William at Christmas

by Richmal Crompton

  CHAPTER 10

  A PRESENT FROM WILLIAM

  ‘The part about Christmas I don’t like,’ said Ginger, ‘is having so many relations round. I never did care much for relations.’

  ‘Aunts are the worst,’ said William with a sigh. ‘Always making such a fuss about nothin’ at all, jus’ ’cause you make a quiet noise on a trumpet or somethin’ like that. We had one last year that said my mouth organ went right through her head. Stands to reason it couldn’t’ve done. I s’pose she’d got a solid head same as everyone else. Then a pea out of my catapult hit her once by mistake an’ she said it had given her a nervous breakdown. She was jolly awful. Thank goodness we aren’t having any this year. They asked the same aunt again an’ she said that if I was going to be at home she’d rather not come, thank you. An’ I jolly well feel the same way about her.’

  ‘We’re having one,’ said Ginger gloomily. ‘A sort of cousin.’

  ‘Cousins aren’t as bad as aunts,’ said William.

  ‘This one will be. She’s a sort of a second cousin, an’ she’s older than my mother. An’ she’s bringing a cat.’

  ‘I had one that brought a cat once,’ said William gloomily. ‘It was an awful cat. It got mad whenever you tried to teach it tricks. An’ she got mad whenever you looked at it. I tried to get it to make friends with Jumble jus’ out of kindness ’cause I wanted it to have a friend, an’ she told my mother I’d been setting my dog on it. Jumble had only jus’ bitt’n a bit of its fur off jus’ playin’ with it, an’ she set up such a fuss you’d have thought I’d murdered it. Aunts are jolly bad, anyway, but the ones that have cats are the worst.’

  ‘It’s goin’ to be a rotten Christmas for me,’ said Ginger. ‘I’ve not got any money to buy people Christmas presents with.’

  ‘Nor have I,’ said Henry.

  ‘Nor have I,’ said Douglas.

  ‘I’ve not had any money for so long,’ said William pathetically, ‘that I’ve almost forgotten what it feels like to have money.’

  ‘They say it’s the thought that matters, not the acshul present,’ said Ginger, ‘but I’ve noticed that they’re jolly sniffy when you give ’em the thought an’ not the acshul present.’

  ‘An’ they say that they’d rather you took a little trouble makin’ them things than jus’ buyin’ them, an’ when you do they start makin’ an awful fuss. I made a jolly nice plant pot for a Christmas present once out of an old hat of Ethel’s, only it turned out it wasn’t an old hat, an’ everyone was mad with me. Every time I’ve ever tried to make anything for anyone it’s only made them mad with me, so I’m jolly well not goin’ to do it any more. Funny how we never seem to have any money at Christmas! An’ no one ever gives us any for presents, only ties an’ books an’ pencil boxes an’ things like that.’

  ‘I’d like to be able to give my mother somethin’ nice,’ said Ginger wistfully.

  The others agreed. They all would have liked to be able to give their mothers something nice . . .

  ‘I bet mine would give me a bit of money for it if I asked her,’ said Douglas, ‘but it doesn’t seem right gettin’ the money from the person you want to buy the present for.’

  The others agreed. It certainly didn’t seem right.

  ‘Next year I’m jolly well goin’ to start savin’ up for presents weeks an’ weeks before Christmas.’

  The others agreed. They agreed every year . . .

  ‘It’s Guy Fawkes’ day that throws it all wrong,’ said Henry bitterly. ‘You use up all the money you’ve got an’ all the money you’re goin’ to have for weeks on fireworks, an’ then you’ve got to pay for all the windows an’ things that get broke by the fireworks, an’ by the time Christmas comes you’ve no money at all. I think that there ought to be a lor puttin’ Guy Fawkes’ day in the middle of summer, then it’d give you time to get over it an’ have a bit of money by Christmas.’

  They agreed. They agreed every year . . .

  ‘What about this sort of cousin that’s comin’ to you for Christmas?’ said William hopefully to Ginger. ‘P’raps she’ll give us a tip or somethin’.’

  ‘No, she won’t,’ said Ginger. ‘She hasn’t got any money. She’s poor. She’s a sort of housekeeper to someone. She went to keep house for an ole uncle what was supposed to be rich an’ then when he died it turned out that he hadn’t any money, an’ so she had to go out to work.’

