outside -the front door William doubled, threw off his pursuer and made for the -woods. - -[Illustration: IN SHEER PANIC WILLIAM RUSHED THROUGH THE OPEN FRENCH -WINDOW INTO THE DRAWING-ROOM, FOLLOWED BY HIS ANTAGONIST.] - -He had made up his mind to go home and take the stuff off. It was -coming off, anyway. It was possible that he might be home for tea. It -was possible--he was rather doubtful about this, but determined to -be optimistic--that his father might not come to hear of the affair. -Anyway, it had been fun. It had been fun in the woods, and those old -loonies had been fun, and the cakes had been scrummy. - - * * * * * - -In the garden peace was restored. The audience sat once more in orderly -rows. At the table sat Mr. Theophilus Mugg, the Reverend Habbakuk Jones -and the native _protégé_, now cool and peaceful and replete with cakes -and milk. A name was being whispered from mouth to mouth among the -audience. The Reverend Habbakuk Jones rose to his feet. - -"Ladies and Gentlemen," he began. - -From the back now rose a shrill, excited voice. "I _said_ it was -William Brown." - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -JUST WILLIAM'S LUCK - - -WILLIAM had accompanied his mother on a visit to Aunt Ellen. Mrs. Brown -was recovering from an attack of influenza, and the doctor had ordered -a change. - -William did not accompany her because his presence was in any way -likely to help her convalescence. On the contrary it was warranted -to reduce any person of normal health to a state of acute nervous -breakdown. He accompanied her solely because the rest of the family -refused to be left in charge of him. - -As his grown-up brother Robert somewhat ungraciously put it, "Mother's -ill already, and William can't make her much worse. It's no use getting -the whole lot of us knocked up. Besides, Mother _likes_ William." He -made the last statement in the tone of voice in which one makes a -statement that is almost incredible, but true. - -William was an entirely well-meaning boy. That fact must be realised in -any attempt to estimate his character, but Fate had a way of putting -him into strange situations, and the world in general had a way of -misunderstanding him. At least, so it always seemed to William.... - -William was _bored_ by Aunt Ellen, and Aunt Ellen's house, and Aunt -Ellen's garden, and Aunt Ellen's cat, and Aunt Ellen's conversation, -and Aunt Ellen's powers of entertainment. - -Aunt Ellen had suggested many ways in which he might spend his first -afternoon with her while his mother rested. He might sit in the garden -and read. She'd rather he didn't go outside the garden alone, because -he might meet rough boys, and she was sure his dear mother was most -particular whom he met. So she gave him a book called "Little Peter, -The Sunshine of the Home," and put a chair for him in the garden. - -"It's a beautiful book, William," she said, "and I think will do you -good. It's a true book, written by the boy's mother, as the preface -tells you. He is a beautiful character. I _love_ the book, myself. -We'll have a nice little talk about it when you've read it. It might -prove the turning-point in your life. I'm sure you'll wish you knew -Peter and his dear mother." - -William, after reading a few pages, began, as she had predicted, to -wish he knew Peter and his mother. He wished he knew Peter in order -to take the curl out of that butter-coloured hair and the fatuous -smile from the complacent little mouth that stared at him from every -illustration. Driven at last to fury, he dropped Peter down the well, -and began to look for more congenial occupations. - -He tried to play with the cat, but the cat, not being used to -William's method of playing, scratched him on the cheek and escaped -under the bicycle shed, whither William could not follow him. William -next climbed the apple-tree, but, like the rest of Aunt Ellen's -establishment, the apple-tree was not "used to boys," and the first -branch upon which William took his stand precipitated him on to -the lawn, and almost down the well, to join his victim, "Peter, -the Sunshine of the Home." Next he took up a few of Aunt Ellen's -cherished chrysanthemums to compare the length of their roots at -different stages, replanting them when he heard Aunt Ellen's footsteps -approaching---- - -"William, darling," she said reproachfully, "have you finished the -book?" - -"Umph," answered William non-committally. - -"You must read very quickly, darling. I'll get you another. I have -another book about Peter, you'll be glad to hear." - -William coughed politely. - -"Thanks," he said, "I don't jus' feel like any more readin'. I'd like -more to _do_ somethin'. I'm tired of doin' nothin'." - -She looked at him helplessly. - -"But what do you _want_ to do, William darling?" - -"Dunno. Any sort of a game would do," he said graciously. - -The only game in Aunt Ellen's house was an old archery set, a relic of -her Victorian youth. She brought it down for William. - -"You see, you shoot at the target, darling," she explained. - -"Thanks," said William, brightening considerably. "You needn't bother -lending me the target." - -Aunt Ellen retreated upstairs to continue her interrupted nap. - -It was only when William, in a perfectly laudable attempt to shoot an -apple down from the apple-tree, had broken the landing window, driven -the cat into a hysterical state of fury, and landed an arrow full in -the back of the next-door gardener, that Aunt Ellen raised herself -once more from the bed that was usually the scene of such untroubled -rest. She rescued William, in a state of indignation, from the cat and -gardener, and suggested a little walk. She felt, somehow, less sure of -the contaminating influence of the outside world on William's character. - -"Everyone's got to _practise_," said William indignantly. "Well, I was -only _practising_. I'd have got my eye in soon. I hadn't got my eye in -when I hit 'em. Everyone's got to practise. No one's born with their -eye in. If I went on about five minutes longer, I wouldn't be hittin' -anythin' 'cept wot I wanted to. And then," he added darkly, with a -vague mental vision of the world in general, and Peter and the cat and -the gardener in particular, at his mercy, "then some folks had better -look out." - -Aunt Ellen shuddered. - -"Darling, don't you think a little walk would do you good?" - -"I don't mind," said William. "May I take the bow and arrows?" - -"I think not," said Aunt Ellen. - -"All right," said William despondently. - - * * * * * - -William started off down the road. Aunt Ellen returned once more to her -slumbers. Peace reigned once more over the house. But not over William. -William walked slowly and dejectedly, his hands in his pockets. A -week of sheer boredom lay before him--of a garden arranged purely for -the grown-up world, of books containing obnoxious Peters, of irate -gardeners, of spiteful cats. He didn't think that he was going to enjoy -himself. He didn't think that there was going to be anything to do. He -didn't think that his walk that afternoon would contain anything of the -least interest. He didn't know any boys here. He didn't want to know -any boys in a place like this. They were probably all Peters. He felt a -burning hatred of Peter. He wouldn't mind meeting Peter.... - -He was tired of walking along the high road. He crawled through a hole -in the hedge and found himself in someone's garden. He didn't care. He -was in the reckless mood of the outlaw. He walked along the lawn and up -to the house. He didn't care. He'd like to see anyone try to turn him -out. That ole gardener--that ole cat--that ole Peter. Then he stopped -suddenly---- - -Through an open window he could see a room, and a man sitting at a -writing-desk. On the writing-desk was a pile of books: "What to do -with Baby," "Hints on the Upbringing of Children," "Every Mother's -Reference Book," and others of the same nature. There were also several -type-written manuscripts and several copies of a magazine, "The Monthly -Signal: A Magazine for Mothers." - -But it was not on these that William fastened his scowling gaze. It was -on a book, or rather a pile of books, from whose covers the simpering, -curly-haired face of the hateful Peter looked out upon the world. - -The man who sat at the desk was reading a letter. There was a look of -fear upon his face. Suddenly he looked up and met William's unflinching -gaze. They stared at each other for a few moments, then the man put -down the letter and ran from the room. Obviously it was the sight -of William that had moved him. In a less defiant mood towards the -world in general William might have taken to his heels. Now he stood -his ground, frowning ferociously at the man as he came out of the -front-door. But his ferocity was not needed. - -"I say," began the man, "do you live near here?" - -William's frown did not relax. - -"Stayin' here," he admitted ungraciously. - -"I say," said the man again, "could you help me? Just for this -afternoon. I'll give you everything you want--a shilling, two -shillings, ten shillings," he went on wildly, "_anything_. You can -come to this garden any day you like as long as you stay here. You -can birds'-nest in the wood. I've got a boy's tricycle you can have -and--you can do anything you like in the garden--there's a pond behind -the house----" - -"Can I have all those things you said, and do all those things you -said?" said William guardedly. - -"Yes--yes--if you'll do what I tell you just for this afternoon." - -"I'd do _anything_ for those things," said William simply. - -"Come in," said the man nervously. "There's not much time. She'll be -here any moment." - -"When she comes," said the man quickly--"she'll be here any minute -now--I want you to pretend you're called Peter and I'm your mother--do -you see?" - -William was outraged. - -"Me--Peter--_that boy_?" At his tone of contempt the man's eyes blinked. - -"But he's a charming boy," he said indignantly. "_Everyone_ says so--I -could show you letters----" - -Only at the mental vision of the pond, the tricycle, the wood, the -garden, the ten shillings, did William's conscience allow him to pocket -his pride. - -"He's more like a monkey out of the Zoo than a boy," he said bitterly. -"But I'll do it if you'll never tell anyone I pretended to be him." - -The man's pride was evidently wounded by William's attitude. - -"I should have thought it an honour--I've had most flattering notices. -I could show you letters. However, there's no time to argue--as I -said, she may be here any minute. I shan't be here--you must see her -alone--say you're Peter--I'm afraid you're the wrong type," sadly. -"Your hair doesn't curl and it's the wrong colour, and you're too big, -and your expression's wrong--not sensitive enough, or gentle enough, or -wistful enough----" - -William was rather sensitive about his personal appearance. He accepted -it with resignation, as the subject of numberless jokes from his own -family, but he resented comments on it from outsiders. - -"All right," he said coldly, "if all that's wrong with me, you'd better -get someone else wot's got his soft, silly face." - -"No, no," said the man wildly. "I didn't mean anything--and there's no -time, I'm afraid, to procure a more sympathetic type. She may be here -any minute--all I want is you to meet her and pretend to be Peter--I -shan't be here--you must say that this is your home, and your mother's -in bed with a bad headache, and is sorry she can't receive her--then -she'll go away--come and tell me when she's gone away--see?" - -"Umph," agreed William. - -A tall, angular figure was coming up the drive. - -The man fled into the house with a groan. - - * * * * * - -Mr. Monkton Graham was a literary man. That is to say, he wrote "The -Mothers' Page" for "The Monthly Signal: A Magazine for Mothers." He -signed it "Peter's Mother." The page always centred round Peter. - -"Peter's Mother" told how she dealt with Peter's measles and -whooping-cough, and clothes, and temper (though Peter's disposition -was really angelic), and how she arranged Peter's parties and treats -and daily routine, and lessons and holidays, and how she influenced -him for good with her sweet unselfishness and motherly wisdom, and -what sweet things Peter did and said and thought. Peter was a decided -cult. Mothers wrote to "Peter's Mother, care of The Office, 'Monthly -Signal,'" for advice about John, or Henry, or Jimmie, or even Ann. - -Mr. Monkton Graham was thinking of starting a Joan. Mothers sent -flowers and photographs of John and Henry and Jimmie to him. Someone -had even sent a tricycle to Peter. Mr. Monkton Graham had written -a letter of thanks in a round and childish hand. They asked for -photographs of Peter. Mr. Monkton Graham possessed an old photograph of -a nephew of his. He had this "touched up" and sent it out to Peter's -admirers. It appeared in the magazine. The nephew was in South Africa, -and would hardly have recognised it in any case. It created quite a -furore. - -At first Mr. Monkton Graham's work had not been laborious. It had -consisted of reading a paragraph in a standard reference book on the -rearing of children, expanding it, Peterising it and adding the -ineffably "sweet" touch of "Peter's Mother" that earned him his six -guineas a week. But success went to his head. - -He wrote a book about Peter. It was wildly popular. He wrote another. -It was still more wildly popular. He received letters and presents and -photographs innumerable. They voted him a second "Dearest" and Peter -a second "Fauntleroy." He knew fame--even though a strictly incognito -fame--at last. He always replied to his admirers--"sweet" little -letters, breathing the very spirit of "Peter's Mother." - -But last week, after a good dinner when he saw the world through a -rosy mist, his usual discretion had deserted him. He had written to -an admirer of Peter giving the name of the village and house where he -lived. He had at the time not realised the significance of what he -was doing. It only occurred to him the next morning when the letter -was posted and the rosy mist had faded. The horrible thing had really -happened. The woman had written to say that she was coming to see -"darling Peter's darling mother" that day. The letter had come by the -midday post, and the visitor might be there any minute. - -"We are not strangers, darling," ran the letter; "even as I write, -though I have never seen you, I can see your fair curly hair--Peter's -hair--and your dear blue eyes--Peter's eyes. When I think that I am -going actually to see you two darlings, whom I feel I know so well, I -can hardly believe my happiness. A kiss to you and darling Peter." - -As he had raised his anguished eyes from this letter, he had met the -strange scowling face of a boy just outside his window. A gleam of -hope came into his heart. The situation might yet be saved. He might -yet escape being held up to the scorn and ridicule of the readers of -"The Monthly Signal: A Magazine for Women." Looking again at the face -of the boy, he had distinct misgivings, but he decided to try.... - -William remained at the front-door till the tall, angular figure -reached it. Then they stared at each other. William had a gift for -staring. People who tried to stare him out soon realised their -inferiority in the art. - -"Good morning, little boy," said the visitor. - -"Umph," replied William. - -He was determined to earn that tricycle and pond and wood and -birds'-nests and ten-shillings, and he felt that the less he committed -himself to any definite statements outside his _rôle_ the better. - -"What's your name, dear?" - -William inspected her. She looked harmless enough. She had a weak, -good-natured face and greying hair and kind short-sighted eyes behind -spectacles. She ought to be easy to make a mug of, thought William, out -of the vast store of his knowledge of human nature. - -"Peter," he said. - -The disappointment upon the good-natured face made William feel -slightly annoyed. - -"Peter? Surely not!" she quavered. - -"That curly hair wot I had," he explained, swallowing his annoyance, -"all came off--got clawered off by a monkey at the Zoo." His -imagination was coming to his aid as usual. "I went too near the cage -an' it stuck out its clawer an' clawered it all off--every bit. They -took me home bald an' the nex' day it grew again but a bit different." - -"How terrible!" the visitor murmured, shutting her eyes. "Wasn't your -dear mother sad when it grew that colour?" - -"No," said William, coldly, "she likes this colour." - -"That's so like her," said the lady tenderly, "to pretend to you that -she likes it." - -William began to dislike the lady. He waited for her to continue the -conversation. - -"Somehow you're quite different in every way from what I expected," -she went on, with a distinct note of regret in her voice which William -felt to be far from flattering. "You're taller and stouter, and your -expression ... yes, that's QUITE different." - -"Yes," said William, still anxious to carry out his part of the -bargain. "I've changed a lot since I had those pictures took. Got a bit -older, you know, an' had some awful illnesses." - -"Really," said the lady, in sympathy. "Your dear mother never told me -in her letters." - -"She never knew," said William. "I never told her, so as not to worry -her. I jus' went about as usual, an' she never knew. But it made me -look different afterwards." - -"It would," said the lady, with a bewildered air. "Well, shall we go in -to your dear mother? She expects me, I believe. My name is Miss Rubina -Strange." - -"Oh," said William, "she's ill. She said I was to tell you. She can't -see you. She's very ill." - -"Ill? I am so sorry. But I would like to go to her. Perhaps I could do -something for her." - -"No you can't," said William, "no one can. It's too late." - -"But--have you had the doctor?" - -"Yes--he says it's too late to do anything." - -"Good Heavens! She's not----?" - -"Yes, she's dyin' all right," said William. - -"But can't anything be done? This is dreadful! I feel absolutely -heart-broken. I must just come into