CHAPTER IX
WILLIAM AND WHITE SATIN
"I'd simply love to have a page," murmured Miss Grant wistfully. "Awedding seems so--second-rate without a page."
Mrs. Brown, her aunt and hostess, looked across the tea-table at heryounger son, who was devouring iced cake with that disregard forconsequences which is the mark of youth.
"There's William," she said doubtfully. Then, "You've had quite enoughcake, William."
Miss Grant studied William's countenance, which at that moment expressedintense virtue persecuted beyond all bearing.
"_Enough!_" he repeated. "I've had hardly any yet. I was only jus'beginning to have some when you looked at me. It's a plain cake. Itwon't do me any harm. I wu'nt eat it if it'd do me any harm. Sugar's_good_ for you. Animals eat it to keep healthy. _Horses_ eat it an' itdon't do 'em any _harm_, an' poll parrots an' things eat it an' it don'tdo 'em any----"
"Oh, don't argue, William," said his mother wearily.
William's gift of eloquence was known and feared in his family circle.
Then Miss Grant brought out the result of her study of his countenance.
"He's got such a--_modern_ face!" she said. "There's somethingessentially mediaeval and romantic about the idea of a page."
Mrs. Brown (from whose house the wedding was to take place) lookedworried.
"There's nothing mediaeval or romantic about William," she said.
"Well,"--Miss Grant's intellectual face lit up--"what about his cousinDorita. They're about the same age, aren't they? Both eleven. Well, the_two_ of them in white satin with bunches of holly. Don't you think?Would you mind having her to stay for the ceremony?" (Miss Grant alwaysreferred to her wedding as "the ceremony.") "If you don't have his haircut for a bit, he mightn't look so bad?"
William had retired to the garden with his three bosom friends--Ginger,Henry, and Douglas--where he was playing his latest game ofmountaineering. A plank had been placed against the garden wall, and upthis scrambled the three, roped together and wearing feathers in theircaps. William was wearing an old golf cap of his mother's, and mentallypictured himself as an impressive and heroic figure. Before they reachedthe top they invariably lost their foothold, rolled down the plank andfell in a confused and bruised heap at the bottom. The bruises in no waydetracted from the charm of the game. To William the fascination of anygame consisted mainly in the danger to life and limb involved. The gamehad been suggested by an old alpenstock which had been thoughtlesslypresented to William by a friend of Mr. Brown's. The paint of thestaircase and upstairs corridor had been completely ruined before thefamily knew of the gift, and the alpenstock had been confiscated for aweek, then restored on the condition that it was not to be brought intothe house. The result was the game of mountaineering up the plank. Theycarried the alpenstock in turns, but William had two turns running tomark the fact that he was its proud possessor.
Mrs. Brown approached William on the subject of his prospective _role_of page with a certain apprehension. The normal attitude of William'sfamily towards William was one of apprehension.
"Would you like to go to Cousin Sybil's wedding?" she said.
"No, I wu'nt," said William without hesitation.
"Wouldn't you like to go dressed up?" she said.
"Red Injun?" said William with a gleam of hope.
"Er--no, not exactly."
"Pirate?"
"Not quite."
"I'd go as a Red Injun, or I'd go as a Pirate," he said firmly, "but Iwu'nt go as anything else."
"A page," said Miss Grant's clear, melodious voice, "is a mediaeval andromantic idea, William. There's the glamour of chivalry about it thatshould appeal strongly to a boy of your age."
William turned his inscrutable countenance upon her and gave her a coldglare.
They discussed his costume in private.
"WOULD YOU LIKE TO GO TO COUSIN SYBIL'S WEDDING?" SHEASKED. "NO, I WU'NT," SAID WILLIAM WITHOUT HESITATION.]
"I've got a pair of lovely white silk stockings," said his mother."They'd do for tights, and Ethel has got a satin petticoat that's justbeginning to go in one place. I should think we could make some sort ofcostume from that, don't you? We'll buy some more white satin and getsome patterns."
"No, I won't wear Ethel's ole clothes," said William smouldering. "Youall jus' want to make me look ridiclus. You don't care how ridiclus Ilook. I shall be ridiclus all the rest of my life goin' about in Ethel'sole clothes. I jus' won't do it. I jus' won't go to any ole weddin'. No,I _don't_ want to see Cousin Sybil married, an' I jus' _won't_ be madelook ridiclus in Ethel's ole clothes."
