William

by Richmal Crompton

  ‘I shall certainly tell your parents this time, William. I only let you off yesterday for your brother’s sake. I shall not let you off again.’

  William ran down the road without stopping to reply and went straight to the shed where he kept his aquarium, to put in his day’s bag and count the whole. He hadn’t got as many today as he thought he had. Only 20. He must have dropped some in his headlong flight. He’d still 60 to get. He must get those tomorrow. He must get those tomorrow. William had a bump of determination that would put most ordinary bumps of determination to shame. He’d decided to have 200 fishes in his aquarium, and it was going to take more than a woman with spectacles and a lot of hair to stop him. He felt quite confident of success. There was still Algernon. The resources of Algernon had surely not yet been exhausted . . .

  After lunch, during which William behaved with an exemplariness that aroused his mother’s deepest apprehensions, he went up to perform a drastic toilet in secret. His mother was lying down when he crept downstairs in that state of radiant cleanliness and neatness that served as his disguise. His mother would never have believed that William, alone and unaided, could have wrought such a transformation. Even his ears were clean. He wore his best suit. The tabs of his shining boots were tucked in. His knees were pink from scrubbing.

  He walked mincingly up to the front door of The Laburnums and rang the bell. He fixed the housemaid who opened the door with a stern and defiant stare.

  ‘Can I speak to Miss Murgatroyd, please?’ he said.

  The housemaid, who was a stranger to the village, treated him with more politeness than housemaids were in the habit of treating him, and merely said, ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘W-Algernon Brown,’ said William.

  ‘Walgernon, did you say?’ said the housemaid, surprised.

  ‘No,’ said William irritably, ‘Algernon.’

  He was shown into a drawing-room where Miss Murgatroyd received him affably.

  ‘It’s Algernon, isn’t it?’ she said.

  ‘Yes,’ said William, and added with quite convincing anxiety, ‘He didn’t come this mornin’, did he?’

  Miss Murgatroyd sighed.

  ‘I’m afraid he did, Algernon,’ she said.

  ‘I pled with him not to,’ said William sorrowfully. ‘I can’t stay with him to stop him comin’ ’cause – ’cause an uncle took me up to London. But before I went up I pled with him not to come. I told him all you said about trespassin’ an’ – an’—’

  ‘Meum and tuum?’ supplied Miss Murgatroyd.

  ‘Yes,’ said William vaguely. ‘An’ I asked him how’d he like people comin’ into his garden an’ stealin’ his apples and fishes. If he’d got a garden, I meant.’

  ‘And what did he say to that?’

  ‘He said,’ said William unblinkingly, ‘he wun’t mind at all. He said he’d like people to have a few of his apples an’ fishes if he’d got any.’ He simply couldn’t resist saying that.

  ‘But that’s very wrong, Algernon,’ said Miss Murgatroyd earnestly.

  William rolled up his eyes.

  ‘Yes. I told him so,’ he said.

  ‘Did he tell you that I was going to tell his parents?’

  William cleared his throat and with a superhuman effort deepened his expression of virtue till it bordered again on the imbecile.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘that’s why I came. I came to ask you not to tell them just this once an’ I’ll do what I can to stop him comin’ tomorrow. My – my mother’s got a bit of a headache an’ so I thought it might worry her hearin’ about William takin’ your apples an’ fishes, but if you’ll let him off this once more, I – I’ll try ’n’ stop him comin’ tomorrow. I’ll plead with him.’

  ‘But don’t you think,’ said Miss Murgatroyd earnestly, ‘that it would do William good to be punished?’

  ‘No,’ said William with considerable emphasis, ‘I don’t think so. I reelly don’t think so. I think it does him far more good to be pled with.’

  ‘Well, I can tell you,’ said Miss Murgatroyd with great severity, ‘if I’d got him here now I’d box his ears most soundly. Will you have a piece of cake, Algernon dear?’

  He signified that he would and she opened a corner cupboard, brought out a rich currant cake and cut him a generous slice. He ate it, making a violent effort to display that restraint and daintiness that he felt would have characterised the obnoxious Algernon. She watched him fondly.

  ‘You certainly are very like your twin,’ she said at last, but she spoke without any suspicion. ‘Which did you say has the longer nose?’