the house. There's surely something -I can do!" - -William followed her into the house. Mr. Monkton Graham had not -expected this. He was standing by the window of his study waiting till -Miss Rubina Strange should depart. When he saw her about to enter the -room, he did the only possible thing. He disappeared. - -Miss Rubina Strange looked round the room with the air of a pilgrim -visiting a holy place. - -"And is this, dear Peter," she said in a hushed whisper, "where she -writes those wonderful words?" - -"Umph," answered William. - -"Oh, my dear! To think that I see it with my poor unworthy eyes. I have -imagined it so often!" - -Then she raised her long, thin nose, and sniffed. - -"Peter, dear, there's just a faint smell of it ... surely your dear -mother doesn't smoke cigarettes?" - -"No," said William, absently, "it was a pipe he was smoking." - -"Who?" - -"Him," said William, who was beginning to tire of the whole thing. It -was the thought of the tricycle alone that upheld him. - -"Your poor mind is unhinged," said Miss Rubina, soothingly. "I -expect you are worrying over your mother's illness, which I'm sure -you exaggerate, darling. I'm sure she'd have written to tell me if -she'd been really ill. Is this the pen she writes with? And is this -blotting-paper she's actually used? Peter, dear, do you think I could -take just a corner of it--just a corner, just to remember my visit by -for always?" - -Mr. Monkton Graham was growing uncomfortable. There was not really room -under that table for a full-sized man to dispose his limbs. He stirred -uneasily, and Miss Rubina Strange turned startled eyes to William, -placing her finger on her lips. - -Then, snatching up the sacred pen she wrote on the sacred paper, -"Peter, there is a man underneath the table. Don't be alarmed. I am -going to deal with him. Above all, do nothing to disturb your dear -mother." - -William said nothing. He felt that the affair had got beyond him. Miss -Rubina Strange crept cautiously about the room. She took a long narrow -table cloth from an occasional table, she took a length of picture-cord -which she found in a drawer of the sacred writing desk, she took an -ornamental dagger from a cabinet, she took a cushion from an arm-chair. -Then she whispered to William, "No noise or disturbance. Remember your -mother is ill!" - -Just as the innocent Mr. Graham was trying to ease the ache in his neck -by resting his head on his knee, he felt a sudden and violent attack -in the rear. He was dragged out forcibly by a tall, thin female, who -was nevertheless evidently possessed of unusual strength. Before he -could remonstrate his feet were firmly tied together with a tablecloth, -and he was half dragged, half helped to a sitting position on a chair. -Then, leaning over him threateningly, with the dagger in one hand, the -woman spoke. - -"Make a sound," she said in a low, hissing voice, "utter one word, and -I will strike. There is a sick woman in this house, and I will stick -at nothing to protect her. You have come to rob a woman who is a dear -friend of mine, and of every woman and, if necessary, I will take -extreme measures----" - -[Illustration: THE INNOCENT MR. GRAHAM WAS DRAGGED OUT FORCIBLY FROM -HIS HIDING-PLACE BY A TALL, THIN FEMALE OF UNUSUAL STRENGTH.] - -Mr. Graham looked apprehensively at the dagger. It had, as he knew, a -nasty sharp point. He therefore obeyed her orders. He made no sound and -uttered no word while she tied the cushion over his face and pinioned -his arms to his side with the picture-cord. Then she turned to William. -William had for the moment lost all power of action. Things were moving -too fast for him. - - * * * * * - -"She must know," whispered Miss Rubina Strange. "I'll break it to -her gently. Don't let him move till I come back. I'll find out if -she wishes to prosecute. Which is her bedroom?" He stared at her -open-mouthed. "Never mind," she went on. "I'll soon find her." - -When she had gone, William turned his gaze to the figure in the chair. -All that could be seen above the pinioned arms was a large cushion. -The cushion began to move spasmodically, to shake convulsively, and to -utter muffled curses. The whole figure began to writhe in its bonds. -From what he could make out of the words that came from the cushion, -William instinctively felt that the monologue was one that his mother -would not wish him to hear. He therefore listened attentively, mouth -and ears wide open. The words appeared forcible if somewhat inaudible. - -Just as Mr. Graham had bent down his invisible head to try to bite the -bonds round his knees through his cushion, Miss Strange, looking wild -and dishevelled, returned. - -"She's GONE ..." she burst out. "She's not in the house, not in any of -the bedrooms.... What SHALL we do?" - -At this point, with a bellow of rage, the man in the chair managed -to shake off his cushion. The face that emerged was hardly human. -Something violent had happened to its hair. Something violent had -happened to its collar. Something violent had happened to its -expression. Before he could utter anything that was in his mind, a -housemaid came into the room. - -"Oooo----" she said, "it's the master. They're a-murdering of him! -Ooo-oo!" With which remark she fled. - -"The master!" gasped Miss Strange. She turned to William, "I didn't -know your father was alive." Then she turned to the figure who was -obviously seeking words capable of expressing his feelings. "Where is -your wife?" she ended sternly. "Miserable man, where is your wife?" - -"I haven't got any wife," he shouted. - -"But who wrote----?" - -"_I_ wrote," he yelled. - -"Then Peter's mother----" - -"There _isn't_ any Peter's mother----" - -"My poor man, have I touched on painful ground?" She placed a kind hand -on William's head. "Poor little orphan Peter," she murmured softly. -"How long ago was it since she wrote to me?" - -"There isn't any Peter," shouted the man, like one distraught. "There -isn't any Peter's mother. There isn't any Peter. There isn't any -Peter's mother. There's only ME, and you've nearly throttled me, and -you've nearly suffocated me, and you've nearly knifed me, and would you -mind going away? I don't know who the boy is," he went on, following -her gaze, "except that he's some young ruffian trespassing in my -garden, and who'll make my life a misery for the next few weeks till he -kills himself or me, or I kill him or myself----" - -Miss Rubina Strange, baffled for the first time that afternoon, sat -down weakly. - -"But I don't understand," she said. - -When she did understand, she did not sweep out of the room in disgust -as he had hoped she would. Instead, she looked at him with bright eyes. - -"But how _wonderful_ of you," she said. "Of course, I will keep your -dear secret. What sympathy and understanding of a woman's heart you -have shown! It's all the more wonderful that you are a man. And we -are friends, are we not?--old friends. We must have a chat." She -looked round the room. "Let me tidy up a little first. Ah, the room -needs a woman's touch.... Then we will have a talk. There are so many -things I want to ask and to tell you--ours will be a very beautiful -friendship...." - -Mr. Monkton Graham threw a pathetic and pleading look at William. - -"You may stay a little ..." he said. - -"Thanks," he said coldly, "I'd rather go jus' now. You won't forget -those things you promised me, will you?" - -"Er--no," said Mr. Graham, whose spirit was broken. - -"My aunt's not got much of a garden," said William, "so I expect I -shall be here most days. I'll come for the tricycle and money after -tea." - -"We mustn't be shy of each other," Miss Strange said in low, -confidential tones; "my friends call me Ruby...." - -Mr. Monkton looked wildly from her to William. His face was the face of -a man in the depths of despair. - - * * * * * - -After tea, William's mother was anxious to know how William had spent -his afternoon. - -"I met a man," he said casually, "who's going to let me play in his -garden an' he's given me a tricycle and some money." - -"Where does he live, dear?" said Aunt Ellen. - -"At the end of the road," replied William. - -"Oh, I know," said Aunt Ellen, "it's a beautiful big garden. You're a -very lucky boy, William. But I can't think why----" - -"He must have taken a fancy to William," said William's mother. "SOME -people do...." - -"Now I must find you something to read," went on Aunt Ellen to -William's mother. "I've got some perfectly charming books that I know -you'll love." - -"They're all about a little boy--such a dear--called Peter. They're -written by his mother. They're perfectly true. She tells you so in -the preface. They're so beautiful that they make me want to cry -whenever I read them. I lent one to William before he went out this -afternoon--'Peter, the Sunshine of the Home'--but he seems to have -mislaid it. However, I've got heaps more. She--the mother--writes -very beautiful little articles in one of the magazines. She must be a -charming woman--to say nothing of Peter." She threw William a smiling -glance. "There are some things our William might learn from Peter." - -With all his faults, William knew when to keep his own counsel. - -He merely winked at the cat. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -THE GREAT DETECTIVE - - -THE play was produced by the village dramatic society. William watched -it spellbound from the front row, sitting between his mother and -father. It was to him like the gateway to a new and enthralling life. -He could not see why his elder brother and sister were laughing. The -scene opened immediately after a murder. The corpse had been removed -(somewhat to William's disappointment), otherwise the room was as the -murderer had left it. William held his breath as uniformed policemen -innumerable moved about the stage with note-books, looking for clues, -crawling under the table, and examining the floor with magnifying -glasses. The only clue they could find left by the murderer had been a -red triangle drawn upon a piece of paper and neatly pinned to the body -by a dagger. This, they informed the audience many times, was the mark -of a criminal gang of robbers and murderers who were baffling Scotland -Yard. - -Then the Great Detective came upon the scene, followed by a very -bored-looking and elderly bloodhound, with its tail between its legs. -The bloodhound, having made its appearance amid applause, contented -itself with sitting in the corner of the stage and gazing scornfully -at the audience. The Great Detective advanced to the centre of the -stage, bent down, and picked up a cigarette end from the floor. It had -been left by the murderer. The police, who had failed to notice it, -fell into postures of ardent admiration. The cigarette end, naturally, -bore the name of the maker, and yet more naturally was a blend made -specially for the murderer. So justice set off hot upon the track, and -the bloodhound yawned sleepily and shuffled off in the wake of the -Great Detective. - -The next scene showed the murderer moving in scenes of luxury -and magnificence, wearing evening dress at all hours of the day, -entertaining earls and ambassadors amid tropical palms and gilded -pillars, and waited on by an army of obsequious footmen. - -There was also the adventuress in a low (very low) red evening dress, -smoking cigarettes upon a gilded settee. The plot was rather involved. -There was a young man in a tweed suit, who kept appearing and calling -to heaven to support his claim to the villain's place and wealth, which -the villain himself dismissed with a most villainesque snarl. There -was also a simple maiden in sky-blue muslin, with golden (very golden) -hair, who was generally clinging to the young man or sobbing on his -shoulder while he appealed to heaven to make him worthy of her. - -But the Great Detective was the real hero of the play. He appeared -(always in a dressing-gown) in his room smoking a pipe and working up -clues, with his hand upon the collar of his amiable bloodhound, who -tried to assure the audience by little deprecating wags of his tail -that he wouldn't hurt a fly. - -The last scene was the great excitement. The villain, still in -evening dress, with his background of palms and pillars, was packing -to go away. The Great Detective arrived, tore open his suit-case, -and there were his handkerchiefs, adorned round the edges with red -triangles--irrefutable proofs--policemen with handcuffs sprang from -behind the palms--the young man, still wearing the young woman round -his neck, appeared from nowhere and thanked heaven for bringing the -guilty to justice--the bloodhound, in a sudden spasm of emotion, licked -the villain's hand as he was led out, and all was over, leaving only -the young man and young woman wringing the hand of the Great Detective, -who was still wearing his dressing-gown and smoking his pipe. - -William walked out of the hall in a dream. It all seemed so wonderful -and yet so simple. Probably half the people one saw about were -criminals and murderers, if only one knew. - -You just found a clue and worked it up. It would be fine to be a -detective. Of course, one needed a dressing-gown and a bloodhound, but -he had a dressing-gown, and though Jumble wasn't exactly a bloodhound, -he was a bloodhound as much as he was any kind of a dog. Jumble was all -sorts of dog. That was what was so convenient about him. - -Before William had retired to bed that night he had firmly made up his -mind to lose no time in bringing some great criminal to justice with -the aid of Jumble and his dressing-gown. - - * * * * * - -"There have been," said Mrs. Brown, William's mother, at breakfast the -next morning, "a lot of burglaries around here lately." - -William stiffened. A little later he went out, calling Jumble. He -walked down the road, scowling at the houses as he went. In one of -those larger houses the criminal must live, somewhere where there were -palm-trees and a butler. Of course, a murderer was more exciting, but a -burglar would do to begin on. - -[Illustration: WILLIAM TURNED AND FOLLOWED, CREEPING ALONG THE SHADOW -OF THE HEDGE, BENT ALMOST DOUBLE.] - -He met a man coming up the road from the station, carrying a black -bag. William glared at him suspiciously. A bag! Of course a burglar -would need a bag. Somewhat startled by William's stern, condemnatory -expression, the man turned round again! William scowled still more. -A guilty conscience! That was what made him turn round like that! He -recognised, doubtless, the expression of a detective. Jumble barked -excitedly, and wagged his tail. Even Jumble suspected something. - -William turned and followed, creeping along in the shadow of the -hedge, bent almost double. The man turned round again uneasily. -William followed him till he saw him enter a pair of large gates by -the roadside and go up to a fair-sized house with large bow-windows. -William, with pride and determination writ large upon his freckled -face, took a piece of chalk from his pocket and made a cross upon the -stone gatepost. He had very neatly, and almost under the master's eye, -removed the chalk from his master's desk at school that morning for -the purpose. Becoming absorbed in his task, he turned the cross into -a spider, and then into a shrimp. A few minutes later, inspired now -purely by Art for Art's sake, he was adding a tree and a house, when he -was roughly and ignominiously ordered off by a passing policeman. With -a glance of crushing dignity, he obeyed. - -If only that policeman knew---- - - * * * * * - -That night, William, after retiring for the night, dressed himself -completely, donned a dressing-gown in lieu of an overcoat, crept -downstairs, and out of the back-door. He released Jumble on his way. - -Together they crept up the drive to the house. The bow-window was open -and the room was in darkness. The first thing William wanted to do -was to find out what the inside of the house was like. If there were -palms---- - -He climbed in by the open window, holding Jumble tightly beneath his -dressing-gown. He went out of the room and across a hall past the open -doorway of a room in which the man who had been carrying the bag was -having dinner. Opposite him was (presumably) the adventuress--a little -fatter than the adventuress in the play, and in a black evening dress -instead of a red one. Still, you couldn't expect all adventuresses to -look exactly the same. And she was wearing pearls. The pearls must be -what the man had stolen last night and had been bringing home in his -bag. - -William stood in the doorway for a minute taking in the scene, then he -went down to a room at the end of the passage--a glass room--_palms!_ -Ha! William had learnt all he wanted to know. He returned to the other -room and out of the bow-window. - -That evening Mr. Croombe, merchant in the city, turned to his wife, -with a worried frown. - -"There's something worrying me, old girl," he said. - -"What is it, Jim?" said Mrs. Croombe. - -"Well," said Mr. Croombe, throwing away his cigar end, "have I seemed -queer at all lately?" - -"No," said his wife anxiously. - -"Not as if I might be subject to--er--hallucinations?" - -"Oh no, Jim." - -"Well," he said, "it's a strange thing. I was coming along the -road to-day--I suddenly saw a boy--I hadn't noticed him before, -and he seemed suddenly to appear--a most peculiar expression--most -peculiar--very intense and searching, as if he had some message--you -know, I'm never quite sure that there's nothing in spiritualism. -Well, I kept thinking about it as I changed--that peculiar piercing -expression--wondering, you know, whether it was hallucination or a -message, or anything, you know. There was something not _ordinary_ -about his expression, and," he was obviously reaching the climax of the -story--"well, you may hardly believe me, but--this evening, as we sat -at dinner, I looked up and distinctly _saw_ the same boy standing in -the doorway and looking at me again with that peculiar expression. He -wore a strange flowing garment this time. I pinched myself and looked -round the room, and then, again at the door, and he'd disappeared. Yet -I swear I saw him, with just that extraordinary expression, looking at -me--just for a minute." - -Mrs. Croombe, open-mouthed, laid aside her sewing. - -"My _dear_ Jim!" she said. "How extraordinary! I wonder--you might try -psycho-analysis if the vision comes again--it's quite fashionable!" - -"I hope," said Mr. Croombe, "that it won't appear again. It wasn't," he -confessed, "on the whole, a pleasant expression." - -Meanwhile, William, asleep in bed, was dreaming of Mr. and Mrs. -Croombe, handcuffed, and dressed from head to foot in red triangles. - - * * * * * - -"It's chiefly jewellery that's been taken," announced Mr. Brown from -the local paper the next morning at breakfast. - -"Ha!" said William sardonically. - -"Mrs. Croombe wants us to go to dinner on Saturday," said Mrs. Brown, -looking up from a letter. - -"Who's Mrs. Croombe?" said Ethel, William's elder sister. - -"They're new people, up Green Lane, the end house!" - -"Ha!" snorted William. - -"What," said William's elder brother, "is the matter with _you?