CHAPTER XI
WILLIAM AND THE SMUGGLER
William's family were going to the seaside for February. It was not anideal month for the seaside, but William's father's doctor had orderedhim a complete rest and change.
"We shall have to take William with us, you know," his wife had saidas they discussed plans.
"Good heavens!" groaned Mr. Brown. "I thought it was to be a _rest_cure."
"Yes, but you know what he is," his wife urged. "I daren't leave himwith anyone. Certainly not with Ethel. We shall have to take themboth. Ethel will help with him."
Ethel was William's grown-up sister.
"All right," agreed her husband finally. "You can take allresponsibility. I formally disown him from now till we get back. Idon't care _what_ trouble he lands you in. You know what he is and youdeliberately take him away with me on a rest cure!"
"It can't be helped dear," said his wife mildly.
William was thrilled by the news. It was several years since he hadbeen at the seaside.
"Will I be able to go swimmin'?"
"It _won't_ be too cold! Well, if I wrap up warm, will I be able to goswimmin'?"
"Can I catch fishes?"
"Are there lots of smugglers smugglin' there?"
"Well, I'm only _askin'_, you needn't get mad!"
One afternoon Mrs. Brown missed her best silver tray and searched thehouse high and low for it wildly, while dark suspicions of eachservant in turn arose in her usually unsuspicious breast.
It was finally discovered in the garden. William had dug a large holein one of the garden beds. Into the bottom of this he had fitted thetray and had lined the sides with bricks. He had then filled it withwater, and taking off his shoes and stockings stepped up and down hisnarrow pool. He was distinctly aggrieved by Mrs. Brown's reproaches.
"Well, I was practisin' paddlin', ready for goin' to the seaside. Ididn't _mean_ to rune your tray. You talk as if I _meant_ to rune yourtray. I was only practisin' paddlin'."
At last the day of departure arrived. William was instructed to puthis things ready on his bed, and his mother would then come and packfor him. He summoned her proudly over the balusters after about twentyminutes.
"I've got everythin' ready, Mother."
Mrs. Brown ascended to his room.
Upon his bed was a large pop-gun, a football, a dormouse in a cage, apunchball on a stand, a large box of "curios," and a buckskin whichwas his dearest possession and had been presented to him by an unclefrom South Africa.
Mrs. Brown sat down weakly on a chair.
"You can't possibly take any of these things," she said faintly butfirmly.
"Well, you _said_ put my things on the bed for you to pack an' I'veput them on the bed, an' now you say----"
"I meant clothes."
"Oh, _clothes_!" scornfully. "I never thought of _clothes_."
"Well, you can't take any of these things, anyway."
William hastily began to defend his collection of treasures.
"I _mus'_ have the pop-gun 'cause you never know. There may be piratesan' smugglers down there, an' you can _kill_ a man with a pop-gun ifyou get near enough and know the right place, an' I might need it. An'I _must_ have the football to play on the sands with, an' thepunchball to practise boxin' on, an' I _must_ have the dormouse,'cause--'cause to feed him, an' I _must_ have this box of things andthis skin to show to folks I meet down at the seaside, 'cause they'reint'restin'."
But Mrs. Brown was firm, and William reluctantly yielded.
In a moment of weakness, finding that his trunk was only three-quarterfilled by his things, she slipped in his beloved buckskin, whileWilliam himself put the pop-gun inside when no one was looking.
They had been unable to obtain a furnished house, so had to be contentwith a boarding house. Mr. Brown was eloquent on the subject.
"If you're deliberately turning that child loose into a boarding-housefull, presumably, of quiet, inoffensive people, you deserve all youget. It's nothing to do with me. I'm going to have a rest cure. I'vedisowned him. He can do as he likes."
"It can't be helped, dear," said Mrs. Brown mildly.
Mr. Brown had engaged one of the huts on the beach chiefly forWilliam's use, and William proudly furnished its floor with thebuckskin.
"It was killed by my uncle," he announced to the small crowd ofchildren at the door who had watched with interest his painstakingmeasuring of the floor in order to place his treasure in the exactcentre. "He killed it dead--jus' like this."