  They considered the picture without enthusiasm.

  ‘Doesn’t sound as if she’d be much use,’ said William finally. ‘We shall jus’ have to think of some way.’

  Ginger’s mother’s second cousin arrived that evening, and Ginger met the Outlaws after supper to report.

  ‘I s’pose she’s awful,’ they said morosely.

  ‘N-no,’ said Ginger, ‘she’s not bad. Come round an’ have a look at her tomorrow.’

  They arrived the next day to inspect her and found her small and thin and grey-haired and eager.

  ‘I’m so glad to meet Ginger’s friends,’ she said. ‘I’ve got some sweets for you all in my bag.’

  She was shy and deprecating and quite unlike any elderly female relative they had ever met. They liked her at once.

  ‘And I must show you my cat,’ she went on. ‘He belonged to my Uncle Josiah when I used to keep house for him, and when he died my uncle had him stuffed and left him to me in his will.’

  Their interest rose when they heard that the cat was not a real cat. William was interested in stuffed animals. He had once tried without much success to stuff a dead rat.

  She took them up to her bedroom and showed them a stuffed cat that sat on the chair by her bed. It was a large, sleek-looking animal, with glass eyes that seemed to hold a sinister gleam.

  ‘Poor puss!’ said Miss Carrol, putting her hand upon the sleek black head. ‘My uncle was bedridden and puss used to sit by his bedside, looking at him for hours. They seemed to be talking to each other, and my uncle would chuckle and puss always seemed to chuckle back. I didn’t really like poor puss, I’m afraid. There seemed to be something so uncanny about him. Pluto, my uncle called him. Such a heathenish name! Then he died, and my uncle had him stuffed and put on the chair by his bed, and no one else ever had to sit on that chair. He still used to chuckle at him, and puss still seemed to chuckle back. And he left puss to me in his will, and so I’ve had him ever since. I try to set as much store by him as uncle did, because I feel it’s all I can do for his memory. It seems silly to bring him away with me, but somehow, when I think how uncle couldn’t bear him out of his sight, I don’t feel it right to leave him alone at home for Christmas, poor puss, and I’ve got quite fond of him now, in a way.’

  ‘I’M SO GLAD TO MEET GINGER’S FRIENDS,’ SHE SAID.

  The stuffed cat fascinated the Outlaws. They liked to go up to Miss Carrol’s bedroom and look at it and hear stories about Miss Carrol’s Uncle Josiah. He seemed to have been a queer old man with a distorted, sardonic sense of humour. He loved to play unpleasant tricks on his niece – to set her looking for things in places where he knew they could not be found, to rouse her from her sleep by groans of simulated agony, to summon her up the steep narrow stairs time after time for no other purpose than to send her down again, to hide her thimble or needlework beneath his pillow and watch her hunting for them, to pull her hair or tweak her nose as she bent over him to straighten his pillow. He had not been a pleasant old man . . .

  ‘But, still,’ she excused him with her gentle smile, ‘it amused him, and it didn’t do me any harm. I was very sorry for him, and I’ve always tried to keep puss nice as he’d have liked him, with moth powder and a good brushing every day and so on.’

  The Outlaws took her round the village and showed her their favourite haunts. They had her to tea in the old barn, making the tea and toast themselves over a fire of sticks. Both tea and toast had a peculiar flavour, but Miss Carrol said they were delicious. They confided their ambitions to her – Ginger’s to be an engine-driver, Henry’s an acroba
t, Douglas’s a gangster, and William’s a world potentate. She confided her ambition to them – which was to own a small cottage in the country. They even found the ideal cottage for her – Honeysuckle Cottage, a little cottage covered with honeysuckle just outside the village, which happened to be To Let. In imagination they helped her to furnish and equip it.

  Attracted by her shy friendliness, they told her about the presents they would like to give their mothers but couldn’t afford to. With her help they chose a new travelling-clock for Ginger’s mother, a silk scarf for William’s, a cut-glass scent spray for Henry’s, and a new leather handbag for Douglas’s. They felt strangely comforted and exhilarated by the process.

  ‘Now I’m going to rest in my cottage till supper time,’ she said, ‘and you must go and hide your presents carefully away so that your mothers can’t find them.’

  They had never met any grown-up before who entered so perfectly into the spirit of the game.

  It was the next day that the idea occurred to William of introducing Jumble to Pluto.