They reasoned and coaxed and threatened, but in vain. Finally Williamyielded to parental authority and went about his world with an air of amartyr doomed to the stake. Even the game of mountaineering had lost itscharm and the alpenstock lay neglected against the garden wall. Theattitude of his select circle of friends was not encouraging.
"Yah! _Page!_ Who's goin' to be a _page_? Oh, crumbs. A page all dressedup in white. _Dear_ little Willie. Won't he look swe-e-e-et?"
Life became very full. It was passed chiefly in the avenging of insults.William cherished a secret hope that the result of this would be toleave him disfigured for life and so unable to attend the wedding.However, except for a large lump on his forehead, he was none the worse.He eyed the lump thoughtfully in his looking-glass and decided that witha little encouragement it might render his public appearance in anaffair of romance an impossibility. But the pain which resulted from oneheroic effort at banging it against the wall caused him to abandon theplan.
Dorita arrived the next week, and with her her small brother, Michael,aged three. Dorita was slim and graceful, with a pale little oval faceand dark curling hair.
Miss Grant received her on the doorstep.
"Well, my little maid of honour?" she said in her flute-like tones."Welcome! We're going to be such friends--you and me and William--thebride" (she blushed and bridled becomingly) "and her little page and herlittle maid of honour. William's a boy, and he's just a _leetle_ bitthoughtless and doesn't realise the romance of it all. I'm sure youwill. I see it in your dear little face. We'll have some lovely talkstogether." Her eyes fell upon Michael and narrowed suddenly. "He'd looksweet, too, in white satin, wouldn't he?" turning to Mrs. Brown. "Hecould walk between them.... We could buy some more white satin...."
When they had gone the maid of honour turned dark, long-lashed, demureeyes upon William.
"Soft mug, that," she said in clear refined tones, nodding in thedirection of the door through which the tall figure of Miss Grant hadjust disappeared.
William was vaguely cheered by her attitude.
"Are you keen on this piffling wedding affair?" she went on carelessly,"'cause I jolly well tell you I'm not."
William felt that he had found a kindred spirit. He unbent so far as totake her to the stable and show her a field-mouse he had caught and waskeeping in a cardboard box.
"I'm teachin' it to dance," he confided, "an' it oughter fetch a jollylot of money when it can dance proper. Dancin' mice do, you know. Theyshow 'em on the stage, and people on the stage get pounds an' poundsevery night, so I bet mice do, too--at least the folks the mice belongto what dance on the stage. I'm teachin' it to dance by holdin' abiscuit over its head and movin' it about. It bit me twice yesterday."He proudly displayed his mutilated finger. "I only caught it yesterday.It oughter learn all right to-day," he added hopefully.
Her intense disappointment, when the only trace of the field-mouse thatcould be found was the cardboard box with a hole gnawed at one corner,drew William's heart to her still more.
He avoided Henry, Douglas and Ginger. Henry, Douglas and Ginger hadsworn to be at the church door to watch William descend from thecarriage in the glory of his white satin apparel, and William felt thatfriendship could not stand the strain.
He sat with Dorita on the cold and perilous perch of the garden wall anddiscussed Cousin Sybil and the wedding. Dorita's language delighted andfascinated Wil
liam.
"She's a soppy old luny," she would remark sweetly, shaking her darkcurls. "The soppiest old luny you'd see in any old place on _this_ oldearth, you betcher life! She's made of sop. I wouldn't be found dead ina ditch with her--wouldn't touch her with the butt-end of a bargepole.She's an assified cow, she is. Humph!"
"SHE'S A SOPPY OLD LUNY!" DORITA REMARKED SWEETLY.]
"Those children are a _leetle_ disappointing as regards character--to achild lover like myself," confided Miss Grant to her intellectual_fiance_. "I've tried to sound their depths, but there are no depths tosound. There is none of the mystery, the glamour, the 'clouds of glory'about them. They are so--so material."
The day of the ordeal drew nearer and nearer, and William's spirits sanklower and lower. His life seemed to stretch before him--youth, manhood,and old age--dreary and desolate, filled only with humiliation andshame. His prestige and reputation would be blasted for ever. He wouldno longer be William--the Red Indian, the pirate, the daredevil. Hewould simply be the Boy Who Went to a Wedding Dressed in White Satin.Evidently there would be a surging crowd of small boys at the churchdoor. Every boy for miles round who knew William even by sight hadvolunteered the information that he would be there. William was to ridewith Dorita and Michael in the bride's carriage. In imagination healready descended from the carriage and heard the chorus of jeers. Hischeeks grew hot at the thought. His life for years afterwards wouldconsist solely in the avenging of insults. He followed the figure of theblushing bride-to-be with a baleful glare. In his worst moments hecontemplated murder. The violence of his outburst when his mother mildlysuggested a wedding present to the bride from her page and maid ofhonour horrified her.