William had never heard the story of the death of the buck, andtherefore had invented one in which he had gradually come to confusehimself with his uncle in the role of hero.
"It was walkin' about an' I--he--met it. I hadn't got no gun, and itsprung at me an' I caught hold of its neck with one hand an' I brokeoff its horns with the other, an' I knocked it over. An' it got up an'ran at me--him--again, an' I jus' tripped it up with my foot an' itfell over again, an' then I jus' give it one big hit with my fistright on its head, an' it killed it an' it died!"
There was an incredulous gasp.
Then there came a clear, high voice from behind the crowd.
"Little boy, you are not telling the truth."
William looked up into a thin, spectacled face.
"I wasn't tellin' it to you," he remarked, wholly unabashed.
A little girl with dark curls took up the cudgels quite needlessly inWilliam's defence.
"He's a very _brave_ boy to do all that," she said indignantly. "Sodon't you go _saying_ things to him."
"Well," said William, flattered but modest, "I didn't say I did it,did I? I said my uncle--well, partly my uncle."
Mr. Percival Jones looked down at him in righteous wrath.
"You're a very wicked little boy. I'll tell your father--er--I'll tellyour sister."
For Ethel was approaching in the distance and Mr. Percival Jones wasin no way loth to converse with her.
"YOU'RE A VERY WICKED LITTLE BOY!" SAID MR. PERCIVALJONES.]
Mr. Percival Jones was a thin, pale, aesthetic would-be poet who livedand thrived on the admiration of the elderly ladies of hisboarding-house, and had done so for the past ten years. Once he hadpublished a volume of poems at his own expense. He lived at the sameboarding-house as the Browns, and had seen Ethel in the distance tomeals. He had admired the red lights in her dark hair and the blueof her eyes, and had even gone so far as to wonder whether shepossessed the solid and enduring qualities which he would require ofone whom in his mind he referred to as his "future spouse."
He began to walk down the beach with her.
"I should like to speak to you--er--about your brother, Miss Brown,"he began, "if you can spare me the time, of course. I trust I do noter--intrude or presume. He is a charming little man but--er--Ifear--not veracious. May I accompany you a little on your way? Iam--er--much attracted to your--er--family. I--er--should like to knowyou all better. I am--er--deeply attached to your--er--little brother,but grieved to find that he does not--er--adhere to the truth in hisstatements. I--er----"
Miss Brown's blue eyes were dancing with merriment.
"Oh, don't you worry about William," she said. "He's _awful_. It'smuch best just to leave him alone. Isn't the sea gorgeous to-day?"
They walked along the sands.
Meanwhile William had invited his small defender into his hut.
"You can look round," he said graciously. "You've seen my skin whatI--he--killed, haven't you? This is my gun. You put a cork in thereand it comes out hard when you shoot it. It would kill anyone,"impressively, "if you did it near enough to them and at the rightplace. An' I've got a dormouse, an' a punchball, an' a box of things,an' a football, but they wouldn't let me bring them," bitterly.
"It's a _lovely_ skin," said the little girl. "What's your name?"
"William. What's yours?"
"Peggy."
"Well, let's be on a desert island, shall we? An' nothin' to eat noranything, shall we? Come on."
She
nodded eagerly.
"How _lovely_!"
They wandered out on to the promenade, and among a large crowd ofpassers-by bemoaned the lonely emptiness of the island and scanned thehorizon for a sail. In the far distance on the cliffs could be seenthe figures of Mr. Percival Jones and William's sister, walking slowlyaway from the town.
At last they turned towards the hut.
"We must find somethin' to eat," said William firmly. "We can't letourselves starve to death."
"Shrimps?" suggested Peggy cheerfully.
"We haven't got nets," said William. "We couldn't save them from thewreck."
"Periwinkles?"
"There aren't any on this island. I know! Seaweed! An' we'll cook it."
"Oh, how _lovely_!"
He gathered up a handful of seaweed and they entered the hut, leavinga white handkerchief tied on to the door to attract the attention ofany passing ship. The hut was provided with a gas ring and William,disregarding his family's express injunction, lit this and put on asaucepan filled with water and seaweed.