  ‘I mean, jus’ hold him up an’ see what Jumble’ll make of him. I don’t mean let Jumble touch him or anything like that, but jus’ see if Jumble thinks he’s real. Let’s go an’ ask her if we can. I bet she’ll let us.’

  They went up to Miss Carrol’s bedroom, but Miss Carrol was not there. Pluto, however, was there, sitting on the chair by the bed and wearing his usual leer. After a slight hesitation they entered and stood round the chair, gazing at him.

  ‘I bet she wouldn’t mind us jus’ takin’ him down an’ holdin’ him up for Jumble to see,’ said William at last. ‘It can’t possibly do any harm. We won’t let Jumble touch him or anything like that.’

  The others agreed, and, slipping Pluto beneath his coat, William led the way down to the back garden, where Jumble awaited them. They stood in an expectant crowd, while William slowly drew Pluto from his hiding-place. Jumble cocked his head on one side and wagged his tail.

  ‘He likes it,’ said William. Very cautiously he lowered Pluto towards Jumble. Jumble stood up on his hind legs and smelled his new acquaintance with every evidence of friendliness, still wagging his tail.

  ‘He does like it,’ said William. ‘Let’s let him make friends with it properly. I bet she’d be jolly pleased to find that Jumble’d made friends with it. She likes Jumble.’

  He set Pluto upon the grass and stood back to watch the obvious friendliness of Jumble’s deepen into an abiding affection. Jumble approached, still wagging his tail ingratiatingly, then suddenly met the baleful stare of the sinister green eyes. It seemed to madden him. He sprang at the leering Pluto and seized him savagely by the neck. The Outlaws leapt to the rescue, but Jumble ran into the bushes with his victim, shaking and chewing him as he ran, ignoring William’s threats and entreaties.

  At last, realising that William was gaining on him, and feeling that the green insolent stare was now fully avenged, he dropped Pluto and ran off into the woods where he spent the rest of the day, for he knew by experience that William’s anger never lasted for more than a few hours.

  The Outlaws gathered round Pluto, examining him with increasing dismay. For Jumble had chewed and mauled the black neck till the head fell over limply on to one side and the green eyes seemed to gaze upward in helpless bewilderment. The Outlaws set to work at once, but all their efforts failed to restore the head to its old uprightness. They tried string and wire, even secotine and glue, but without success. The head continued to loll limply sideways, the once sleek and glossy fur of the neck was chewed and mauled, sticky with secotine, damp with William’s efforts to wash off traces of the crime. After an hour of hard work on the Outlaws’ part, even William, the optimist, had to admit that Pluto looked worse than when they had begun.

  ‘She’ll be mad,’ he said apprehensively.

  ‘In a way I hope she will be,’ said Ginger. ‘It’ll be worse if she’s not mad than if she is.’

  They broke the news to her very gently, standing before her in an abashed row and bringing out Pluto at the end of their recital from beneath William’s coat. She went pale with horror when she saw him.

  ‘Oh, dear!’ she said. ‘But, of course, it’s not your fault, dear children, so you mustn’t worry about it.’

  It was, as Ginger had said, worse than if she’d been mad.

  The incident seemed to bring the Outlaws face to face with the stern realities of life. They had spoilt Miss Carrol’s stuffed cat, her only and much prized possession, they had not any Christmas presents for their mothers, they had not any money to buy Christmas presents for their mothers. The travelling-clock, the silk scarf, the cut-glass scent spray, and leather handbag, existed only in their imaginations. Depression swept over them. They became irritable, accusing each other of being responsible for their state of insolvency and the tragedy of Pluto.

  ‘If you hadn’t spent all that five shilling your aunt gave you for your birthday . . .’

  ‘I like that. You spent as much of it as I did, anyway. What about that half-crown that man that came to tea with Ethel gave you?’

  ‘Well, din’ you all come to the fireworks I bought with that?’

  ‘Yes, an’ nearly got my brains blown out with you not knowin’ how to set ’em off.’

  ‘’Scuse me, I did know how to set ’em off. It was the one I made myself that went off a bit too hard. I’d put a bit too much gunpowder in. An’, anyway, you’ve not got any brains to be blown out, so you needn’t worry about that.’

  ‘Oh, I haven’t, haven’t I?’

  ‘No, you haven’t.’