  William had forgotten, but he said ‘Me,’ with such an air of conviction that Miss Murgatroyd believed him and said, ‘Yes, I see that you have, now you mention it.’

  ‘So – so you won’t tell ’em about William?’ he said when he had finished.

  Miss Murgatroyd considered.

  ‘Well,’ she said at last, ‘just because your consideration for your parents touches me, Algernon, I won’t this once. But you may tell William from me that the very next time I find him trespassing and stealing on my property I’ll come straight and tell his father. Will you tell him that from me?’

  ‘DON’T YOU THINK,’ SAID MISS MURGATROYD, ‘THAT IT WOULD DO WILLIAM GOOD TO BE PUNISHED?’

  ‘NO!’ SAID WILLIAM, WITH CONSIDERABLE EMPHASIS.

  ‘Yes,’ said William anxiously, ‘I’ll tell him that from you.’

  He rose to take his leave. He felt that there was considerable danger in these interviews and that the sooner they were brought to an end the better.

  ‘And what place in London did your uncle take you to, Algernon?’ said Miss Murgatroyd.

  ‘The Tower,’ said William at random.

  ‘And did you like the beefeaters?’

  ‘It was the Tower I said we went to,’ said William, ‘not the Zoo.’

  Then he went home. His mother greeted him with pleased surprise.

  ‘So you’ve got ready to go to the garden party with me, dear,’ she said; ‘how very good of you.’

  William had forgotten that he was going out to a garden party with her, but he hastily assumed his virtuous expression (he was getting really quite adept at assuming his virtuous expression) and, seeing no escape, prepared to set off.

  The garden party was as dull as grown-up garden parties usually are, except that the hostess had a son about William’s age who took William to show him the shrubbery. William invented several interesting games to play in the shrubbery and they had quite an enjoyable time there, only emerging on receiving imperative messages from their mothers to come out of it at once. William rejoined his mother, but before she could voice her disapproval of his now dishevelled appearance her harassed frown changed to a smile of social greeting. Her hostess was bringing a newcomer to the neighbourhood to introduce to her. The newcomer was Miss Murgatroyd. She greeted Mrs Brown and then looked uncertainly at William. He wasn’t quite dirty enough to be William. On the other hand he wasn’t quite clean enough to be Algernon.

  ‘This is – er – ?’ she began.

  ‘William,’ said Mrs Brown.

  William met her gaze with an utterly expressionless countenance.

  ‘Your other little boy isn’t here, then?’ went on Miss Murgatroyd.

  ‘No,’ said Mrs Brown, rather surprised to hear the 17-year-old Robert referred to as a ‘little boy,’ but assuming that the phrase was meant to be facetious.

  ‘He and I are great friends,’ went on Miss Murgatroyd coyly; ‘give him my love, will you?’ She glanced coldly at William. ‘I’m sure you wish that this one would copy him in behaviour and tidiness.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mrs Brown with a sigh, ‘I do, indeed.’

  Then with a final stern and meaning glance at William, who met it with his blankest stare, she went on in the wake of her hostess to be introduced to someone else.

  Mrs Brown gazed after her in bewilderment.

  ‘How funny,’ she said. ‘Robert’s never
mentioned meeting her. I must ask him.’

  William had heaved a sigh of relief. It had seemed almost incredible that this meeting should have passed off without betraying his double life, but it had. He knew, however, that it could not be sustained much longer. Miss Murgatroyd would be certain to learn sooner or later of the non-existence of Algernon. The time was short. He must finish his aquarium tomorrow and then let events take their course. He’d only got sixty fishes to catch now.

  The next morning he tried to elude his enemy by arriving at an earlier hour than usual. He thought that he had been successful till he was setting off homewards. Then he saw his enemy watching him grimly from an upper window and he knew that all was over. Algernon would be of no avail now. In any case he was getting sick of Algernon. He felt that he’d rather let events take their course than submit himself again to the torturing and degrading process of cleansing and tidying that Algernon’s character demanded. And he’d got his fishes. He felt a glow of pride and triumph. He’d got his two hundred fishes. He didn’t want ever to go to her silly pond again. And he was sick of her apples. They didn’t taste half as nice as they’d tasted at first. He didn’t care if he never saw her apples again. Anyway, Ginger was coming home today. He was looking forward to showing Ginger his aquarium.