"I'm bein' made look ridiclus all the rest of my life," he ended. "I'mnot givin' her no present. I know what I'd _like_ to give her," he addeddarkly.
"Yes, and I _do_, too."
Mrs. Brown forebore to question further.
The day of the wedding dawned coldly bright and sunny. William'sexpressions of agony and complaints of various startling symptoms ofserious illnesses were ignored by his experienced family circle.
Michael was dressed first of the three in his minute white satin suitand sent down into the morning-room to play quietly. Then an unwillingWilliam was captured from the darkest recess of the stable and draggedpale and protesting to the slaughter.
"Yes, an' I'll _die_ pretty soon, prob'ly," he said pathetically, "andthen p'r'aps you'll be a bit sorry, an' I shan't care."
In Michael there survived two of the instincts of primitive man, theinstinct of foraging for food and that of concealing it from his enemieswhen found. Earlier in the day he had paid a visit to the kitchen andfound it empty. Upon the table lay a pound of butter and a large bag oforanges. These he had promptly confiscated and, with a fear ofinterruption born of experience, he had retired with them under thetable in the morning-room. Before he could begin his feast he had beencalled upstairs to be dressed for the ceremony. On his return(immaculate in white satin) he found to his joy that his treasure trovehad not been discovered. He began on the butter first. What he could noteat he smeared over his face and curly hair. Then he felt a suddencompunction and tried to remove all traces of the crime by rubbing hisface and hair violently with a woolly mat. Then he sat down on theChesterfield and began the oranges. They were very yellow and juicy andrather overripe. He crammed them into his mouth with both little fathands at once. He was well aware, even at his tender years, that life'ssweetest joys come soonest to an end. Orange juice mingled with woolfluff and butter on his small round face. It trickled down his cheeksand fell on to his white lace collar. His mouth and the region round itwere completely yellow. He had emptied the oranges out of the bag allaround him on the seat. He was sitting in a pool of juice. His suit wascovered with it, mingled with pips and skin, and still he ate on.
His first interruption was William and Dorita, who came slowlydownstairs holding hands in silent sympathy, two gleaming figures inwhite satin. They walked to the end of the room. They also had been sentto the morning-room with orders to "play quietly" until summoned.
"_Play?_" William had echoed coldly. "I don't feel much like _playing_."
They stared at Michael, openmouthed and speechless. Lumps of butter andbits of wool stuck in his curls and adhered to the upper portion of hisface. They had been washed away from the lower portion of it by orangejuice. His suit was almost covered with it. Behind he was saturated withit.
"_Crumbs!_" said William at last.
"_You'll_ catch it," remarked his sister.
Michael retreated hastily from the scene of his misdeeds.
"Mickyth good now," he lisped deprecatingly.
They looked at the seat he had left--a pool of crushed orange fragmentsand juice. Then they looked at each other.
"_He'll_ not be able to go," said Dorita slowly.
Again they looked at the empty orange-covered Chesterfield and againthey looked at each other.
"Heth kite good now," said Michael hopefully.
Then the maid of honour, aware that cold deliberation often kills themost glorious impulses, seized William's hand.
"Sit down. _Quick!_" she whispered sharply.
Without a word they sat down. They sat till they felt the cold moisturepenetrate to their skins. Then William heaved a deep sigh.
"_We_ can't go now," he said.
Through the open door they saw a little group coming--Miss Grant inshining white, followed by William's mother, arrayed in her brightestand best, and William's father, whose expression revealed a certainweariness mingled with a relief that the whole thing would soon be over.
"Here's the old sardine all togged up," whispered Dorita.
"William! Dorita! Michael!" they called.
Slowly William, Dorita and Michael obeyed the summons.
When Miss Grant's eyes fell upon the strange object that was Michael,she gave a loud scream.
"_Michael!_ Oh, the _dreadful_ child!"
She clasped the centre of the door and looked as though about to swoon.
Michael began to sob.
"_Poor_ Micky," he said through his tears. "He feelth tho thick."
They removed him hastily.
"Never mind, dear," said Mrs. Brown soothingly, "the other two looksweet."
But Mr. Brown had wandered further into the room and thus obtained asudden and startling view of the page and maid of honour from behind.
"What? Where?" he began explosively.