  ‘Well, let me tell you I’ve got a jolly sight more brains than you have.’

  ‘Oh, you have, have you?’

  ‘Yes, I have. An’, anyway, whose dog was it went an’ chewed up her cat? Some people’s dogs don’t seem to have any sense.’

  ‘Oh, they don’t, don’t they?’

  ‘No, they don’t.’

  ‘Well, let me tell you Jumble’s a jolly fine dog. It was jolly brave of him.’

  ‘Oh, it was brave, was it?’

  ‘Yes, it was. He’d never seen a stuffed cat before, an’ it might’ve been a dangerous animal for all he knew. S’pose it’d been a lion jus’ goin’ to spring at you, an’ he’d gone for it like that an’ saved your life, I s’pose you’d have said he hadn’t any sense then. Huh!’

  ‘Well, it wasn’t a lion.’

  ‘I never said it was.’

  ‘Yes, you did.’

  ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘You did.’

  ‘I didn’t.’

  This conversation ran its course to the inevitable conclusion, and after the fight they all felt much more cheerful and separated for lunch on friendly terms. After lunch Ginger joined them in a state of obvious excitement.

  ‘I say!’ he said. ‘I’ve got a shilling. Someone was there to lunch an’ gave me a shilling. It’s a sort of start, anyway, isn’t it? Someone else might give us another shilling or something. Or, even if they don’t, it’s three-pence each. We can buy ’em somethin’ with three-pence.’

  William gazed at the shilling thoughtfully.

  ‘Seems to me,’ he said, ‘that we oughter get her a new stuffed cat ’fore we buy anythin’ else.’

  Their faces fell.

  ‘I bet they cost more’n a shilling,’ said Ginger, ‘an’, anyway; I don’t think you can buy ’em. I think you’ve got to get a dead ’un an’ have it stuffed.’

  ‘Well, I bet we can easy get a dead ’un,’ said Douglas. ‘We got one out of the pond last time we were fishin’ an’ I ’spect it’s still there.’

  ‘I don’t think she wants any ole stuffed cat,’ said Henry. ‘She likes Pluto ’cause her uncle had it an’ left it to her. I don’t think she’s jus’ fond of any ole stuffed cat.’

  William’s face shone suddenly with the light of a great idea.

  ‘I know,’ he said, ‘let’s stuff that ole Pluto for her again. I bet it’s quite easy. We’ll stuff it so
’s it’s head’ll stand up same as it used to. We’ll find out if there’s any special sort of stuff for stuffin’ cats, an’ if there is we’ll buy it with the shillin’. An’ p’raps we’ll have a bit left over for presents for our mothers.’

  They looked at him doubtfully.

  ‘I’ve gotter sort of idea,’ said Ginger slowly, ‘that it’s a jolly difficult thing stuffin’ animals. I don’t b’lieve that jus’ anyone can do it.’

  ‘Course it isn’t difficult,’ said William. ‘Stands to reason it isn’t. You jus’ stuff stuff into their skins till they’re full of it same as they were when they were alive.’

  ‘Well, what about that rat you tried to stuff once?’

  ‘Well, it wasn’t a good rat. It can’t have been a good rat even when it was alive. It wasn’t the right shape of a rat. This is diff’rent. Anyone can see it’s a good cat. We’ll jus’ unstitch it an’ stuff it, so’s its head stands up straight, an’ then stitch it up again an’ it’ll be a jolly nice surprise for her.’

  As usual William’s confidence was infectious, and the stuffing for Pluto became suddenly the simple process he described.

  ‘Right!’ said Ginger. ‘Let’s go’n’ ask her now.’

  ‘No, don’t let’s do that,’ said William. ‘It’d be much nicer for it to be a s’prise for her. She’d be jolly pleased comin’ in suddenly an’ finding him all stuffed fresh an’ his head standin’ up again like what it used to. It’d be much nicer to be a s’prise for her.’

  ‘All right,’ agreed Ginger. ‘She’s goin’ out to tea this afternoon. Let’s go’n’ do it while she’s out.’

  They hung about the garden waiting till Miss Carrol had gone out, then they crept silently up to her room. Under William’s arm was a bundle of old newspapers and some straw that he had found in a packing-case.

  ‘This ought to be all right,’ he said optimistically. ‘I bet straw an’ paper’s what they use.’