_" - -"You'd like to know, wouldn't you?" said William with a disrespectful -contortion of his face. "_Just!_" - -Then he went up to his bedroom and, putting on his dressing-gown, stood -scowling into space with his head resting on his hand and his elbow on -the mantelpiece in the attitude of the Great Detective thinking out a -clue. - -The bloodhound insisted on spoiling the picture by sitting up to beg. - - * * * * * - -That evening Mr. Croombe looked very weary when he came home. - -"I went to a psycho-analyst," he said wearily, "about that--boy, -you know, and he asked me questions for over an hour--all about my -past life. He asked me if I'd ever had a shock connected with boys, -and I remembered that squib that a boy let off just in front of me -last November. He says that this hallucination may be caused by a -subconscious fear. He gave me a lot of other cases of the same kind -that he's treating. He says that if, when I see the boy, I try to -remember that really he doesn't exist, I may get over it. I met cousin -Agatha afterwards. She thinks it's a message--she wanted me to ask the -Psychical Research Society to come down, but I think I'll wait till -after the dinner-party anyway." - -Mrs. Croombe clasped her hands. - -"Oh, Jim!" she said, "it's all very wonderful, isn't it?" - - * * * * * - -William, after deep consideration, had decided not to take anyone into -partnership. In the play there had been a faithful and unobtrusive -friend of the Great Detective, who had merely asked questions and -expressed admiration, but William, reviewing his circle of friends, -could not think of anyone who would be content with this _rôle_. -Therefore, he kept the whole thing to himself. He decided to bring -off his great _coup_ on the evening of the Croombe's dinner-party. -He decided to go into the house and hide till the dinner had begun, -and then go out and collect the stolen jewellery and convict the -criminals. He expected vaguely to be summoned to Buckingham Palace to -receive the V.C. after it. Anyway, his family would treat him a bit -different--_just!_ - -He was in his bedroom, wearing his dressing-gown, and his faithful -bloodhound was worrying the cord of it. He was sucking a lead pencil -to represent the Great Detective's pipe. He had, at an earlier stage, -experimented upon an actual pipe removed from the greenhouse where the -gardener had left it for a moment. A very short experience of it had -convinced him that a lead pencil would do just as well. - -Dusk was already falling when the Great Detective issued forth--a -sinister figure, with frown, lead pencil and dressing-gown--on the -track of the criminals. The villain's house was brightly lit up, and he -experienced some difficulty in making his way in. He made it ultimately -through the larder window, and was detained for a few minutes by a -raspberry cream which was a special weakness of his. Then, leaving the -empty plate behind him, he gathered his dressing-gown about him and -reconnoitred. The coast seemed to be clear. He crept upstairs and then -on all fours along the landing. A door opened suddenly, and the master -of the house, in shirt-sleeves, appeared full in William's way. William -returned his gaze unflinchingly. The master of the house paled and -retired precipitately to his wife's bedroom. - -[Illustration: WILLIAM RETURNED HIS GAZE UNFLINCHINGLY. THE MASTER OF -THE HOUSE PALED AND RETIRED PRECIPITATELY.] - -"I've seen it again, Marie," he said. - -"What, dear?" - -"The--er--subconscious fear--the--er--message, you know. It was -crawling along the passage outside in its curious long garment, and -it gave me just the same kind of look. _Piercing_, you know--almost -hostile. I'm beginning to feel rather nervous, my dear. You've--never -seen anything of it, have you?" - -"Never!" - -Mr. Croombe wiped the perspiration from his brow. - -"I'd better look up some sort of comfortable--asylum, you know, -somewhere where the food's good--in case I go clean off it suddenly. I -believe it generally begins by hallucinations." - -"You must go away for a change," said Mrs. Croombe firmly, "as soon as -you can after the upset of this party's over." - -"Yes," said Mr. Croombe, "but supposing I see it _there_--when I have -gone away?" - -"I don't know," said Mrs. Croombe vaguely. "Perhaps they don't -travel--hallucinations, I mean." - -Meanwhile, the hallucination itself was concealed under the bed of his -victim. He waited till host and hostess had gone down. He heard the -sound of effusively polite greetings downstairs. - -"How _good_ of you to come!" - -"Ha!" snorted William to a cardboard hatbox that shared his refuge with -him. "Just you _wait!_" - -Then he crept out and began to look around the room. He managed to find -some of Mr. Croombe's handkerchiefs and was disappointed not to find -red triangles on them, but he found a horseshoe on one, and that was -just as likely to be the sign of a criminal gang. Then he went through -the connecting door to Mrs. Croombe's bedroom. He opened a drawer and -saw a leather box. There was a key in it, but it was not locked. He -opened it--pearls, rubies, emeralds--_all_ the stolen jewellery. - -"Ha!" said William. - -He emptied it into the pocket of his dressing-gown. He looked round the -room again. There were some silver boxes and candlesticks. William's -stern frown deepened. - -"Ha!" he said again. - -_All_ stolen things. He put them also in his pockets. - -The next thing was to try and find some handcuffs somewhere. He ought -to have thought of that before. - - * * * * * - -The party downstairs was going very well. The conversation turned on -the thefts in the neighbourhood. - -"I hear that they have taken a considerable amount of jewellery," said -Mrs. Brown. - -Mrs. Croombe paled. - -"Jewellery!" she said. "Jim! I believe I forgot to lock my jewel-case. -I believe I just left it in my drawer." - -He rose. - -"I'll go and see, dear," he said. - -He went out of the room. At the foot of the stairs was William, in a -conspiratorial attitude, his pockets bulging. - -White to the lips, Mr. Croombe returned to his festive board. - -"I can't go just now, dear," he said to his wife, then he whispered -with an air of mystery: - -"_It's_ there!" - -Someone gave a little scream. - -"Oh, is the house haunted?" - -"Well," admitted Mr. Croombe, not without a certain wistful pride, -"it's not exactly the house. To be quite precise, it's I who am -haunted." - -The whole table was agog. - -[Illustration: AT THE FOOT OF THE STAIRS WAS WILLIAM, IN A -CONSPIRATORIAL ATTITUDE, HIS POCKETS BULGING.] - -"It's--a boy," said Mr. Croombe. "I see him everywhere--in the road, -in the house, with a _piercing_ expression and curious raiment. He -looks straight _at_ me as if he meant something--a sort of freckled -face--not friendly, I'm afraid. I've been psycho analysed. It's a sort -of--er--complex----" - -There was a hubbub of excitement. - -"Is it there--now--outside the room?" - -"It _was_, but _anyone_ mightn't see it." - -"May we go and see?" - -"Er--yes, I should think so--but be careful. You know, -those--er--emanations can be very dangerous--a hostile aura, you know." - -Three or four bold young men opened the door and crept cautiously into -the hall. There was the sound of a scuffle and a high, indignant voice, -familiar to two at least of the guests. The jaws of Mr. and Mrs. Brown -dropped suddenly. - -"Let _go_ of me! Take your 'ole hands _out_ of my pocket. Mind your -_own_ business! Well, I'm a detective, but I've not got any handcuffs. -Leave _go_ of me--I've left my bloodhound behind--that's not _your_ -stuff--well it isn't his'n--it's stole stuff. I've tooken it 'cause -I'm a detective--let _go_ of me, I say. Leave go of my dressing-gown, -will you? I'll call the police--I say he's a robber, an' I bet -he's a murderer--will you let _go_ of me? He's a gang--look at his -handkerchiefs--what d'you think of that--well, will you let _go_----?" - -Still expostulating, William was dragged into the dining-room. Mr. -Croombe covered his face with his hands. - -"That's it," he said. "Don't bring it too near." - -"It's the thief," said the young men excitedly. "Look at his pockets -full of things!" - -"Leave _go_ of me!" said William, with rising irritability. - -"My jewels!" screamed Mrs. Croombe. - -Mrs. Brown, meeting her son face to face in such circumstances, did the -only possible thing. She fainted dead away and did not recover till the -crisis was partially over. - -William frenziedly accused Mr. Croombe of theft and murder. He referred -to handcuffs and bloodhounds. He said wildly that he had had the house -surrounded by police. It took about half an hour to convince him of his -mistake. - -"How do you _know_ they're their own things? They only _say_ so--I've -seen him walking suspicious with a bag full of something. Well, how do -you _know_ he isn't a gang?" - -William, at the head of the gaily-decorated table, pale and determined, -in his dressing-gown, gesticulated wildly with his hands full of -jewellery. - -Mr. Croombe was apologetic and pleading, wistfully grateful to William -for being real. - -William--only gradually, and under the influence of a large and -indigestible meal which Mr. Croombe insisted on giving him in proof of -his gratitude--forgot his grievances. - -Later, he found his father less sympathetic. Later still, he surveyed -the world scornfully through his bedroom window, and thought of his -family. It was no good trying to do anything with a family. The only -thing was to cut loose from it altogether. - -Mentally he surveyed the past evening. Everything was different in real -life. What was the good of being a detective when everybody said the -people hadn't done the things? - -Real life was stupid. - -He decided to go on the stage. There one could be a detective in -comfort, and everyone didn't say the person hadn't done the things, and -you'd made a mistake. - -He'd go on the stage. - -Feeling much comforted by this resolve, he got into bed and went to -sleep. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -THE CIRCUS - - -THE circus was to be held in a big tent on the green. William had -watched them putting up the tent the day before. He had hung around -with wistful eyes fixed upon it. Here was the Wonder of Wonders, the -Mystery of Mysteries--a circus. He had seen the posters of it. It -would be there that very day, with its lions and tigers, its horses -and dogs, its golden-haired, short-skirted beauties, its fascinating -red-nosed kings of laughter, its moustached masters of the ring, its -quips, its thrill, its mystery, its romance, its gilt and tinsel and -light--a circus! It is a strange fact that William had lived for the -eleven years of his life and never seen a circus. But he was determined -that the omission should be rectified. It was dusk when he saw them -pass. Through the bars of the cages looked out weary, spiritless lions -and tigers, but to him they were veritable kings of the jungle. There -was an elephant and two camels, and, chained to the top of the van, a -monkey, shivering in a green jacket. - -"Gosh!" ejaculated William in rapture and admiration. - -There were several closed vans, but to William it was as if they -were open. Clearly in imagination he saw the scene within. There sat -laughing clowns and beautiful women with filmy skirts that stuck -out round their knees. He could imagine the clowns pouring forth an -endless succession of jokes, each with suitable contortions. The -beautiful women would be laughing till their sides ached. He wished he -had a clown for a father. Imagination almost faltered at the blissful -thought. A ragged man leading one of the horses looked curiously at -him--a small boy leaning against a lamp-post with all his soul in his -eyes. - -Slowly and reluctantly he went home to supper and bed. He dreamed of -horses and lions, and tigers and clowns, and a life of untrammelled joy -and jollity. - -"There's a circus on the green," he announced at breakfast. - -"Don't talk with your mouth full," ordered his father. - -William looked at him coldly. A clown would not have said this. He -wondered on what principle parents were chosen. He sometimes wished he -had been given some voice in the choosing of his. There were one or two -improvements he could think of. He swallowed with slow dignity. Then: - -"There's a circus on the green," he announced again. - -"Yes, dear," said his mother soothingly. "Ethel, pass the marmalade to -your father. What were you saying, dear?" - -Whereupon William's father proceeded with a monologue upon the Labour -question that he had begun a few minutes previously. William sighed. He -waited till the next pause. - -"I'm _goin'_ to the circus," he announced firmly. - -That brought their attention to him. - -"I don't see how you can, dear," said his mother slowly. "It's only -staying for this afternoon and evening, and it's the dancing-class this -afternoon----" - -"_Dancin'!_" repeated William in horror. "Shurly you don't expect me to -go to _dancin'_, with a circus on the green?" - -"I've paid for the twelve lessons," said Mrs. Brown firmly, "and Miss -Carew is very particular about your not missing without a real excuse." - -"Well, there's this evening," said William. - -"You know Grandfather and Aunt Lilian are coming," said Mrs. Brown, -"and they'd be most hurt if we went out the first evening." - -"Well, they're comin' to stay a _week_," said William with the air of -one who exercises superhuman patience; "shurly they won't mind if I'm -out for _one_ night? Shurly they aren't as fond of me as all that? I -should think Aunt Lilian would be _glad_ I'm out from the things she -said about me last time she came. You know she said----" - -"You can't go alone," said Mrs. Brown wearily. "It doesn't begin till -eight. It's an absurd hour to begin. You can't stay up so late, for one -thing, and you can't go alone, for another----" - -"Why NOT?" said William with growing exasperation. "Aren't I _eleven?_ -I'm not a _child_. I----" - -William's father lowered his newspaper. - -"William," he said, "the effect upon the nerves of the continued sound -of your voice is something that beggars description. I would take it as -a personal favour if it could kindly cease for a short time." - -William was crushed. The fact that he rarely understood his father's -remarks to him had a good deal to do with the awe in which that -parent was held. Clowns, he thought to himself smoulderingly, didn't -say things that no one knew what they meant. Anyway, he was going to -that circus. He finished his breakfast in dignified silence with this -determination fixed firmly in his mind. He was going to that circus. -_He was going to that circus._ - -"Fold up your table napkin, William." - -Slowly and deliberately he performed the operation. - -"I bet clowns don't have the beastly things," he remarked -dispassionately. - -With which enigmatical remark he departed from the bosom of his family. -He was escorted to the dancing-class in the afternoon by his elder -sister Ethel. He signified his disgust at this want of trust in him -by maintaining a haughty silence except occasionally unbending so -far as to ejaculate in a voice of scornful indignation, "_Dancin'!_ -Huh!--_Dancin'!_" - -During the dancing-class his attention wandered. Miss Carew's patience -changed gradually to wearied impatience. - -"Slide the right foot, children, _right_ foot, William Brown! Now -_chassé_ to the left. I said _left_, William Brown. Now three steps -forward. _Forward_, William Brown. I didn't say stand still, did I? -Now, take your partner's hand--your _partner's_, William Brown--Henry -is not your partner." William's real partner glared at him. - -William performed evolutions tardily, faultily, and mechanically. He -saw not a roomful of small boys and girls, shining with heat and -cleanliness, dominated by Miss Carew's commanding voice and eager gaze. -He saw not his own partner's small indignant face; he saw a ring, a -ringmaster, a clown, lions, tigers, elephants--a circus! - -He was aroused by a sudden wail from his small partner. "I don't want -to dance wif William! I don't like dancing wif William. I want to dance -wif someone else. William does everyfin' wrong!" - -William gazed at her with a reddening countenance. The dancing-class -stopped dancing to watch. The maiden found a small handkerchief hidden -in a miniature pocket and began to sob into it. "I could dance _nice_ -wif someone nice. I can't dance wif William. He does it all wrong." - -"_Me?