"We'll pretend it's a wood fire," he said. "We couldn't make a realwood fire out on the prom. They'd stop us. So we'll pretend this is.An' we'll pretend we saved a saucepan from the wreck."
After a few minutes he took off the pan and drew out a long greenstrand.
"You eat it first," he said politely.
The smell of it was not pleasant. Peggy drew back.
"Oh, no, you first!"
"No, you," said William nobly. "You look hungrier than me."
She bit off a piece, chewed it, shut her eyes and swallowed.
"Now you," she said with a shade of vindictiveness in her voice."You're not going to not have any."
William took a mouthful and shivered.
"I think it's gone bad," he said critically.
Peggy's rosy face had paled.
"I'm going home," she said suddenly.
"You can't go home on a desert island," said William severely.
"Well, I'm going to be rescued then," she said.
"I think I am, too," said William.
It was lunch time when William arrived at the boarding-house. Mr.Percival Jones had moved his place so as to be nearer Ethel. He wasnow convinced that she was possessed of every virtue his future"spouse" could need. He conversed brightly and incessantly during themeal. Mr. Brown grew restive.
"The man will drive me mad," he said afterwards. "Bleating away!What's he bleating about anyway? Can't you stop him bleating, Ethel?You seem to have influence. Bleat! Bleat! Bleat! Good Lord! And mehere for a _rest_ cure!"
At this point he was summoned to the telephone and returneddistraught.
"It's an unknown female," he said. "She says that a boy of the name ofWilliam from this boarding-house has made her little girl sick byforcing her to eat seaweed. She says it's brutal. Does anyone _know_I'm here for a rest cure? Where is the boy? Good heavens! Where is theboy?"
But William, like Peggy, had retired from the world for a space. Hereturned later on in the afternoon, looking pale and chastened. Hebore the reproaches of his family in stately silence.
Mr. Percival Jones was in great evidence in the drawing-room.
"And soon--er--soon the--er--Spring will be with us once more," he wassaying in his high-pitched voice as he leant back in his chair andjoined the tips of his fingers together. "The Spring--ah--the Spring!I have a--er--little effort I--er--composed on--er--the Coming ofSpring--I--er--will read to you some time if you will--ah--be kindenough to--er--criticise--ah--impartially."
"_Criticise_!" they chorused. "It will be above criticism. Oh, do readit to us, Mr. Jones."
"I will--er--this evening." His eyes wandered to the door, hoping andlonging for his beloved's entrance. But Ethel was with her father at amatinee at the Winter Gardens and he looked and longed in vain. Inspite of this, however, the springs of his eloquence did not run dry,and he held forth ceaselessly to his little circle of admirers.
"The simple--ah--pleasures of nature. How few of us--alas!--havethe--er--gift of appreciating them rightly. This--er--little seasidehamlet with its--er--sea, its--er--promenade, its--er--Winter Gardens!How beautiful it is! How few appreciate it rightly."
Here William entered and Mr. Percival Jones broke off abruptly. Hedisliked William.
"Ah! here comes our little friend. He looks pale. Remorse, my youngfriend? Ah, beware of untruthfulness. Beware of the beginnings of alife of lies and deception." He laid a hand on William's head and coldshivers ran down William's spine. "'Be good, sweet child, and let whowill be clever,' as the poet says." There was murder in William'sheart.
At that minute Ethel entered.
"No," she snapped. "I sat next a man who smelt of bad tobacco. I_hate_ men who smoke bad tobacco."
Mr. Jones assumed an expression of intense piety.
"I may boast," he said sanctimoniously, "that I have never thus soiledmy lips with drink or smoke ..."
There was an approving murmur from the occupants of the drawing-room.
William had met his father in the passage outside the drawing-room.Mr. Brown was wearing a hunted expression.
"Can I go into the drawing-room?" he said bitterly, "or is he bleatingaway in there?"
They listened. From the drawing-room came the sound of a high-pitchedvoice.
Mr. Brown groaned.
"Good Lord!" he moaned. "And I'm here for a _rest_ cure and he comesbleating into every room in the house. Is the smoking-room safe? Doeshe smoke?"