  ‘What are you going to do this afternoon, dear?’ said his mother at lunch.

  ‘I’m going to tea to Ginger’s,’ said William.

  ‘Well, you mustn’t go till I’ve seen you’re tidy,’ said Mrs Brown. ‘You look dreadful now. Whatever have you been doing this morning?’

  It was some time before she passed William’s appearance as fit for his visit to Ginger’s home. Though Ginger’s mother saw William daily in his normal state Mrs Brown had a pathetic trust that, if she sent him inordinately cleaned and tidied for all formal visits, Ginger’s mother would come to believe that he really was like that. He set off jauntily enough, but at the bend in the road collided with Miss Murgatroyd. He looked round for escape but saw none. So he assumed a blend of his virtuous and defiant expressions and awaited events.

  ‘William came again this morning, Algernon,’ said Miss Murgatroyd, ‘and I’m on my way now to speak to your parents about him. Nothing you say will make any difference to me. I have finally made up my mind. You must come with me, Algernon, and I will tell them how you have tried to spare their feelings.’

  So because there didn’t seem to be anything else to do, William went with her.

  Mrs Brown was in the drawing-room. She received William’s return so soon after setting out with something of bewilderment and the visit of this strange neighbour with even more surprise.

  ‘I’ve come,’ began Miss Murgatroyd without wasting time on preliminaries, ‘to complain of your son William.’ William assumed his blankest expression and avoided his mother’s eyes. ‘He has persistently and deliberately trespassed in my grounds, robbed my orchard and fished in my pond. This dear child of yours,’ she went on, laying her hand affectionately on William’s head, ‘has done all in his power to protect him and to spare your feelings.’ William, looking blanker still, studiously avoided his mother’s astounded gaze. ‘He begged me not to complain of him to you. He has tried to induce William to stop trespassing in my grounds. He has pleaded with him – pleaded, not pled, Algernon. You are fortunate indeed in having a dear little son like Algernon.’

  Mrs Brown’s amazement was turning to apprehension.

  ‘Er – just one minute,’ she said faintly. Then to her relief she saw her husband’s figure pass the window. ‘There’s my husband. I’ll go—’ she went hastily from the room to warn her husband that the visitor suffered from delusions and must presumably be humoured.

  William, left alone with the visitor, looked desperately about him. The window was the only possible means of escape.

  ‘I – I think I see William in the garden,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I’ll go an’—’

  He plunged through the window and disappeared.

  His first thought was to carry the aquarium with its two hundred inhabitants out of the reach of paternal vengeance. Ginger had come to meet him and was waiting at the front gate, so together they carried the precious pail to their stronghold, the old barn. Ginger’s excitement and admiration knew no bounds.

  ‘It’s the finest one I’ve ever seen,’ he said, and added wistfully, ‘I bet you had some fun getting it.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said William meaningly, ‘I had some fun all right,’ and added, ‘what sort ’f a holiday’ve you had?’

  ‘Rotten,’ said Ginger mournfully. ‘Everyone cross. Everyone. Didn’t come across a single person all the time that wasn’t cross.’

  At this point Douglas joined them. Douglas, too, had just returned from his holiday.

  His raptures over William’s aquarium were as ardent and genuine as Ginger’s. But after about ten minutes, he suddenly remembered something and said to William:

  ‘THIS DEAR CHILD,’ SAID MISS MURGATROYD, ‘HAS DONE ALL IN HIS POWER TO SPARE YOUR FEELINGS.’

  MRS BROWN BLINKED NERVOUSLY. THIS STRANGE NEIGHBOUR WAS, SHE THOUGHT, SOMEWHAT UNHINGED!

  ‘When I passed your house there was your father and mother and another woman all out in the road looking for you.’

  ‘Did they look mad?’ said William with interest.

  ‘Yes, they did, rather,’ said Douglas.

  ‘Well, it doesn’t matter much,’ said William resignedly, ‘I’ve got the fishes away all right, anyway. They can’t throw them away now. That’s the only thing that really matters. An’ I’ll give ’em time to get over it a bit before I go home.’