_" said William in horror. "I've not done anything. I dunno what -she's cryin' for," he explained to the room helplessly. "I've not done -nothin' to her." - -"You're enough to make any little girl cry," said Miss Carew sharply, -"the way you dance!" - -"Oh, _dancin'_," said William scornfully. Then, "Well, I do it all -right in the end. I'm only a bit slow. I'm thinkin' of sumthin' else, -that's all. That's nothing for her to cry for, is it? Cryin' because -other people dance slow. There's no sense in that, is there?" - -The sobs increased. It was a warm afternoon, and Miss Carew's -exasperation changed to a dull despair. - -"Will any kind little girl take William Brown for a partner, and give -Mary a rest?" - -There was no answer; William was aware of a distinct sense of -mortification. - -"Well, I don't _want_ any of 'em," he said huffily. "I'll dance slow -by myself. I'd sooner dance by myself than with an ole cryin' girl. -I'll"----a brilliant idea struck him. "I'll go home, shall I? I shan't -mind going home." His cheerfulness grew. "Then she," he indicated his -late partner, "can do it quick by herself and give up cryin'. I'll go -home. I don't mind goin' home." - -"No, you _won't_," said Miss Carew. "I'll give--I'll give a chocolate -to any little girl who will dance with William Brown." - -A stout little girl, famed for her over-indulgence in sweets, -volunteered. William received her with an air of resigned patience. - -"Well, don't _cry_ over me," he said sternly. She was less disposed to -suffer in silence than his previous partner. - -"He's treading on my toes," she announced in shrill complaint when the -dancing was once more in full swing. - -The goaded William burst forth. "Her feet are all over the place. I -can't keep _off_ them. She moves them about so quick. She puts them -just where I'm going to tread on purpose. I don't _want_ to tread on -her ole feet. Well, I can't do what you say and not tread on her feet, -'cause when I do my feet, how you say do them, they go on her feet -'cause she's got her feet there first 'cause she's quicker than me -an'----" - -Miss Carew raised her hand to her brow. - -"William," she said wearily, "I really don't know why you learn -dancing." - -"I learn dancin'," said William bitterly, "'cause they _make_ me." - -The various tribulations of the dancing-class almost drove the thought -of the circus from his head. But he saw the tent as he went home. It -was in darkness, as the afternoon performance was over, and the only -sign of life he could see was a thin dog chewing a turnip at the tent -door. He supposed that the clowns and princess-riders were having tea -in the brilliantly-lit interiors of the closed caravans. He could -imagine their sallies of wit and mirth; he listened for their roars of -laughter, but the caravan walls were thick and he could hear nothing -but a noise that might have been a baby crying, only William supposed -it could not be that, for no baby who was lucky enough to live in a -circus could surely be so misguided and ungrateful as to cry. - -"I guess no one ever made _them_ learn dancin'," he said feelingly. - -He found that Grandfather Moore and Aunt Lilian had already arrived. - -William had never met his grandfather before, and he gazed in -astonishment at him. He had met old people before, but he had not -thought that anything quite so old as Grandfather Moore had ever -existed or ever could exist. He was little, and wrinkled, and -shrivelled, and bald. His face was yellow, with tiny little lines -running criss-cross all over it; his bright little eyes seemed to have -sunk right back. When he smiled he revealed a large expanse of bare -gum, with three lonely-looking teeth at intervals. He had a few hairs, -just above his neck at the back, otherwise his head was like a shining -new egg. William was fascinated. He could hardly keep his eyes off him -all tea-time. - -Aunt Lilian's life work was looking after Grandfather Moore. It filled -every minute of her time. She was a perfect daughter. - -"May he sit with his back to the light?" she said. "You know you're -better with your back to the light, dear. Bread and milk, please. -Yes, he always has that, don't you, dear? Are you quite comfortable? -Wouldn't you like a cushion? Get that footstool, William. This is -William, dear--little William." - -William glared at her. - -The old man fixed his wistful bright eyes on William. - -"William," he repeated, and smiled. - -William felt strangely flattered. - -"He's getting a bit simple," sighed Aunt Lilian, "poor darling!" - -She was firm after tea. - -"You'll go to bed now, dear, won't you? You always like to go to bed -early after a journey, don't you? He always likes to go to bed early -after a long journey," she explained to the company. - -She helped him upstairs tenderly and left him in his room. - -William was despatched to bed at half-past seven as usual. They were -surprised at his meekness. They thought he must have forgotten about -the circus. They carefully avoided all mention of it. But William's -silence was the silence of the tactician. Open attack had failed. He -was now prepared to try secrecy. - -Up in his room he sat down to consider the most unostentatious modes -of exit from the house. There was the possibility of going downstairs -and through the hall on stockinged feet so quickly as to escape notice. -But there was always the chance of somebody's coming out into the -hall at the critical minute, and then all would be lost. Or there -was the possibility of climbing down from his window, but his room -was on the third storey, and he had never yet attempted a descent -from that height. Just beneath his room was Grandfather Moore's room. -From the window of Grandfather Moore's room an old fig-tree afforded -a convenient ladder to the ground. Grandfather Moore had gone to bed -directly after tea. He would surely be asleep now. Anyway, William -decided to risk it. He crept down the steps to Grandfather Moore's -room and cautiously opened the door. The room was lit up, and before -the fire sat Grandfather Moore, fully dressed. It was now impossible -to withdraw. The bright little eyes were fixed on him, and Grandfather -Moore smiled. - -"William!" he said with pleasure. Then, "I've not gone to bed yet." He -was obviously revelling in his wickedness. - -William came in and shut the door. - -"Can I get through your window?" he said shortly. - -"Yes," said Grandfather Moore. "Where do you want to get to?" - -"I'm going to a circus," said William firmly. - -The bright eyes grew wistful. - -"A circus!" said the little old man. "I went to a circus once--years -and years ago. Horses and elephants and----" - -"Lions an' tigers an' camels an'--an'--an' clowns," supplied William. - -"Yes, clowns," said the old man eagerly. "I remember the clown. Oh, he -was a funny fellow! Are you going alone?" - -"Yes," said William, crossing to the window. - -"Do they know you're going?" - -"No." - -The little old man began to tremble with excitement. - -"William--I want to see a circus again. Let me come too." - -William was nonplussed. - -"You can't climb down this tree," he said judicially. "I was goin' -climbin' down this tree." - -"I'll go downstairs," suggested Grandfather Moore. "You wait for me -outside. I'll come out to you." - -But William's protective interests were aroused. - -"No; if you're goin', I'll stay with you." - -He found the old man's hat and coat and helped him on with them. The -old man was quivering with eagerness. - -"There will be a clown, won't there, William? There _will_ be a clown?" - -"I _know_ there's a clown," William assured him. - -They crept downstairs and through the hall in silence. Fortune favoured -them. No one came out. Mr. Brown, Mrs. Brown, Ethel and Aunt Lilian -were playing bridge in the drawing-room. The hall door stood open. - -Outside Grandfather Moore gave a wicked chuckle. - -"Lilian--she thinks I'm in bed," he said. - -"_Sh!_ Come on!" whispered William. - -Outside the tent door he remembered suddenly that he possessed no -money. His last penny had been spent on a bag of popcorn the day -before. Grandfather Moore was crestfallen. He said he had no money, -but a systematic search revealed a shilling in the corner of his coat -pocket, and his face lit up. - -"It's all right, William," he said gleefully. - -[Illustration: THEY CREPT DOWNSTAIRS AND THROUGH THE HALL IN SILENCE.] - -A stream of people were entering the tent. There was the ring, the -sawdust, the stands for the horses, the sea of people, the smell that -is like no other smell on earth--the smell of the circus! William's -heart was too full for words. He could hardly believe his eyes. It was -all too wonderful to be true. And there in the ring was a clown--a -jolly, red-nosed, laughing clown. Grandfather Moore clutched his arm. - -"The clown, William!" he gasped in ecstacy. - -William sighed--a deep sigh of intense happiness. - -They secured good seats in the second row from the bottom and sat in -silence--a curious couple--their eager eyes fixed on that figure o' -dreams with a loose white suit and a chalked face. He held a small -camera and he was offering to take the photographs of the people who -came in. At last a farmer and his wife agreed to be photographed. He -posed them carefully in the middle of the ring, the lady in a chair, -her hands folded in her lap, the man standing by her side, his hand -on her shoulder. Then he told them not to move. He said he was going -to photograph them from behind first. He went behind and disappeared -through the door of the tent. The couple stayed motionless with -sheepish grins on their faces. The suppressed titters of the audience -increased to roars of laughter. It was some time before the rustic -couple realised that the clown was not photographing them carefully -from behind. William enjoyed the joke. He emitted guffaw after guffaw -while Grandfather Moore's shrill cackle joined in. - -"He's gone away, William!" he piped between his laughter. "He's gone -right away! They think he's taking them from behind!" - -At last the joke dawned upon the bucolic couple, and they went to their -places amid applause. - -[Illustration: SHE RODE ROUND THE RING BAREBACK--BLOWING THEM KISSES. -WILLIAM BLUSHED VIOLENTLY WHEN HE IMAGINED ONE CAME TO HIM.] - -Then began the circus proper. The ring-master came on--a magnificent -creature with long moustachios and a white shirt front. He waved his -whip. Then all held their breath, for in there pranced a coal-black -horse, and on its back one of the visions of beauty, whose pictures had -been on the poster--golden hair, red cheeks, white tights, and short, -white, frilly skirts. - -To William she was Beauty personified. In the fickleness of his youth -he decided not to marry the little girl next door after all. He would -marry her instead. He would be a clown and marry her. He watched her -with fascinated eyes. She rode round the ring bareback--she then rode -round standing on the horse's back and blowing them kisses. William -blushed violently when he imagined one came to him. - -"Golly!" he breathed. - -"Isn't she fine?" said Grandfather Moore. - -"Isn't she _just?_" said William. - -All the while the majestic ring-master stood in the centre of the ring -twirling his moustachios and flicking his long, curling whip. - -Then a man brought her a white horse, and she raced round the ring, -leaping gracefully from horse to horse at full gallop. Oh, the dreadful -moment when William thought she might fall. He would have leapt from -his seat and saved her, dying, perhaps, in the attempt. His thoughts -lingered fondly on the scene. Then she leapt through the paper hoop -again and again, landing gracefully upon the black or white back. -William grew impatient for the time when he should be old enough to -be a clown and marry her. The thought of the dancing-class had faded -altogether from his mind. The thoughts of youth may be long, long -thoughts, but its memories are distinctly short. - -Then the clown came on again. How they roared at him. He tried to get -on to a horse and he couldn't; he tried to stand on a chair and he -couldn't; he tried to do conjuring tricks and he dropped everything: -he tried to walk across the ring and he slipped at every step. He fell -over his trousers; he fell over the ring-master; he quarrelled with -the ring-master; the ring-master knocked him down; he said the funniest -things William had ever heard in all his life. William was literally -exhausted with laughing; Grandfather Moore was hoarse. Occasionally his -cackling laugh cracked feebly on the top note. - -Open-mouthed and tense they watched a collie dog carry in its puppy, -nurse it, give it a bottle of milk and put it in its cradle; watched -the elephant pick out numbers at the direction of the ring-master; -watched the monkey ride a bicycle and pelt the clown with sawdust. But -the last item was the most stupendous. It was called "The Prairie on -Fire." There were real flames--red, rolling flames; and through them, -and in headlong flight before them, came cattle and horses and buggies, -whose occupants stood up lashing on the horses and casting glances of -terror at the flames. The golden-haired beauty was wringing her hands -in the last buggy but one. The monkey was on the seat with the driver. - -"Crumbs!" gasped William. - -Grandfather Moore was beyond words. - -Almost dazed and drunk with happiness they went out into the darkness -at the end. They walked in silence till they were almost at the gate of -William's house. - -Then William spoke. - -"I don't care what they do to me. It was worth it--jolly well worth it." - -Grandfather Moore gave a chuckle. - -"That _was_ a circus, William! I saw a fine one when I was a boy too. I -didn't care what I did to get to a circus." - -William felt that he had found a kindred spirit. - -"Did you learn dancin'?" he asked with interest. - -"Yes." - -"Did you like it?" - -"_No_," said Grandfather Moore emphatically. - -The bond between them grew stronger. - -The hall and staircase were empty as they crept cautiously in through -the front-door. Mr. Brown, Mrs. Brown, Ethel and Aunt Lilian were still -playing bridge in the drawing-room. Silently, on tiptoe, they crept -upstairs to bed. - - * * * * * - -Mrs. Brown was apologetic at breakfast. - -"I was so sorry about the circus, dear," she said to William. "It just -came on an awkward day when no one could take you. There's sure to be -one again soon. You shall go to that." - -"Thank you, Mother," said William, his eyes fixed upon his plate. - -"You didn't mind very much, did you, dear?" she continued. - -"No, Mother," said William meekly. - -Aunt Lilian beamed across at her charge. - -"_Doesn't_ he look well this morning? I don't know _when_ I remember -him looking so well. A good long night does him no end of good. I'm so -glad I persuaded him to go to bed directly after tea." - -William's eyes and Grandfather Moore's eyes met for a second across the -table. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -WILLIAM SELLS THE TWINS - - -WILLIAM and Ginger, William's faithful friend and ally, were in a state -of bankruptcy. They lacked even the paltry twopence necessary to buy -sweets in these days of inflated prices, and life was unendurable. They -had approached the adult members of their respective families, only to -meet that callousness and indifference so characteristic of adults in -their dealings with the young.... - -They sat in the open space of ground behind Ginger's house, and -solemnly considered their assets. - - _Asset_ 1.--An indiarubber ball with a hole in it, which they had - offered to the boy next door for sixpence and which he had refused. - - _Asset_ 2.--A pansy root surreptitiously taken from William's father's - garden. They had taken this to the local nursery gardener and offered - it to him for fivepence-halfpenny. They had afterwards retrieved it - from the gutter whither that irascible man had flung it in indignant - fury. - - _Asset_ 3.--The twins. - -The twins _really_ belonged to Ginger. That is to say, they were -Ginger's cousins and were paying a visit to Ginger's family. They had -been there a week now, and to Ginger it had been a very long week. On -their arrival, he had found to his horror that he was expected to take -an interest in them, even to the extent of taking them about with him -wherever he went. - -He had almost become accustomed, by now, to their continual presence, -but still he disliked them intensely. In all his daring adventures -and escapades and games he was to be hampered by the two of them, -George and John, both placid, both plump, both three-and-a-half years -old. He had to listen to William's comments on their appearance and -mental powers, comments with which he privately agreed, but which, for -the sake of the honour of his family, he was obliged to resent and -avenge.... - -To-day, to add insult to injury, his mother had told him to "see that -they kept clean," as their mother was coming to take them home that -afternoon. That, at any rate, was a blessing. It would be the last -day of his persecution. But the ignominy ... that a desperate bravado -should have to spend his noble energy keeping children clean.... - -George and John were sitting now on the ground, pulling up bits of -grass and eating them. William and Ginger watched them scornfully. - -"Pity we can't make a bit of money out of them," said William. - -"Umph," agreed Ginger. "They've been enough trouble." - -A speculative look came into William's eye. - -"'F we'd lived in historical times," he said, "we might have sold them -as slaves like wot Miss Jones told us about." - -Ginger gasped at the daring idea. Then his eye fell upon them gloomily. - -"No one would have bought 'em," he said. "No one wot knew them 's well -as I do." - -"You silly!" said William. "They _wouldn't_ know them. They'd just see -them in a kind of particular place and think they looked nice----" - -"Well, they don't!" - -"--or cheap and jus' buy them." - -"Well, wot for? Fancy anyone payin' money for them! ... for _those!_" - -"You're so silly," said William patiently. "They'd jus' buy 'em once -when they were quite little an' jus pay once for 'em and then have 'em -all the rest of their lives to do work for 'em an' they'd never pay any -more after they'd jus' paid for 'em once--see?" - -Ginger brightened. - -"D'you think anyone _would?