Mr. Percival Jones was feeling slightly troubled in his usuallypeaceful conscience. He could honestly say that he had never smoked.He could honestly say that he had never drank. But in his bedroomreposed two bottles of brandy, purchased at the advice of an aunt "incase of emergencies." In his bedroom also was a box of cigars that hehad bought for a cousin's birthday gift, but which his conscience hadfinally forbidden to present. He decided to consign these two emblemsof vice to the waves that very evening.
Meanwhile William had returned to the hut and was composing a tale ofsmugglers by the light of a candle. He was much intrigued by hissubject. He wrote fast in an illegible hand in great sloping lines,his brows frowning, his tongue protruding from his mouth as it alwaysdid in moments of mental strain.
His sympathies wavered between the smugglers and the representativesof law and order. His orthography was the despair of his teachers.
_"'Ho,' sez Dick Savage,"_ he wrote. _"Ho! Gadzooks! Rol in thebottles of beer up the beech. Fill your pockets with the baccy fromthe bote. Quick, now! Gadzooks! Methinks we are observed!" He glaredround in the darkness. In less time than wot it takes to rite this hewas srounded by pleese-men and stood, proud and defiant, in the lightof there electrick torches wot they had wiped quick as litening fromtheir busums._
_"'Surrender!' cried one, holding a gun at his brain and a drorn sordat his hart, 'Surrender or die!'_
_"'Never,' said Dick Savage, throwing back his head, proud anddefiant, 'Never. Do to me wot you will, you dirty dogs, I will neversurrender. Soner will I die.'_
_"One crule brute hit him a blo on the lips and he sprang back,snarling with rage. In less time than wot it takes to rite this he hadsprang at his torturer's throte and his teeth met in one mighty bite.His torturer dropped ded and lifless at his feet._
_"'Ho!' cried Dick Savage, throwing back his head, proud and defiantagain, 'So dies any of you wot insults my proud manhood. I will meetmy teeth in your throtes.'_
_"For a minit they stood trembling, then one, bolder than the rest,lept forward and tide Dick Savage's hands with rope behind his back.Another took from his pockets bottles of beer and tobacco in largequantities._
_"'Ho!' they cried exulting. 'Ho! Dick Savage the smugler caught atlast!'_
_"Dick Savage gave one proud and defiant laugh, and, bringing his tidehands over his hed he bit the rope with one mighty bite._
_"'Ho! ho!' he cried, throwing back his proud hed, 'Ho, ho! You dirtydogs!'_
_"Then, draining to the dregs a large
bottle of poison he hadconcealed in his busum he fell ded and lifless at there feet.'"_
* * * * *
There was a timid knock at the door and William, scowling impatiently,rose to open it.
"What d'you want?" he said curtly.
A little voice answered from the dusk.
"It's me--Peggy. I've come to see how you are, William. They don'tknow I've come. I was awful sick after that seaweed this morning,William."
William looked at her with a superior frown.
"Go away," he said, "I'm busy."
"What you doing?" she said, poking her little curly head into thedoorway.
"I'm writin' a tale."
She clasped her hands.
"Oh, how lovely! Oh, William, do read it to me. I'd _love_ it!"
Mollified, he opened the door and she took her seat on his buckskin onthe floor, and William sat by the candle, clearing his throat for aminute before he began. During the reading she never took her eyes offhim. At the end she drew a deep breath.
"Oh, William, it's beautiful. William, are there smugglers now?"
"Oh, yes. Millions," he said carelessly.
"_Here_?"
"Of course there are!"
She went to the door and looked out at the dusk.
"I'd love to see one. What do they smuggle, William?"
He came and joined her at the door, walking with a slight swagger asbecame a man of literary fame.
"Oh, beer an' cigars an' things. _Millions_ of them."
A furtive figure was passing the door, casting suspicious glances toleft and right. He held his coat tightly round him, clasping somethinginside it.
"I expect that's one," said William casually.
They watched the figure out of sight.
Suddenly William's eyes shone.
"Let's stalk him an' catch him," he said excitedly. "Come on. Let'stake some weapons." He seized his pop-gun from a corner. "You take--"he looked round the room--"You take the wastepaper basket to put overhis head an'--an' pin down his arms an' somethin' to tie him up!--Iknow--the skin I--he--shot in Africa. You can tie its paws in front ofhim. Come on! Let's catch him smugglin'."