William and Dorita turned to him instinctively, thus providing Mrs.Brown and the bride with the spectacle that had so disturbed him.
The bride gave a second scream--shriller and wilder than the first.
"Oh, what have they done? Oh, the _wretched_ children! And just when Iwanted to feel _calm_. Just when all depends on my feeling _calm_. Justwhen----"
"We was walkin' round the room an' we sat down on the Chesterfield andthere was this stuff on it an' it came on our clothes," explainedWilliam stonily and monotonously and all in one breath.
"_Why_ did you sit down," said his mother.
"We was walkin' round an' we jus' felt tired and we sat down on theChesterfield and there was this stuff on it an' it came on----"
"Oh, _stop_! Didn't you _see_ it there?"
William considered.
"Well, we was jus' walking round the room," he said, "an' we jus' felttired and we sat----"
"_Stop_ saying that."
"Couldn't we make _cloaks_?" wailed the bride, "to hang down and coverthem all up behind. It wouldn't take long----"
Mr. Brown took out his watch.
"THERE WAS THIS STUFF ON THE CHESTERFIELD, AND IT CAME ONOUR CLOTHES," WILLIAM EXPLAINED STONILY ALL IN ONE BREATH.]
"The carriage has been waiting a quarter of an hour already," he saidfirmly. "We've no time to spare. Come along, my dear. We'll continue theinvestigation after the service. You can't go, of course, you must stayat home now," he ended, turning a stern eye upon William. There was anunconscious not
e of envy in his voice.
"And I did so _want_ to have a page," said Miss Grant plaintively as sheturned away.
Joy and hope returned to William with a bound. As the sound of wheelswas heard down the drive he turned head over heels several times on thelawn, then caught sight of his long-neglected alpenstock leaning againsta wall.
"Come on," he shouted joyfully. "I'll teach you a game I made up. It'smountaineerin'."
She watched him place a plank against the wall and begin his perilousascent.
"You're a mug," she said in her clear, sweet voice. "I know amountaineering game worth ten of that old thing."
And it says much for the character and moral force of the maid-of-honourthat William meekly put himself in the position of pupil.
It must be explained at this point that the domestics of the Brownhousehold were busy arranging refreshments in a marquee in the garden.The front hall was quite empty.
In about a quarter of an hour the game of mountaineering was in fullswing. On the lowest steps of the staircase reposed the mattress fromWilliam's father's and mother's bed, above it the mattress from MissGrant's bed, above that the mattress from William's bed, and on the top,the mattress from Dorita's bed. In all the bedrooms the bedclothes layin disarray on the floor. A few nails driven through the ends of themattresses into the stairs secured the stability of the "mountain."Still wearing their robes of ceremony, they scrambled up in stockingedfeet, every now and then losing foothold and rolling down to the pile ofpillows and bolsters (taken indiscriminately from all the beds) whichwas arranged at the foot of the staircase. Their mirth was riotous anduproarious. They used the alpenstock in turns. It was a great help. Theycould get a firm hold on the mattresses with the point of thealpenstock. William stood at the top of the mountain, hot and panting,his alpenstock in his hand, and paused for breath. He was well awarethat retribution was not far off--was in the neighbouring church, to bequite exact, and would return in a carriage within the next few minutes.He was aware that an explanation of the yellow stain was yet to bedemanded. He was aware that this was not a use to which the familymattresses could legitimately be put. But he cared for none of thesethings. In his mind's eye he only saw a crowd of small boys assembledoutside a church door with eager eyes fixed on a carriage from whichdescended--Miss Grant, Mrs. Brown, and Mr. Brown. His life stretchedbefore him bright and rose-coloured. A smile of triumph curved his lips.
"Yah! Who waited at a church for someone what never came? Yah!"
"I hope you didn't get a bad cold waitin' for me on Wednesday at thechurch door."
"Some folks is easy had. I bet you all believed I was coming onWednesday."
THEY USED THE ALPENSTOCK IN TURNS--IT WAS A GREAT HELP.]
Such sentences floated idly through his mind.
"I say, my turn for that stick with the spike."
William handed it to her in silence.
"I say," she repeated, "what do you think of this marriage business?"
"Dunno," said William laconically.
"If I'd got to marry," went on the maid of honour, "I'd as soon marry_you_ as anyone."
"I wu'nt mind," said the page gallantly. "But," he added hastily, "inornery clothes."
"Oh, yes," she lost her foothold and rolled down to the pile of pillows.From them came her voice muffled, but clear as ever. "You betcher life.In ornery clothes."
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