_" he said. - -William replied with superior scorn. - -"'F you'd been listening in History to-day you'd know that people don't -do it now. Someone or other stopped 'em." - -Ginger considered this deeply. - -"You never know," he said; "it might be comin' in fashion again. Things -do. We might try it. You never know. Someone might jus' like the look -of 'em or think 'em cheap or----" - -Even William was horrified. - -"Yes," he broke in, "an' then when you've sold 'em, what'll you say to -their mother?... Jus' you tell me that! What'll you say to their mother -when you've sold 'em?" - - * * * * * - -Ginger had been considering deeply. Suddenly his brow cleared. - -"I know. We could watch where they took 'em to--the ones that bought -'em--an' rescue 'em 'fore anyone knows anything about it." - -"Sounds all right," said William guardedly. - -Ginger turned to his charges. - -"You'd like to be slaves, wun't you?" he asked brightly and -persuasively. - -"_Yiss!_" chorussed George and John. - -"You see?" said Ginger triumphantly to William. "I'll go an' fix things -up. 'S worth tryin' anyway." - -"_Sounds_ all right," said William again doubtfully; and added -gloomily, out of the vast store of his experience, "but you never know -where things ends." - -A few minutes later Ginger brought two large luggage labels, each -inscribed: - -[Illustration: SLAVE CHEEP] - -and on the back of each label was printed: - -[Illustration: 6½ᴰ] - -He fastened a label to each twin's neck, to their riotous delight. Then -they sat on the open space by the roadside awaiting customers. But -it seemed to be a slack time for the slave trade. Only three people -passed, and they did not even look at the patient group of four eager -small boys. - -The procedure had been explained to George and John, as far as their -infant intelligences could absorb it, and they expressed themselves -willing and anxious to be sold and rescued. - -At last, when they were tired of waiting, a fourth passer-by appeared, -an old man, walking very slowly. William, taking his courage in both -hands, approached him. - -"Do you want a slave?" he asked. - -"Eh?" said the old man. - -"Do you want a slave?" - -"What?" said the old man. - -"Do--you--want--a--slave?" repeated William slowly. - -"Speak up! Speak up!" said the old man irritably. "Can't you see I'm -deaf? What do you want? What do you want?" - -William, whose nerves were suffering from the repetition of the -question, cleared his throat and shouted again hoarsely: - -"_Do--you--want--a--slave?_" - -The old man snorted. - -"Want a shave? Want a shave?" he said angrily. "No, I _don't_ want a -shave. You impudent little boy! You little rascal!" - -He made a feint at William with his stick, then went off, muttering to -himself. - -William, slightly shaken by the encounter, returned to his friends. - -"It's no good doin' it this way," he said despondently. "We shall have -to take 'em round to people's houses, like wot they do brushes an' -things." - -The twins gave a scream of delight at the suggestion. Then they trotted -off happily--George holding Ginger's hand and John William's, both -wearing their labels. - -"Let's go a good way off," said Ginger; "somewhere where they won't -know us." - -They walked down a few streets, till William said: "We'll go into the -first house round the corner." William was looking pale, but resolved. -Having embarked upon the dangerous venture, he was determined to carry -it through. They came to the next house round the corner, and walked up -an overshadowed, neglected drive. They slackened speed considerably as -they neared the door. - -"You'd better do the talkin'," said Ginger faintly, with a propitiatory -air. "You're better at talkin' than wot I am." - -"Oh, I am, am I!" said William irritably. "Yes, you think so, _don't_ -you? Oh, yes, you think so when it's a kind of talkin' you don't want -to do! Oh, yes! Huh!" - -They stood apprehensively on the front doorstep and gazed at the -milk-jug that was standing there. - -"Looks as if they was out," said Ginger. - -"Oh, yes," said William, scathing but relieved. "You don't mind doin' -the talkin' now, do you? You don't think I'm better at talkin' than wot -you are _now_, do you? You don't mind talkin' to a milk-jug. Oh, no!" - -"You think you're so clever," said Ginger bitterly. "Who thought of -makin' 'em slaves first of all, anyway. Jus' tell me _that_." - -"Well, wot good's it done?" retorted William. "Nobody'll buy 'em. -Takin' 'em to an ole empty house, wot good's _that_ done? You tell me -_that!_" - -The argument would have pursued its normal course to physical violence -had not George raised his voice plaintively. - -"Wanner be a save," he pleaded. - -With a heroic gesture and lips firmly shut, William raised his hand -to the bell and pulled hard. "That'll show 'em!" he said, darkly. The -echoes of the bell died slowly away within the house. No sound of -human habitation broke the tense silence on the front doorstop. - -"Well," said William weakly, "that's _shown_ 'em, anyway!" - -Then he peered suddenly into the milk-jug. - -"Crumbs!" he exclaimed. "A bob!" - -Slowly he withdrew the coin, and turned his eyes towards the twins. - -"It'll jus' pay for 'em," he said. "They're cheap to-day." - -Ginger was taken aback. - -"But--but you don't know they want 'em." - -"Want 'em! Of course they want 'em," said William scornfully. "Anyone'd -want 'em. Two slaves--cheap at that! I bet they'd have fetched pounds -and pounds in historical times. 'S only 'cause they're a bit out of -fashion that they've bin sold at sixpence-halfpenny." - -At this moment a milk-boy appeared, staggering up the drive, and -William hastily put the coin into his pocket. - -"'Ello, kids!" said the milk-boy. - -At other moments William might have made a practical protest against -the appellation. But he felt his present position to be too precarious -for active aggression. He merely replied coldly: - -"'Ello, Milky!" - -"If you belong 'ere," went on the milk-boy cheerfully, having filled -the jug, "tell 'em they've forgot the money. So long! Be good!" - -With a certain relief they watched his figure disappear round the -gateway. John at once raised his voice. - -"Wanner be a _save_," he demanded tearfully. - -"Wanner be a _save_," joined in George. - -[Illustration: "HERE, HAVE A DRINK OF NICE MILK," SAID WILLIAM. THE -TWINS OBEYED. THEY FOUGHT FOR THE MILK-JUG, BUT BOTH MANAGED TO DRINK A -FAIR AMOUNT.] - -William looked round desperately. - -"Here, have a drink of nice milk," he said. - -They obeyed. They fought for the milk-jug, and spilt some upon their -labels and some upon their coats, but they both managed to drink a fair -amount. Finally, they put down the empty jug between them and beamed -complacently upon the world again. - -"Let's leave 'em and go an' spend the shilling," said William. "An' -then come back an' rescue them." - -"Oh, _yiss!_" said the twins. - -William and Ginger went slowly down the drive. At the end they turned -round. The twins were sitting side by side on the doorstop, smiling and -waving fat hands. Their labels were milky and slightly awry, but still -they adhered to their persons. William and Ginger turned into the road. -William took out the shilling. - -"I say," said Ginger, "I--I suppose it's honest?" - -"Honest!" said William scornfully. "'S more than honest. We've _give_ -them a penny. The slaves was sixpence halfpenny each--proper price--an' -we've only took a shilling." - -The shilling was successful. It provided them with liquorice, bull's -eyes, two surprise packets, and an indiarubber ball. In their bliss -they forgot the flight of time. It was Ginger who remembered it first. - -"I say," he said, "we'd better be doin' that rescuin' quick. Their -mother'll be here soon." - -They set off down the road. Both walked jauntily, as though to hide -some secret apprehension. - -"Hope we'll be able to rescue them," said William, with an attempt at -lightness. - -"Oh, that'll be all right," said Ginger, with an unconvincing -carelessness of tone. - -In both their minds was a horrible vision in which the twins' mother -played the part of avenging fury. - -They walked up the drive. The twins were not on the doorstep. A broken -milk-jug alone marked the scene of their parting from the twins. Their -hearts sank yet farther as they surveyed it. - -"Well," said Ginger, moistening his lips, "we'd better start rescuin'." - -Drawing a deep breath, he rang the bell. Again the echoes died away in -distant regions. Again there came no sounds of human habitation. There -was horror on William's freckled face. His naturally wild hair was at -its wildest. The vision of the outraged parent of the twins seemed to -fill the whole world. - -"They're sure to be somewhere," said Ginger, still with his gallant but -ineffectual attempt at lightness. - -"Oh, yes!" agreed William gloomily. "_You_ can tell her that!" - -They searched the garden. They threw stones at the windows. They -called: "Georgie!" and "Johnnie!" hoarsely, and with a pathetic appeal -they had never used to those infants before. Then they turned very -slowly towards the gate. - -"What can we do now?" said Ginger. - -"Nothin'," said William shortly. - -Very, very slowly they began to walk down the road. - -"You can do the talkin' to their mother," said William. "I was goin' -to do the talkin' before, wasn't I? Well, _you_ can do it now." - -"Oh, yes," said Ginger, with weary sarcasm. "A lot of talkin' you did, -didn't you? Anyway, there won't need to be much talkin'--not from us! -_She'll_ do the talkin' all right!" - -After a short silence, Ginger spoke again: - -"Anyway," he said in a feeble voice, "we got a jolly lot of things for -that bob!" - -It was a feeble remark, and was treated by William with the -contemptuous silence it deserved. - -As they turned the corner of the road, a lady wearing a tall toque came -into sight, walking hurriedly towards them. - -"It's her!" said Ginger, with a groan. - -"Where are the twins?" she demanded sternly. - -To William it seemed as if his heart descended through his boots into -the centre of the earth. - -"Where are the twins?" she said again. - -It was William who answered. - -"We don't know," he said desperately. "We've sold 'em. We've sold 'em -as slaves." - - * * * * * - -The twins, left to themselves on the doorstep, replete with excitement -and milk, fell happily asleep upon each other's shoulders.... The -minutes passed by. - -They awoke to find a young man looking at them in bewilderment. With -him were two ladies, one tall and thin, one short and fat. - -"Where do you live, little boys?" said the tall lady. - -George smiled at her. - -"Here," he said brightly. "We're saves." - -The young man raised a hand to his brow. - -"Good Lord!" he groaned. "Surely they don't go with the house--fixtures -or something." - -The tall lady was looking at them with a dark frown. - -"It's strange," she said; "there must be some meaning in it." - -The young man took out a latchkey, stumbled over the milk-jug, and -entered the hall, followed by the tall lady, the short lady, John and -George. - -"They can't go with the house," said the young man plaintively. "I took -it furnished--but, good heavens, furniture _can't_ include--these!" - -"Did you know the man you took it from?" said the short one. - -"No; we fixed everything up by letter, and he cleared out this morning." - -"There's some _meaning_ in it if only we knew," said the tall one -again, mysteriously. - -"We're saves," said John. "Willum comin' soon." - -"Good Lord! Another!" groaned the young man. - -"'Slaves 6½d.,'" she read out. "It must be a code. They may be -a--er--plant, don't you call it? A confidence trick ... burglar's trap. -I think we ought to take them straight to Dr. Barnardo's Homes." - -"But perhaps they aren't waifs," said the stout one. "Are you waifs, -darlings?" - -"No; saves," said George. "An' Willum comin' soon." - -"I see it all," said the stout one suddenly, "it's as clear as -daylight. William's the burglar. He's sent them to help him effect an -entrance." - -"Oo, I'm hungry," said John. - -His plaint broke suddenly into a loud howl, in which George joined. -Their united efforts produced a noise that made the tall lady lean back -against the wall with eyes closed and a hand on her head, and sent the -young man flying into the kitchen. - -"Where's the larder?" he cried desperately. "Food! Food at any price! -He said he'd get in necessities. Do something ... anything.... They'll -have fits or something!" - -"Oh, I can't bear it," moaned the tall lady faintly. - -The young man came running back with a pot of honey and a pot of jam. -He handed one to each of the twins, and the yells subsided. The tall -lady opened her eyes, and the young man mopped his brow. - -"I can't stand any more of this," he said. "I've come here to work -quietly. If they go with the house, I shan't be able to work any way at -all." - -"Dear nephew," said the tall lady, "we will never desert you." - -"It's awfully good of you, aunt," he said hastily. "But I shouldn't -dream of presuming on your kindness. You were only coming to settle me -in, you know." - -"Before I go," she said with firmness, "I must solve the mystery of -these dear children." - -She took up their labels again, and studied them with knitted brows. - -"I've come to the definite conclusion," she said at last, "that it's a -code.... It's some kind of message." - -"But who from?" said the other. - -"Give me time," she answered with dignity. "I must decipher the code -first." - -They all looked at the twins. George smiled through a thick covering of -honey. John smiled through a thick covering of jam. They sat in pools -of jam and honey. - -"He'll make me pay for that," said the young man. "He'll say I'm -responsible." - -"You are, dear, legally," said the stout one brightly. "Now, I'm going -to talk to these dear children, and get to the bottom of this. Now, -darlings, who's William?" - -"Willum's nice!" said George. - -"Yes, darling, but what does he do? Who is he?" - -"Willum sells us!" said John proudly. - -"He doesn't sell little boys, surely!" said the tall lady, aghast. - -George and John nodded their heads. - -"Yiss, he does." - -"He's not your father, is he?" - -"Oh, no," they chorussed. "He's Willum. He sells us." - - * * * * * - -"A kidnapper!" said the stout lady sharply. "That's it. A kidnapper! We -must get to the bottom of this. We must confront the man...." - -"I still think," said the other dreamily, "that it's a--plant--or a -code." - -"Do you know where William lives?" asked the stout lady of George. - -"Oh, yiss!" said George proudly. - -"I will confront this man," she said dramatically, "and you must -support me." - -The young man groaned. - -"It's all like a nightmare," he said. "It'll knock me off work for -months." - -"Couldn't you use it?" suggested the stout lady. "It would make a most -sensational plot ... the mysterious children ... the code ... the----" - -"Thank you," said the young man coldly, "I don't go in for sensational -plots." - -The procession set out--first, John and the stout lady, then George and -the thin lady, then the young man, wearing a set agonised expression. - -"And I came here for quiet and rest," he muttered pathetically. - -"Take us to William's house, darling," said the stout lady to John. - -"We ought to have brought some sort of a weapon," said her sister -grimly. - -"Vivian will protect us," said the other bravely. - -Vivian groaned again in the gathering dusk. - -The twins had led the procession on to the common with every sign of -confidence, but now they stopped. - -"Want more _dam_," said John. - -"Wanner go _home_," said George. - -"We'll just go down this path and see if it leads anywhere," said the -short lady uncertainly. "Vivian will stay with the children." - -They returned in a few minutes. - -"Nothing to be seen--absolutely nothing. It's most unfortunate. Vivian, -where are the children?" - -Vivian, who was leaning against a tree, his eyes dreamily fixed on the -distance, roused himself. - -"What children?... Oh, damn! I'd forgotten them.... Here, aren't they? -Just messing about ... they were.... I'd just got an idea when you -disturbed me." - -"But the children?" gasped the stout one, staring wildly round the dim -landscape. The young man ran his fingers through his hair. The thin -lady gave a little scream. - -"It was all a plot. They've led us to a lonely spot, and now someone's -going to murder us." - -"They'll be all right," said the young man, miserably. "Children always -are. I'm getting a cold. Let's go home." - -"Don't be foolish," said the stout one sternly. "I will not move from -this spot till I have found the children. If necessary I will search -all night and you with me." - -They began to trudge wearily in single file along the narrow path. - -"Oo, someone's coming," screamed the thin lady. "Let us be brave.... -Offer no resistance.... They're sure to be desperate.... Vivian, for my -sake, don't be rash.... Don't kill anyone." - -But it was another little procession that was approaching them, as -weary-looking as their own. At the head walked a woman in a tall toque. -At the end walked a small boy with freckles and untidy hair and a -dejected expression. They peered into each other's faces. - -"Have you seen two little boys?" they all began simultaneously. - -"John," said the twins' mother. - -"George," said the stout lady. - -Then the thin lady and the twins' mother had hysterics. - - * * * * * - -It was William who found them in a dry ditch near by. They were fast -asleep, with blissful smiles upon their mouths, besmeared with jam and -honey. They awoke and stared in amazement at the crowd of friends and -relations. - -"Nice William!" murmured George sleepily. - -"Wanner be a save adain," said John. "Want more dam!" - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -WILLIAM'S HELPING HAND - - -WILLIAM was on his way to visit his new friend. He whistled as he -went, his lips pursed determinedly, his brows drawn into a scowl of -absorption, his untidy hair standing, like a somewhat unsaintly halo, -round his head. When William whistled, he could be heard a long way -off. It was an affair of great effort and concentration. It was a sound -before which strong men quailed. - -William's new friend heard the sound long before William had turned the -corner that led to his house. He put his hand to his head and