He stepped out boldly into the dusk with his pop-gun, followed by theblindly obedient Peggy carrying the wastepaper basket in one hand andthe skin in the other.
Mr. Percival Jones was making quite a little ceremony of consigninghis brandy and cigars to the waves. He had composed "a little effort"upon it which began,
"O deeps, receive these objects vile, Which nevermore mine eyes shall soil."
He went down to the edge of the sea and, taking a bottle in each hand,held them out at arms' length, while he began in his high-pitchedvoice,
"O deeps, receive these----"
He stopped. A small boy stood beside him, holding out at him the pointof what in the semi-darkness Mr. Jones took to be a loaded rifle.William mistook his action in holding out the bottles.
"It's no good tryin' to drink it up," he said severely. "We've caughtyou smugglin'."
Mr. Percival Jones laughed nervously.
"My little man!" he said, "that's a very dangerous--er--thing for youto have! Suppose you hand it over to me, now, like a good littlechap."
William recognised his voice.
"WE'VE CAUGHT YOU SMUGGLING!" WILLIAM SAID SEVERELY.]
"Fancy you bein' a smuggler all the time!" he said with righteousindignation in his voice.
"Take away that--er--nasty gun, little boy," pleaded his captiveplaintively.
"You--ah--don't understand it. It--er--might go off."
William was not a boy to indulge in half measures. He meant to carrythe matter off with a high hand.
"I'll shoot you dead," he said dramatically, "if you don't do jus'what I tell you."
Mr. Percival Jones wiped the perspiration from his brow.
"Where did you get that rifle, little boy?" he asked in a voice hestrove to make playful. "Is it--ah--is it loaded? It's--ah--unwise,little boy. Most unwise. Er--give it to me to--er--take care of.It--er--might go off, you know."
William moved the muzzle of his weapon, and Mr. Percival Jonesshuddered from head to foot. William was a brave boy, but he hadexperienced a moment of cold terror when first he had approached hiscaptive. The first note of the quavering high-pitched voice had,however, reassured him. He instantly knew himself to be the betterman. His captive's obvious terror of his pop-gun almost persuaded himthat he held in his hand some formidable death-dealing instrument. Asa matter of fact Mr. Percival Jones was temperamentally an abjectcoward.
"You walk up to the seats," commanded William. "I've took you prisonerfor smugglin' an'--an'--jus' walk up to the seats."
Mr. Percival Jones obeyed with alacrity.
"Don't--er--_press_ anything, little boy," he pleaded as he went."It--ah--might go off by accident. You might do--ah--untold damage."
Peggy, armed with the wastepaper basket and the skin, followedopen-mouthed.
At the seat William paused.
"Peggy, you put the basket over his head an' pin his arms down--casehe struggles, an' tie the skin wot I shot round him, case hestruggles."
Peggy stood upon the seat and obeyed. Their victim made no protest. Heseemed to himself to be in some horrible dream. The only thing ofwhich he was conscious was the dimly descried weapon that William heldout at him in the darkness. He was hardly aware of the wastepaperbasket thrust over his head. He watched William anxiously through thebasket-work.
"Be careful," he murmured. "Be careful, boy!"
He hardly felt the skin which was fastened tightly round hisunresisting form by Peggy, the tail tied to one front paw.Unconsciously he still clasped a bottle of brandy in each arm.
Then came the irate summons of Peggy's nurse through the dusk.
"Oh, William," she said panting with excitement, "I don't want toleave you. Oh, William, he might _kill_ you!"
"You go on. I'm all right," he said with conscious valour. "He can'tdo nothin' 'cause I've got a gun an' I can shoot him dead,"--Mr.Percival Jones shuddered afresh,--"an' he's all tied up an' I've tookhim prisoner an' I'm goin' to take him home."
"Oh, William, you are brave!" she whispered in the darkness as sheflitted away to her nurse.
William blushed with pride and embarrassment.