  ‘How did you get ’em all, William?’ said Ginger and Douglas as they hung spell-bound over the pail.

  William settled down comfortably by his beloved aquarium and chuckled.

  ‘I’ll tell you about it,’ he said.

  CHAPTER 4

  WILLIAM AND THE WAXWORK PRINCE

  It was William who first heard that a fair was to be held just outside the village, and arranged with the other Outlaws to visit it after school.

  ‘’S goin’ to be a jolly fine one,’ said William, proposing the plan. ‘There’s goin’ to be waxworks and all sorts of things.’

  The Outlaws’ spirits rose. Life had been somewhat monotonous of late, and the prospect of a fair enlivened it considerably. The Outlaws loved fairs. They loved to wander from stall to stall, sampling brandy snaps and lemonade and toffee and even whelks. They loved to have a shot at Aunt Sally and Houpla and to ride on the glaring, blaring roundabouts. They liked the big roundabout in the middle best because it made a noise that was little short of diabolical. But these were all more or less familiar joys. Waxworks were a new joy. The Outlaws had never seen waxworks before. The fairs that had visited the village previously had had fat women, and indiarubber men, and dwarfs and giants, and Pictures of Two Hundred Forms of Tortures (the Outlaws had much enjoyed that), and Siamese twins in plenty, but not one had had waxworks. The only drawback to this fair was that it was coming to the village for one night and that it was not the night of the weekly half-holiday at the school which the Outlaws (reluctantly) attended.

  ‘Any decent school,’ said William bitterly, ‘would give a half-holiday the day a fair’s coming.’

  ‘’Stead of which,’ said Ginger with gloom, ‘I bet someone keeps us in jus’ ’cause they know we want to go to it.’

  ‘Well, so long as it isn’t ole Markie—’ said Henry, and left the sentence unfinished.

  There was no need to finish it. Ole Markie was Mr Markson, the headmaster, and he never ‘kept in’ for less than an hour. His system of ‘keeping in’ was simplicity itself. He sent for the victim to his own form room after school, set him a page of Latin verbs to learn, and then left him and went home to tea. But he made sure that the victim did not go home, by instructing Cramps, the caretaker, to make frequent journeys from his basement lair to the class room to glance through the glass panel in the door and make sure that th
e victim was intent upon his page of Latin verbs till the hour was up. Markie had never been known to return to the victim himself. He sometimes sent for him to hear the Latin verbs in the morning, but more often he forgot.

  Hence Henry’s ‘So long as it isn’t ole Markie—’

  For Markie’s keepings in were always a full hour, and Cramps, the caretaker, was a very conscientious man.

  ‘Just our luck if it is,’ said Douglas. But none of them, of course, really thought that Fate would allow such a tragedy as that actually to happen. Their pessimism was merely in the nature ofa pose and they went on eagerly to discuss the coming fair.

  ‘We’ll go straight off the minute school’s over,’ said William. ‘We won’t go home to tea. We’ll get off soon as the bell rings. Bet you I’m out first. Then we’ll run to the fair ground an’ stay there till bed-time. Or p’raps jus’ a little after bed-time. I bet I’m first in to see the waxworks.’

  ‘There’s a woman with a beard,’ said Henry eagerly.

  ‘I’ve seen one of them,’ said William scornfully; ‘they jolly well aren’t worth a whole penny. But I bet waxworks’ll be worth a penny.’

  And all would have been well had it not been for the Hubert Laneites. The origin of the feud between William and his followers and Hubert Lane and his followers was lost in the mists of antiquity, but was none the less ardent on that account. There may have been no actual origin of the feud, even in the mists of antiquity, for Hubert Lane was fat and greedy and spiteful and cowardly, and William and his followers needed no excuse for their hostility to him. In open warfare the Outlaws were easily the better, but Hubert and his followers seldom risked open warfare. Together with his fatness and greediness and spitefulness and cowardice, Hubert had a good share of craftiness, and not infrequently this quality enabled him to score off the Outlaws.

  The Outlaws gathered that the Hubert Laneites, too, were intending to visit the fair, but that did not trouble the Outlaws. The precious moments of the fair evening could not be wasted on hostilities that might well be deferred to enliven duller hours.