groaned. - -William's new friend was Vivian Strange, the distinguished poet and -journalist. Vivian Strange had taken a furnished house in the village -in order to enjoy the calm and quiet which were so essential to his -literary calling. Instead of calm and quiet he had found William. That -is, William had adopted him. - -William was attracted to Vivian Strange because, although Vivian -Strange belonged to the tyrant race of the "grown-ups," he had never -yet told William to wipe his boots or go home at once or not to speak -till he was spoken to. This touched William deeply. He was not used -to it. He imagined that it must hide a lasting affection for him on -the part of Strange. As a matter of fact it did no such thing. The -attitude of Vivian Strange to William may be compared to that of a -timid fawn before a lion, or a rabbit before a snake. He was not used -to the human boy. He had never known one before at close quarters. When -he gently hinted to William that he must be missed at home, William -kindly intimated that they didn't mind a bit and he could stay a good -long time yet. - -Such mild sarcasm as Strange could produce had the same effect on -William as water on the back of the proverbial duck. William was not -used to hints. William was not used either to houses where he could -sit in the best chairs and talk to his heart's content and eat cake -unrestrained. He made the most of it. He liked Vivian Strange. - -And Vivian told himself bitterly every night that his genius was -being ruined, his naturally sweet temper embittered, his constitution -undermined by a creature less than half his own size whom he might -almost kill with one hand. He often dreamed of William. He often -recalled hard things he had read or heard about the human boy, and -decided that they were all true. Yet, when he met William's mother, -and William's mother said, "I do hope that William isn't a nuisance to -you," he flushed and said hastily, "Oh, no, not at all. I like it." -And William's mother went placidly on her way and remarked later to an -incredulous family circle, "There must be _something_ about William -for a brilliant literary man like Mr. Strange to take pleasure in his -company." Thereupon the family raised incredulous eyebrows. - -On the previous day William had paid three visits to his new friend. -The first visit had nipped in the bud a very promising poem written in -an uncommon metre. - -William entered playing on his mouth-organ a tune that he had learnt -(not quite correctly, he admitted) that morning. During the third -repetition of the tune, Vivian Strange began to see red, but his curse -of politeness still clung to him. - -"Hadn't you better let them hear that at home?" he said desperately. - -William wiped his mouth politely. - -"Oh, no," he said. "I don't mind goin' on a bit longer. 'Sides my -family's not as fond of musick as wot you are." - -When William had gone, Strange returned to the poem, but inspiration -had fled. - -After lunch he began a strikingly original essay on "Nature the -Divine." Then William called again. This time he proudly brought a -live mouse and a dead hedgehog to show his friend. He also carried -(with difficulty) a jar full of muddy water containing squirming water -creatures of repellent appearance and sinister expressions. - -Vivian Strange pricked his finger on the dead hedgehog and was bitten -by the mouse. On retiring precipitately from the mouse he knocked over -the jar of water which William had thoughtfully placed on the edge of -his bureau. Holding his bitten finger in his mouth, he watched the -water as it dripped partly on to the carpet, partly upon a new satin -cushion. He also watched his blotting-paper and pens and stamps and -literary masterpieces floating in mud amongst wriggling, nightmare -creatures. He raised his hand to his head. - -"This," he said, "is the last straw." - -William, who was on his knees, rescuing as many of the creatures as he -could, raised a face purple with effort. - -"'S all right," he said pleasantly. "Don't you worry about it. I don't -mind. Honest, I don't. I can get some more. Honest, I can ... an' -anyway, some's not dead. You didn't reely get a proper look at 'em, did -you? I'll get some more to-morrow an' you can have 'em to keep. But -don't you worry about droppin' 'em. I don't mind." - -Half an hour later, his face pale and set, Vivian took up his -half-written essay, "Nature the Divine." There was a muddy pool through -the middle of it, and a tadpole's corpse reposed peacefully in one -corner. With averted eyes Vivian dropped it into the fire. - -As he lay wakeful through the night, he searched in his mind for some -form of literature that could resist the blighting effects of his young -friend's frequent and devastating visits. With a lightning flash of -inspiration came the answer--a sensational story. Vivian had never -before lowered his genius to writing a sensational story, but he felt -that the time had come. Some story that would carry itself along of its -own momentum, that even a visit from William would not be able to turn -from its course. - -He was deep in the throes of it the next afternoon when the shrill -sound of William's distant whistle reached him. - -William entered cheerfully. - -"Hello," he said. "You writin'?" - -The victim raised his face from his hands. - -"I _was_," he said pointedly. - -"I thought you was," said William. "I saw you through the window with -your head in your hands, like as if you couldn't think wot to write -nex'. So I knew you'd be glad to see me." - -As he spoke, his rare smile overspread his freckled face. - -The young man was dumb. - -"I used to write a bit myself," went on William modestly, "an' often I -can't think wot to write nex'. I remember once I wrote an orfully good -tale about a man wot was a pirate an' he was run after by a dastardly -cannibal round an' round a desert island an' then the dastardly -cannibal caught him an' was jus' goin' to cook him when some frens of -the dastardly cannibal came up, an' while the dastardly cannibal was -saying 'good afternoon' to them the pirate got up a tree an' waved his -pocket handkerchief to another pirate wot was on the sea as a sign that -he was in deadly danger." - -William stopped. "Yes?" said his unfortunate hearer in a dull voice. -William plunged on. - -"An' the dastardly cannibal sawed down the tree but the other pirate -came an' they escaped an' the proud an' beautiful daughter of the -dastardly cannibal escaped with them. She wasn't dastardly like wot her -father was. She didn't like eatin' human folks. She didn't like the -taste, so she was glad to get to a country where they didn't do it an' -they was married an' she was the queen of the pirates an' he was the -king of the pirates, an' she was proud an' beautiful an' said 'Avaunt!' -when anyone tried to cheek her jus' like a reel queen. Is your tale -anything like that?" - -"No," groaned Mr. Strange. - -"Well," said William, comfortably ensconced in an arm-chair, "now I've -told you my tale, you oughter tell me yours. I say, is there any of -that cake left wot you so kin'ly gave me some of yesterday?" - -The young man waved a limp hand towards the sideboard cupboard. - -William took a large slice of plum cake and returned to his chair. - -"I always get so's I mus' have something to eat about this time, don't -you?" he said pleasantly. "I _can_ eat mos' times but sometimes I feel -so's I _mus'_ eat.... Well, go on an' tell me about your tale, now. -I've told you about mine an' I'll help you, you know, about wot to -write nex'." - -"I don't want you to," said the young man desperately. - -"Oh, it's no bother," said William kindly. "Don't you think about that. -I wanter help you. You gave me big bits of cake to-day an' yesterday -an' I wanter help you an' I've wrote tales myself an' I know wot it's -like. An' don't worry about knockin' over my water things. I've gotter -fren' who's promised to catch some more to-morrow an' we'll bring them -along soon's we've gottem. That was jolly good cake." The young man -automatically waved a hand towards the cupboard again. "Thanks. I don't -mind a bit more. It's _jolly_ good cake.... Now tell me about your tale -so's I can help. Wot's it about?" - -"It's--it's just about a man," said Mr. Strange feebly. - -"Wot sort of a man?" said William with his mouth full of cake. - -"Just a man--he's going home one night----" - -"Goin' home, where from?" demanded William. - -"That doesn't come into the story," said the young man irritably. "He -was just going home." - -"All right," said William soothingly. "Only, if he was goin' home he -must 'a' been somewhere, an' I jus' wondered where he'd been to be -coming home from." - -"Well, as he's coming home he gets a message that a girl--a girl----" -the young man hesitated. - -"The girl wot he's in love with?" supplied William earnestly. - -"Er--yes," said the young man. "He gets a message that she's in danger -and he must go to her at once, so he follows the man, you see----" - -"Which follows which?" said William judicially. - -"The man the story begins with----" - -"The one wot you didn't know where he was goin' home from?" - -"Yes. That. Well, he follows the man that tells him the girl's in -danger and really the man----" - -"If you don't call 'em names," said William, "I can't tell which -is which. Let's call the man wot you don't know where he was goin' -home from Alberto (that's a good tale name), and the one wot says -that the girl wot Alberto's in love with's in deadly danger Rudolpho -(they all end with -o in a book I've been readin'; it sounded fine). -Well then, Rudolpho tells Alberto that the girl wot Alberto's in -love with's in deadly danger. I think that's a jolly good tale, but -I think that Alberto oughter have a secret treasure somewhere, an' -let's have another man in called Archibaldo (I've gotter nuncle called -Archibald) wot wants the secret treasure an' he's gotter trail of -dynamite laid to right under Alberto's bed to blow him up in the night -when's he's asleep, an' let's have another girl in called Rosabellina -wot Rudolpho's in love with--a proud an' beautiful maiden, you know, -an' Rudolpho gets hold of her an' she yells out, 'Avaunt! Unhand me, -varlet!'... Well, you finish yours first an' we'll put in my bits -afterwards. You'd jus' got to Alberto comin' home from somewhere you -din't know where an' followin' Rudolpho.... Wot comes next?" - -Vivian Strange stared in front of him. He was once more the rabbit -and William the snake. Some power in William's earnest, freckled -countenance compelled him to proceed. - -"The--er--the second man was really a secret service agent----" - -"Wot's that?" inquired William disapprovingly. - -"Oh, it's--er--it's a kind of glorified policeman, I suppose." - -"Much better have him a pirate or a red injun," said William, "but -never mind. Go on." - -"Well, he wants to got hold of some letters that--er--Alberto has, and -leads him to a lonely house and locks him up there, and says he'll keep -him there till he gives them up." - -"Hurlin' vile threats?" said William, his face alight with earnestness. -"Let him say it hurlin' vile threats an' precations an' insults in his -teeth. Wot happens nex'?" - -"I don't know," said the young man. "That's as far as I got. I can't -get on with it. I can't think what he'd say or do next." - -William drew his brows together in deep thought. - -"I should think Alberto oughter say 'Ha! villain! Never shalt thou -worst me'--or something like that." - -"People don't talk like that in real life." - -"Oh, reel life!" said William scornfully. "I thought we was talkin' -about books." - -"Don't you think your friends want you to play with them?" said Mr. -Strange with emphasis. "Don't you think you've left them for quite long -enough?" - -William arose and brushed the cake crumbs from his coat to the carpet. - -"P'raps I'd better be goin'," he agreed. "But I'll be thinkin' over -wot comes nex'. You say you want it real life an' not books. I think -you oughter have more people in it. Can't you have them all on a -desert island an' make Rudolpho get eaten by cannibals in mistake for -Alberto.... Oh, well, jus' as you like, of course. I'll bring you my -tales to read one day an' I'll bring you some water things to-morrow. -Did you know tadpoles ate tadpoles? Talk about cannibals!... I say, -that's a jolly fine penknife." - -Vivian Strange, whose proud spirit was broken, handed him the knife -with a despairing gesture. - -"Take it!" he moaned. "Take it and go!" - -William was touched. - -"Oh, no," he said. "I'd better not take such a jolly fine penknife as -that. You're sure to be wantin' it again. But--but I'll borrow it for -a bit if you don't mind. I'll bring it back when I bring the water -animals. I say, it's jolly kind of you. Well, good-bye." - -William closed the door behind him. The sudden peace and silence of the -room seemed to Strange too blissful to be real. But the door opened and -William's tousled head and earnest face appeared again. - -"I say," he said. "How about having a burglar in an' a detective after -him, you know, an' mysterious signs an' clues an' blood hounds--as -well as the other people?... Not?... Well, it's your tale, so you jus' -do it how you like. I'll see you again soon. Well, good-bye." - -William disappeared and the front-door opened and shut. With anxious -eyes Vivian Strange watched through the window for William's youthful -form to appear in the drive loading to the gate. It did not do so. -Instead, the familiar untidy head appeared once more round the door. - -"I say!" he said. "I was jus' tryin' to remember--did I have three -pieces of cake in here, or only two?... Oh, thanks.... I say, it's -jolly kind of you." - -"Take it all," said Mr. Strange, "and go!" - -William was still more touched. - -"Oh, no!" he said as he opened the cupboard. "I won't take it all--not -jus' now. I'll take one more piece now an' I'll come round for another -piece later on. It gets so messed up carryin' it about in your pocket, -cake does. I've tried it. Gets all mixed up with marbles an' bits of -clay an' string an' things. It doesn't spoil the taste but it wastes -it--gettin' it all crumby.... Well, good-bye." - -Once more the front-door opened and shut. Once more there was silence -and peace. Vivian Strange, with a deep sigh, stretched out for his -pen. Then an expression of wild despair came over his face.... The -well-known footsteps sounded in the hall again and the door opened. - -"I nearly went away," said William affectionately, "without showin' you -my new whistle. I've been practisin' an' practisin' so's to show it you -this afternoon. An' I nearly forgot an' I'd have had to come all the -way back. This is it." - -He placed two fingers in the corners of his mouth and emitted a -siren-like sound that caused his friend to leap suddenly into the air -in terror and surprise. William smiled with pride and friendliness. - -"I knew you'd like it," he said. "My family doesn't care for it at -home, but they don't care for any whistles. They don't reelly like -musick--not like you do. Well, good-bye." - -William walked along the road, humming happily to himself. His humming -was, if possible, more dreadful than his whistling. William only hummed -when he was happy. He enjoyed the sound of his humming. In this he was -absolutely unique.... - -He was extremely happy to-day. His heart warmed at the thought of his -friend's kindness ... the confidential literary chat ... the cake ... -the penknife.... He took out the knife and looked at it. His heart -swelled with pride and pleasure ... a knife like that ... and he'd -been ready to give it ... _give_ it ... it was jolly decent of him.... -William had no other friend in the whole world who would have thought -of _lending_ him a knife like that, much less _giving_ it. - -William's sense of gratitude was not easily stirred, but it was stirred -this afternoon. When stirred, it demanded immediate and practical -expression.... He must _do_ something for his friend ... now ... at -once.... But what?... He could get him the water things, of course, but -that wasn't enough. What did Mr. Strange really _want?