Mr. Percival Jones was convinced that he had to deal with a youthfullunatic, armed with a dangerous weapon, and was anxious only to humourhim till the time of danger was over and he could be placed underproper restraint.
Unconscious of his peculiar appearance, he walked before his captor,casting propitiatory glances behind him.
"It's all right, little boy," he said soothingly, "quite all right.I'm--er--your friend. Don't--ah--get annoyed, little boy.Don't--ah--get annoyed. Won't you put your gun down, little man? Won'tyou let me carry it for you?"
William walked behind, still pointing his pop-gun.
"I've took you prisoner for smugglin'," he repeated doggedly. "I'mtakin' you home. You're my prisoner. I've took you."
They met no one on the road, though Mr. Percival Jones threw longingglances around, ready to appeal to any passer-by for rescue. He wasafraid to raise his voice in case it should rouse his youthful captorto murder. He saw with joy the gate of his boarding-house and hastenedup the walk and up the stairs. The drawing-room door was open. Therewas help and assistance, there was protection against this strangepersecution. He entered, followed closely by William. It was about thetime he had promised to read his "little effort" on the Coming ofSpring to his circle of admirers. A group of elderly ladies sat roundthe fire awaiting him. Ethel was writing. They turned as he enteredand a gasp of horror and incredulous dismay went up. It was that gaspthat called him to a realisation of the fact that he was wearing awastepaper basket over his head and shoulders, and that a mangy furrug was tied round his arms.
"Mr. _Jones_!" they gasped.
He gave a wrench to his shoulders and the rug fell to the floor,revealing a b
ottle of brandy clasped in either arm.
"Mr. _Jones_!" they repeated.
"I caught him smugglin'" said William proudly. "I caught him smugglin'beer by the sea an' he was drinking those two bottles he'd smuggledan' he had thousands an' _thousands_ of cigars all over him, an' Icaught him, an' he's a smuggler an' I brought him up here with my gun.He's a smuggler an' I took him prisoner."
Mr. Jones, red, and angry, his hair awry, glared through thewickerwork of his basket. He moistened his lips. "This is an outrage,"he spluttered.
Horrified elderly eyes stared at the incriminating bottles.
"He was drinkin' 'em by the sea," said William.
"Mr. _Jones_!" they chorused again.
He flung off his wastepaper basket and turned upon the proprietress ofthe establishment who stood by the door.
"I will not brook such treatment," he stammered in fury. "I leave yourroof to-night. I am outraged--humiliated. I--I disdain to explain.I--leave your roof to-night."
"Mr. _Jones_!" they said once more.
"I CAUGHT HIM SMUGGLING," WILLIAM EXPLAINED PROUDLY."HE HAD THOUSANDS AN' THOUSANDS OF CIGARS AND THAT BEER!"]
Mr. Jones, still clasping his bottles, withdrew, pausing to glare atWilliam on his way.
"You _wicked_ boy! You wicked little, _untruthful_ boy," he said.
William looked after him. "He's my prisoner an' they've let him go,"he said aggrievedly.
Ten minutes later he wandered into the smoking room. Mr. Brown satmiserably in a chair by a dying fire beneath a poor light.
"Is he still bleating there?" he said. "Is this still the only cornerwhere I can be sure of keeping my sanity? Is he reading his beastlypoetry upstairs? Is he----"
"He's goin'," said William moodily. "He's goin' before dinner. They'vesent for his cab. He's mad 'cause I said he was a smuggler. He was asmuggler 'cause I saw him doin' it, an' I took him prisoner an' he gotmad an' he's goin'. An' they're mad at me 'cause I took him prisoner.You'd think they'd be glad at me catchin' smugglers, but they're not,"bitterly. "An' Mother says she'll tell you an' you'll be mad tooan'----"
Mr. Brown raised his hand.
"One minute, my son," he said. "Your story is confused. Do Iunderstand that Mr. Jones is going and that you are the cause of hisdeparture?"
"Yes, 'cause he got mad 'cause I said he was a smuggler an' he was asmuggler an' they're mad at me now, an'----"
Mr. Brown laid a hand on his son's shoulder.
"There are moments, William," he said, "when I feel almostaffectionate towards you."
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