_... Suddenly -William's sombre countenance lit up.... He'd wanted to know what -Alberto would have said and done in real life.... He should know. - -Mr. Porter was walking home. Mr. Porter was an eminently reliable -gentleman who lived a quiet, hard-working life divided between an -eminently respectable office and an eminently respectable home. Mr. -Porter was on his way home from the station, carrying his attaché case -in his hand as he had done for the last thirty years. - -In his mind was a pleasurable anticipation of a warm fire, comfortable -bedroom slippers, a well-cooked dinner, a glass of good wine, an -excellent cigar, and the evening paper. Mr. Porter had walked home with -this pleasurable anticipation in his mind for the last thirty years, -and it had always been fulfilled. There was a rosy glow over all his -thoughts. He hardly noticed the small boy with the freckled, scowling -countenance till he actually addressed him. - -"The lady wot you're in love with," said the boy to him suddenly in an -expressionless tone, "is in deadly danger, an' says you're to go to her -at once." - -Mr. Porter stopped short and peered through the dusk. He felt a little -frightened. "The lady wot----" he repeated. Then, "Would you mind -saying it again?" - -William didn't mind. - -[Illustration: "THE LADY WOT YOU'RE IN LOVE WITH," SAID WILLIAM, "IS IN -DEADLY DANGER AN' SAYS YOU'RE TO GO TO HER AT ONCE."] - -"The lady wot you're in love with," he said clearly and distinctly, "is -in deadly danger an' says you're to go to her at once." - -"The lady wot----" began Mr. Porter again. "What a curious expression! -Do you--er--do you mean my wife?" - -"I s'pose so," said William guardedly. - -"Er--did she tell you to say that?" - -"Yes." - -"Was she a tall lady?" - -"Yes," said William, taking the line of least resistance. - -"With a mole on her left cheek?" - -"Yes." - -"Grey hair?" - -"Yes." - -"Most curious!" said Mr. Porter. "That's certainly my wife. What did -you say she said?" - -"The lady wot you're in love with," said William monotonously, "is in -deadly danger, an' says you're to go to her at once." - -"But--where is she?" - -"She said you was to follow me." - -"Most curious!" said Mr. Porter uncertainly. "_Most_ curious! -Well--er--I suppose I'd better--er--one never knows--is it far?" - -William's eye gleamed with victory. - -"Oh, no," he said soothingly, "not far." - -But Mr. Porter's heart had sunk. The rosy vision of the warm fire, the -comfortable bedroom slippers, well-cooked dinner, glass of wine, cigar, -evening paper seemed to have retreated to an incalculable distance. - -"Be as quick as you can," he said irritably. "I can't stand here -all night catching my death of cold. How do I know it's not some -cock-and-bull story? Hurry up! Hurry up!" - -Silently and happily William led the way. Silently and miserably Mr. -Porter followed. Mr. Porter disliked above all things departing a -hair's breadth from his usual routine. What _was_ it all about, anyway? -What was Mary thinking of, sending that curious message? Who was this -strange boy? His self-pity and righteous indignation increased at every -step. Down the street ... round a corner ... in at a side-gate ... -down a side-path past a house ... into a back garden.... What the----? -The strange boy was holding open the door of a kind of outhouse. - -"She said particular you was to go in here," said the boy simply. - -"What the----?" blazed Mr. Porter. "What the----?" he sputtered again. - -The boy looked at him dispassionately. - -"She said particular you was to go in here." - -"Into a----? Into a dirty, empty coal-shed? What----?" - -Mr. Porter stepped into the outhouse and flashed his electric torch -around it. In that second he satisfied himself that the shed was empty. -In that second also the door banged to behind him and a key was turned -in the lock. - -"Here!" cried Mr. Porter angrily. "Where the----?" - -There was no answer. - -Mr. Porter banged ferociously at the door. - -"Open the door, you young villain!" he shouted. - -There was no answer. - -Mr. Porter kicked the door, and shook the door, and rattled the door, -and cursed the door. The door remained immovable, and only the silence -answered him. Having recourse once more to his electric torch, he -discovered a small window high up at the back of the shed and beneath -it a pile of coal. Mr. Porter determined to reach the window over the -coal. He climbed the coal, and slipped in the coal, and waded in the -coal, and rolled in the coal, and wallowed in the coal, and lost his -collar in the coal. - -Finally he let fly a torrent of language whose eloquence, and variety, -and emphasis, and richness surprised even himself. Mr. Porter, an hour -ago, would have believed himself incapable of such language. Then, -panting, covered with coal-dust, his collar gone, his coat torn, he -surveyed the scene of his imprisonment, and there came to him a vision -of a warm fire, comfortable bedroom slippers, a well-cooked dinner, a -glass of wine, a good cigar and the evening paper.... In sudden frenzy -he flung himself bodily upon the door. - - * * * * * - -Vivian Strange had given up all attempt to write. He was sitting in -the arm-chair by the fire reading poetry to soothe his nerves. His -nerves were very much upset. He kept imagining that he heard strange -noises--bangs and shouts, and once he shuddered, imagining that he -heard William's whistle. He decided to go back to town as soon as -possible. The much-vaunted peace of the countryside was a fiction. The -country was not peaceful. It contained William, and William's whistle, -and William's water creatures, and William's conversations. There was -more peace in the middle of Piccadilly--without William--than there was -in the country with William. - -The door opened suddenly and William appeared. There was on his face a -look of conscious pride as of one who has something attempted something -done, but is prepared to be quite modest about it. - -"You can go an' hear wot he says an' does in reel life," he said. "He's -sayin' an' doin' it now in the coal-shed. I've been listenin' for ever -so long." - -Mr. Strange rose wildly. - -"But----" he began. - -The curious sounds increased. They were real, not a delusion of his -overwrought nerves, as he had supposed. William was real too. - -"Where----?" he said still more wildly. - -"In the coal-shed," said William impatiently. "Hurry up or he'll be -gettin' tired an' stoppin'. Take some paper an' then you can copy down -some of the things he says in reel life. I told you I was right." - -There came a sudden crashing and rending of wood, the sound of angry -steps on the gravel, and in front of the house appeared a nightmare -figure, black, gesticulating, ragged, collarless, hatless. It was -the eminently respectable Mr. Porter. "Police," and "pay for this," -and "scoundrel," were among the words that reached the bewildered -Mr. Strange through the window. Then, shaking its fist, the figure -disappeared into the dusk. - -"There," said William. "You're too late. He's got out. He's broke -the door down an' got out. Anyway, you know now wot he does in reel -life. He breaks the door down an' gets out. An' I can remember lots of -the things he said. I listened quite a long time. I'll take another -piece of that cake now, if you don't mind. You said I could. Thanks -awfully. I took a lot of trouble gettin' that reel life thing for you. -Could--could I keep that penknife jus' for another day? I've got some -frens I'd like to show it to. An' if there's anything else you'd like -me to find out in reel life, I'll try. I don't bother with reel life -myself when I do tales, but if you.... Oh, I say, are you goin' on with -the tale now?" - -Mr. Strange was not. He was writing a telegram form. It ran: - -"Secure berth on any boat sailing anywhere. Complete nervous -prostration. Change and rest urgent." - -"I 'speck I'd better go," said William regretfully. "It's after my -supper time. You don't mind, do you?" - -"No," said the young man wildly. "No, I don't mind. I'm going away -myself to-morrow, going away for good." - -"Oh, are you?" said William sadly. "I'm sorry. I shall miss you quite a -lot an' I 'speck you'll miss me." - -"Oh, yes," answered Mr. Strange. "I shall miss you. I hope I shall miss -you." - -"Well, don't worry about it," said William kindly. "I 'speck you'll -be comin' back soon. Good-bye, an' you can get on with your tale now, -can't you, now you know wot he says an' does in reel life? Well, -good-bye." - -He went briskly out of the front door. - -Mr. Strange drew a deep, quivering breath of relief. But not for long. -Two apparitions appeared before the window, coming up the drive, one -the blackened and battered remains of Mr. Porter and the other a -stalwart arm of the law, carrying a note-book. - -There was a gleam in Mr. Porter's eye. He was going to execute justice -but, justice executed, there lay before him the warm fire, and -comfortable bedroom slippers, and well-cooked dinner, and glass of -wine, and excellent cigar, and evening paper of his dreams. - -But Vivian's horrified gaze was drawn from them by the near vision of -William's face pressed against the glass. - -"I say," called William. "You _did_ say I could keep that knife for a -bit, didn't you?" - -Vivian Strange made a wild gesture that might have been assent or -dissent or mere frenzy. - -"Thanks awfully," shouted William. "Well, good-bye." - - * * * * * - -William strolled home through the dusk. He was sorry his friend was -going, but, after all, he would be able to keep all the water creatures -himself. Giving away water creatures was always a great sacrifice to -William. Anyway, he'd had quite a decent day ... all about that tale -had been interesting and exciting, and that was a jolly good cake and a -_jolly_ good penknife and--his thoughts flew off to that thrilling five -minutes spent in rapt silence outside the coal house--he'd learnt a lot -of new words. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -WILLIAM GETS WRECKED - - -WILLIAM laid aside "Robinson Crusoe" with a sigh. His dreams of -pirate-king and robber-chief vanished. The desire of his heart now was -to be shipwrecked on a desert island. He surveyed his garden and the -next garden and the fields beyond with an impatient scowl. He felt -bitterly that it was just his luck to live in an over-populated world -with ready-made houses and where everything one could possibly need -could be purchased at the shop round the corner.... - -Yet he felt that within reach there must be a desert island, or at any -rate some spot which a very little imagination could transform into a -desert island. He decided to set out on a voyage. He filled his pockets -with biscuits and pieces of string. String was always useful. - -He went into the morning-room where his mother and grown-up sister sat. -He felt strongly that a mariner just about to be shipwrecked ought to -bid a fond farewell to his family. - -"Good-bye," he said in a deep voice, "'case I'm not back." - -"I wish you'd remember to wipe your boots when you come into the -house," said his mother patiently. - -"You'd better be back if you want any tea," said Ethel. - -William felt that they lacked every quality that the family of a -shipwrecked mariner should possess. Not for the first time he washed -his hands of them in disgust. - -"All right," he said. "Don't blame me if--if you're sorry when it's too -late." - -With this cryptic remark he left them. - -To a casual observer William looked only a small boy walking slowly -down a road, frowning, with his hands in his pockets. He was really an -intrepid mariner sailing across an uncharted sea. - -"Hello, William." - -William had a weak spot in his heart for Joan. He rather liked her -dimples and dark curls. In his softer moments he had contemplated Joan -actually reigning by his side as pirate-queen or robber-chieftainess. -Now he felt that her presence might enliven a somewhat lonely voyage. - -"I'm an explorer," he said, "sailin' along an' lookin' for new lands." - -"Oh, William," Joan pleaded, "may I come with you?" - -He considered the matter with a judicial frown. - -"All right," he said at last. "Will you come in my ship or will you -have a ship of your own?" - -"I'd rather come in your ship, please." - -"All right," he said. "Well, you're _in_ my ship. Come on." - -She walked along by his side. The best part of Joan was that she asked -very few questions. - -"We're probably goin' to come to a desert island, soon," said William. -"I _speck_ we shall come to a desert island soon if we got through -these icebergs all right. There's a pretty awful wind blowin', isn't -there--lashin' the sails an' tackin' an' all that an' no land in sight -an' all these whales an' things all about?" - -"Yes, William," said Joan obediently. - -"You'd better be chief mate," William advised. "I'll be skipper. You -don't see any land in sight, do you, mate?" - -Joan gazed at the road before them, the hedges around them, the cow's -head above the hedge, and the figure of the Vicar in the distance. - -"No, Will--I mean skipper," she said. - -William heaved a sigh of relief. For a minute he had thought she was -going to fail him. - -They proceeded in silence for a time. - -"The mast's gone now," said William, "all crashin' down on the deck -before the terrible hurricane wot sweeps all before it. I thought it -was goin' to crash on your brave head, mate." - -"Yes, Will--I mean skipper," said Joan. - -She was quite satisfactory. She entered into the spirit of a thing and -had the additional advantage of not demanding a prominent _rôle_. - -The Vicar had come up to them. He looked at William with disapproval. - -"Fine day, young man," he said breezily. - -"Awful," said William gruffly, "blowin' an' hurricanin' an' lashin' at -everything. Come on, mate." - -They left the Vicar staring after them. - -"I wonder," he said to the landscape, "whether that boy is deficient or -merely impudent?" - -He was still wondering when they vanished from sight. They reached the -river. - -"The waves is lashin' up at us," said William, surveying the placid -stream. "I don't think this ole boat will stick together much longer if -we don' see a bit of land soon. I'm jus' drenched through--spite of my -tauparlings--an' almost perishin, of hunger 'cause the provisions was -swep' overboard, aren't you, mate?" - -"Yes, Will--I mean skipper," said Joan, raising blue eyes alight with -admiration. - -The path now turned inland. This part of the river was private, and the -back garden of a large house swept down to the river's bank. - -"I b'lieve--I _b'lieve_," said William, "that I see an island--I -_b'lieve_ that at last I see an island jus' as this ole boat is goin' -to crash to pieces against a towerin' rock. _There!_ It's crashed to -pieces against a towering rock. My goodness! We're in the icy water -now! Well, you catch hold of an ole splinter or somethin' an' I'll -catch hold of somethin' else, an' we'll jus' make for that ole island -with all our might an' main--spite of the rain an' wind lashin' at our -faces----" - -With set, grim expression he began to struggle through the garden hedge. - -"Come on, mate," he called, holding the bushes aside for her, "here's -the island at last. Now we'll lie down on the sand an' sleep an' then -I'll go an' get the things wot will be washed up from the wreck." - -The part of the garden where they found themselves was out of sight -of the house. There was a summer-house by the river and near that a -clothes-line with a table-cloth hung out to dry. - -They sat down on the bank of the river. - -"Nice to rest, isn't it," said William, "after all that strugglin' -against the fierce wind an' rain?" - -"Yes, Will--I mean skipper." - -"You go on restin,'" said William, kindly, "an' I'll go an' try to find -things washed up by the wreck." - - * * * * * - -He crept towards the back of the house. There was no one to be seen. -The door stood slightly ajar. Cautiously William peered within. He -saw a comfortable kitchen, empty save for the presence of a grey cat -washing its face on the hearthrug. It suspended operations for a -moment, surveyed William coldly and disapprovingly, and then returned -to its ablutions. - -William's glance fell eagerly on a box of matches on the table and a -saucepan in the sink. He waited in the shadow of the doorway. There was -no sound in the house. At last, on tiptoe, his brows drawn together, -his tongue projecting from his mouth, his eye fixed on the door, his -freckled countenance purple and scowling, his hair standing on end, he -crept across the room. Returning the cat's haughty stare, he seized the -matches, the saucepan and two cups, and fled down to the river, where -his chief mate was sitting on the grass, idly throwing stones into the -water. - -"Look what I've found washed up from the wreck," he said proudly. "Now -we'll build a fire an' soon I expect we'll find a native savage an' -some wild animals." - -"Not--not _too_ wild, William," said the chief mate. - -"All right," said the skipper, "not too wild, but anyway it doesn't -matter 'cause you've got me an' there's nothing much I can't kill. -Now, after the night on the open sea, we'd better make breakfast." -With indescribable joy they collected twigs, made a fire, filled the -saucepan with water from the river, and put it on to boil. When the -water was warm, William poured it into two cups and broke his biscuits -into them. The water was smoked and the biscuits grimy from their -sojourn in William's pockets, but to the shipwrecked mariners the -draught was as of nectar and ambrosia. Both drained their cups. - -"That was grand, wasn't it, mate? I think you oughter say, 'Aye, aye, -sir.'" - -"Aye, aye, sir." - -"Well, now, I'd better build us a house out of logs an' things, an' you -go and see if you can find anything washed up from the wreck." - -"Oh, William--I mean skipper!" - -"You won't mind--there's no one there but a cat." - -With mingled apprehension and excitement, Joan stole off to the house. - -William, left alone, turned to the summer-house, and in his imagination -made it vanish into thin air. Then he went through a ferocious and -strenuous pantomime of cutting down trees and piling up logs, and -finally beheld the completed summer-house with the proud eye of a -creator. Then he opened the door and entered. - -A ragged, unkempt man rose from the seat rubbing his eyes. A black bag -was on the floor. - -William and the man stared at each other, neither of them flinching. - -"You're jus' wot I wanted to find," said William at last with -excitement and friendliness in his voice; "I jus' wanted a native -savage." - -"Oh, yer did, did yer?" said the man. "Glad I'll do fer yer arl right. -An' 'oo may you be if I may be so bold as to arsk?" - -"We're shipwrecked," said William, "shipwrecked on a desert island. -I've jus' built a hut, an' my chief mate's gone to find things washed -up from the wreck, an' you'll do for the native savage. Do you mind -bein' called Friday?" - -"Not at all, young gent," said the man, "not at all. 'Erbert 'Ammond -is my name, but call me Friday, Saturday _an'_ Sunday, if so you've a -mind." (He ran his eye speculatively over William.) "But it seems funny -to see a shipwrecked sailor in clothes like them. You'd 'ave thought -they'd 'ave all got tore to pieces in the wreck, like." - -"Yes," said William, eagerly, "they did." - -"One would 'ave expected to see you--well, p'raps dressed in a sail or -something." His eye narrowed, and he pointed to the ragged tablecloth -fluttering in the breeze. "That 'ud do fine for a sail." - -William's eyes were alight with enthusiasm. - -"Yes--it _would_," he said, "fine." - -"If I was you an' bein' shipwrecked," said the man, deftly taking the -table-cloth from the line, "I'd nip into that there summer-house, an' -take off that ordinary-like suit an' rig up myself in this here sail -... then you'd feel like as if you _was_ shipwrecked, eh?" - -He threw the table-cloth into the summer-house, and William, all -excitement, followed. Friday lay on the bank by the river, smoked a -foul pipe and winked at the landscape. - -Soon William emerged proudly wearing the table-cloth in the fashion of -a Roman toga. - -"That," said Friday, "looks a bit of orl _right_--if I was you I'd go -an' show it to the hother one wots lookin' at the wreck. I'll stay an' -look hafter that there suit of yours so's no one runs off with it." - -As William swaggered slowly towards the house, Friday rose, spat into -the river, winked at the tree and went into the summer-house again. - -Joan was sitting on the step of the house with the cat on her knee. - -"Will--I mean skipper," she said, "it's a lovely pussy." Then, "Oh, -goodness--_William!_" - -Her tone hovered between horror and admiration. - -William stepped jauntily up to her. One corner of the table-cloth -trailed on the ground behind him. - -"It's a sail," he said, proudly. "I got all my clothes dashed off me in -the wreck, an' I'm wearing a sail wot got washed up by the waves. It -does jolly well, doesn't it?" - -Joan clapped her hands. - -"Oh, an' I've found a native savage," went on William, "an' he doesn't -mind bein' called Friday----" - -"Oh, how _lovely!_ An' the pussy will do for a native wild animal. Oh, -_William_--we've got simply _everything_, haven't we?" - -They went happily down to the river. - -There William sustained the first shock of that momentous afternoon. -Many more were to follow. The native savage had disappeared. Search -in the summer-house revealed the fact that William's clothes had also -disappeared. - -William's jaw dropped. - -"_Stole_ 'em!" He ejaculated. - -Joan's eyes opened wide. The possibilities of the situation were -beginning to dawn on both of them. - -"_William_--how'll you get home?" - -William's expression was one of pure horror. - -"Mean ole _thing!_" he said. "Simply _stole_ 'em." - -"_William_--what'll your mother say?" - -They stared at each other in consternation, William clutched the -table-cloth tightly round his neck. - -At this moment a loud, angry voice came from the house. They fled -precipitately to the summer-house. Isolated phrases reached them. - -"Careless girl ... gossiping in the grocer's shop ... _anyone_ might -have come in ... not even locked the back door.... Heaven knows----" - -Then they heard the violent slamming of the back-door. Both felt that -the time had come for the adventure to end. The desert island had lost -its charm. It must be after tea-time. The sun was already setting. In -normal circumstances, they would have crept quietly from the garden and -returned to their respective homes. But circumstances were not normal. -Between William's pants and vest and the world at large was--not his -usual long-suffering cloth suit--but a trailing and in certain places -inadequate table-cloth. William's freckled face, with its expression of -indignant horror, in its frame of wild, carrotty hair, had a curious, -unexpected appearance at the top of the long white robe. - -"Oh, let's go home," said Joan, with a suspicion of tears in her voice. - -William looked at her desperately. - -"I can't go home like _this_," he said, hoarse with emotion. "I can't -go through the village wearin' a table-cloth. Everybody'd be laughing -at me. No one's ever done it before--not walked through the village in -a table-cloth--it'd make me ridic'l'us for the rest of my life." - -He sat down, staring despondently in front of him. - -"Oh, William, what will you do?" - -"I'll stay here till midnight--till everyone else is in bed, an' I'll -go home then. You'd better be gettin' home now." - -"Oh, William--I couldn't, William. I'll go an' get you something from -our house. I'll get you some of Daddy's clothes. Oh, William!" - -William, deeply touched, could only stare at her and mutter gratefully. -"Thanks--thanks, he's bigger'n me, but they'll do--_anything'll_ do." - -He watched her anxiously through the dusty little window of the -summer-house as she crept to the hole in the hedge and disappeared. -Then he heaved a deep sigh, drew his covering around him, sat down on -the summer-house seat and waited. - -He was not left in peace for long. The voice which had first broken -in upon their desert island sounded again--this time nearer. It was -evidently walking round the garden with a sympathetic friend. - -"And that wicked girl went to the grocer's and stayed there the -_whole_ afternoon--it's that young man they've got now--it's always -the young men, my dear--that's the worst of girls--and she left the -house _entirely_ unguarded, my dear--didn't _even_ lock the door--and -I came back and--yes, my dear, _all_ the silver gone from the -dining-room--some thief had been in and--oh, yes, I've telephoned the -police--and good gracious, the wretch has even taken the table-cloth we -had hanging up in the back garden! Did you _ever_?" - -"Have you--have you looked in the summer-house? He may be hiding there." - -William grew hot and cold, and took up his position immediately behind -the door. - -"No, my dear and I'm not going to. I don't think it's fair to my -friends and relations--I'm not thinking of myself. But--suppose he were -there. He's sure to have a revolver. I'd make a fine target for his -revolver, silhouetted against the light." - -"Y-yes. But couldn't we get pokers and dash in and stun him before he's -time to move?" - -William, pressing himself and his table-cloth tightly into the corner -behind the door, was aware of a curious sinking feeling in his inside. -Some people, he decided, hadn't any hearts at all. - -"I don't think so--we might so easily kill him by mistake." - -"Well, then, at any rate we can lock the door and keep him there till -the police come." - -A cold perspiration broke out over William. - -"The lock won't work. Do you know, my dear, I'd rather go further away -just in case there _is_ anyone there. Suppose we go indoors?" - -The voices died away in the distance. The tenseness of William's form -relaxed. His fixed look of horror and apprehension faded. He ran his -fingers through his hair. - -"_Crumbs!_" he whispered. - -It seemed hours before the door opened and Joan staggered in with a -bundle. - -"Quick, William darling," she whispered. "Put them on, an' we'll go -home. No one saw me getting them. I'm 'fraid they'll be a bit big, but -we can turn things up." - -[Illustration: A WOMAN CAME OUT, SAW WILLIAM, AND GAVE A PIERCING -SCREAM OF MIRTH. TWO SMALL CHILDREN FOLLOWED AND JOINED IN THE SHRIEKS -OF MERRIMENT.] - -[Illustration: WILLIAM CERTAINLY LOOKED VERY QUEER. JOAN HADN'T -REALISED THAT THE SUIT WOULD BE _QUITE_ SO MUCH TOO BIG.] - -Her fear was justified. Mr. James Clive, her father, was six-foot-six -in height. On William, his coat nearly touched the ground. His -trousers, though rolled up bulkily at the ends till they could be -rolled up no more, considerably impeded William's progress. - -"Oh, William, they'll do," she whispered at last. "They are a bit big, -but they'll do." - -William, in Mr. Clive's clothes, would have made his fortune on a -music-hall stage. Strong men would have wept tears at the sight, but -Joan's loyalty was such that only affectionate concern was in the -glance she turned on him. William's face was set and determined. He -thought that the end of his troubles was in sight, as he rolled the -table-cloth into a ball and put it beneath his arm. - -"They--they may be able to track us if we leave it here," he whispered. -"'Sides, someone's stole my clothes an' I'm jolly well goin' to steal -someone's table-cloth." - -The curious couple walked down the road. Joan kept throwing little -anxious glances at her companion. He certainly looked very queer. She -hadn't realised that the suit would be _quite_ so much too big. So far -they had not passed a house. Now they were passing a roadside cottage. - -A man came out of the cottage and stared at William open-mouthed. Then -he leant against the wall, put his hands to his sides and emitted -guffaw on guffaw. William merely threw him a murderous glance and -proceeded on his way with as much dignity as his trousers allowed him. - -"Missus?" called the man, wiping his eyes. - -A woman came out, saw William, gave a piercing scream of mirth, and -leant helplessly against the wall with the man. Two small children -followed and joined in the shrieks of merriment that to William seemed -to fill the entire world. Joan put her hand to that part of the long -sleeve where she judged William's hand might be, and gave a sympathetic -squeeze. Yet even Joan's heart sank at the thought of the journey -through the village that lay before them. - -The next house they had to pass was the house where Joan lived. To her -consternation, Joan saw a figure in a black dress and white apron at -the gate. It was too late to turn to flee. - -"Well, I never, Miss Joan. Your mother says you're to come in at once. -She's in a terrible state over you--where _'ave_ you been?" - -"I _must_ go home with William," pleaded Joan. - -"That you must not," said the housemaid, taking her hand. "Your mother -said I was to find you and tell you to come in immediate. You've 'ad -no tea nor nothin'. As for you," she turned a devastatingly scornful -eye upon William, "dressin' up an' thinkin' you're so funny--well, you -won't get _me_ laughin' at you--you oughter be ashamed of yourself." - -With a contemptuous sniff she led away the reluctant Joan. William -continued his pilgrimage alone. He went slowly. He went slowly for -two reasons. One was that the thought of the journey down the village -street filled even William's heart with apprehension. - -The other was that his trousers were coming unrolled and his hands were -so far up the long sleeves of the coat that he could not extricate -them. He was glad that dusk was at last falling. He was aware that a -tall figure was approaching from the opposite direction. He shrank into -the shadow of the hedge, and hoped that it would pass without observing -him. It did not. It stood in front of him, barring his way, and slowly -adjusted a monocle. With a sinking heart, William looked up into the -face of Joan's father. - -"Excuse me, young man," said that gentleman, "but either you and I -patronise the same tailor and have had identical ideas this spring as -to style and material, or--or," his hand descended firmly and held the -back of William's neck, "_or_ you are wearing a suit of my clothes, in -which case I must ask you to come home with me and take them off." - -He began to impel William gently back towards his house. - -"If you'd jus' let me _explain_," said William, pathetically. - -"Explanations," said Mr. Clive, transferring his hold from William's -neck to the collar of his coat, "are tedious, unsatisfactory things. -Why trouble yourself with them? I merely ask of you, as one gentleman -of another, that you will return to me the garments that you seem to -have absentmindedly appropriated." - -Even William's spirits were crushed by the repeated blows of fate. He -did not speak again till he was face to face with his captor in the -library of Joan's house, but with Joan nowhere to be seen. He was pale -and stern. - -"But I've _nothin'_ else to wear," he said, "_nothin'_. You don' want -me to go all the way home in _nothin'_?" - -"What," said Mr. Clive, "were you wearing before you purloined my suit?" - -"I was wearin' a table-cloth, but----" - -"Then I suppose you can go on wearing a table-cloth." - -"But--but you don't want me to go through the village in a -_table-cloth?_" said William in frenzied despair. - -"You can go through the village in a table-napkin for all I care," -said Mr. Clive, heartlessly. "I paid twelve guineas for this suit only -last week, and I'm not going to have it mucked up any more. It'll take -about six years in a press to take these creases out, anyway. I don't -know what mischievous business you've been engaged in to-day, but I can -guess who got hold of this suit for you, and I'll have a few words with -Miss Joan on the subject this evening." - -William glared at him savagely. - -"Nothin' to do with Joan," he said. "I got it myself." He divested -himself of the suit, shook out his table-cloth and wrapped it round -him, scowling darkly. - -"Well," he said, slowly and bitterly, "if you don't mind me goin' -through the village in _this_----" - -"I don't mind at all," said Mr. Clive pleasantly, "not at all. Allow me -to see you to the door. Good-night, William." - -Ho closed the door and went to the library window. There he watched the -white-clad figure disappear down the drive. "That young man's progress -through the village," he said aloud, "ought to be worth watching." - -William set out once more on his adventurous journey. At the thought of -the village street his knees felt quite definitely unsteady. Never to -William had his home seemed so near and yet so unattainable. Suddenly -he thought of the path over the fields and through the churchyard. It -would bring him out a good way beyond his home, but it would avoid that -nightmare of the village street. - -William climbed over the stile and set off over the fields. It was -nearly dark anyway. He could see no one near.... He climbed the second -stile that led into the churchyard, and began to walk forward. Suddenly -a woman who had been standing with her back to him, reading one of the -gravestones, turned, stared at him with open mouth and eyes, gave a -scream that made the hair on William's head stand upright, and shot off -like an arrow from a bow, falling head over heels over the opposite -stile, picking herself up and running with deafening screams in the -direction of the village. William, feeling slightly shaken, sat down -behind a tombstone to recover. - -Several people passed, but William's nerve had gone. He dared not -emerge from his damp and gloomy refuge. At last he heard the sound -of many cheerful voices, as if seven or eight people were coming -together through the churchyard. His spirits rose. He would tell them -his plight. Seven or eight people all together would not be afraid of -him.... He rose from behind his tombstone and with eight wild yells -eight young women made for the horizon. All but one. She tripped over -a stone and crouched with her head on her hands where she fell. With a -thrill of joy William recognised his mother's housemaid. His troubles -were at an end. She would fetch him his overcoat. - -"Ellen,"--he began. - -"OO-_ow-ow-ow!_" yelled Ellen. - -With a shriek more piercing than he had yet heard, Ellen fled from -William's sight. - - * * * * * - -"I don't know where William is," said Mrs. Brown to her husband. "He -wasn't in to tea." - -"Don't worry yourself about him unduly," said her husband. "There was -a rumour rife in the village as I came from the station to the effect -that William had been seen walking in the direction of the village over -an hour ago wearing a suit of clothes of abnormal size." - -Mrs. Brown sat down suddenly. - -"Abnormal size? But he was wearing his ordinary suit at lunch." - -"I can't explain it," said her husband. "I merely repeat the rumour." - -"An hour ago--then why isn't he home?" - -"I can't say," said her husband callously, opening the evening paper. - -At this point an unearthly yell broke the silence of the house, and -Ellen rushed into the room, flinging herself beneath the table. - -"It's come after me," she screamed. "It's at the side-door--Oh lor! Oh -lor!--it's there, all white an' all. Oh, don't let it get me--I don't -want to die--I'll repent--I'll--Oh lor! Oh lor!" - -Mr. Brown laid down his paper with a sigh. - -"What is it?" he said wearily. - -"Oh lor! Oh lor!" sobbed Ellen, beneath the table. - -A figure appeared in the doorway--a wild figure, with a fierce, -indignant, aggrieved expression and hair that stood up round its face, -a figure that clutched a ragged table-cloth round it with certain -enraged dignity. - -"It--it--it's William," said Mrs. Brown. - - * * * * * - -"But they was _stole_ off me," said William wildly. - -"So I gathered from your account," said Mr. Brown, politely. - -"Well, is it fair to 'speck me to pay for things wot was stole off me?" - -"I have already remarked that if I observed in you any sudden growth -of such virtues as cleanliness, tidiness, obedience, silence, -modesty--er--and the rest, I might myself contribute a little towards -the waistcoat, say, or the collar and tie. We will now consider the -discussion closed." - -"It's ever so long past your bedtime, William," said Mrs. Brown. "Do go -to bed. I simply can't bear to see you wearing that dreadful thing any -longer." - -With a glance of sorrowful anger at his parents William drew his -table-cloth about him and prepared to depart. He felt injured, -infuriated, ill-treated, and weary. His self-esteem was cruelly hurt. -Screams of laughter came from the next room where his grown-up brother -and sister were relating his adventures to a friend. - -The telephone-bell rang. - -"William, someone wants to speak to you." - -He took the receiver unsmilingly. - -"William, Daddy said I could ring you up to say good-night to you. -I was so sorry I couldn't go home with you. William, I don't think -you looked a bit funny in those things--I think you looked _nice_ in -the tablecloth and it wasn't your fault--and you were awfully brave -about it--and wasn't it _fun_--the desert island part?--I _did_ enjoy -it--we'll play a game like that again soon, won't we?--Good-night, -William darling." - -"Good-night." - -William hung up the receiver and went upstairs to bed. He held his -untidy carrotty head erect. On his freckled face was a softened -expression--nearly as good as a smile--he wore his table-cloth with an -almost jaunty air. - -He was himself again. - - -THE END. - - - - - Transcriber's Notes: - - Italics are shown thus: _sloping_. - - Small capitals have been capitalised. - - Variations in spelling and hyphenation are retained. - - Punctuation has been retained as published. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WILLIAM AGAIN *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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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