William in Trouble

by Richmal Crompton

  But William waved aside the objection.

  ‘We can easy get an’mals,’ he said. ‘Why you c’ hardly walk down the road without meeting an’mals. There’s an’mals simply all over the world.’

  ‘Yes, but they aren’t ours,’ said Henry, virtuously.

  ‘Anyway,’ said William, not pressing this point, ‘we’ve got an’mals, haven’t we? I’ve got Jumble an’ Whitey, an’ I c’ easy collect some insects an’ teach ’em tricks an’ – an’ there’s Ginger’s family’s cat, an’—’

  ‘An’ my aunt’s got a parrot,’ put in Douglas.

  ‘An’ there’s a pig in the field nex’ our garden,’ said Ginger eagerly. ‘I bet I dress it up an’ learn to ride it.’

  Quite suddenly the circus seemed to be approaching the realms of possibility.

  ‘An’ we’ll want a few clothes to dress up in,’ said William.

  To William no function was complete that did not include dressing up, preferably in a top hat and a long, trailing dressing-gown. This costume represented, in William’s eyes, any character from Moses to Napoleon.

  It was Douglas who raised the next point.

  ‘Where shall we have it, anyway?’ he said gloomily. ‘I guess this isn’t much of a place.’

  The old barn was certainly a ramshackle affair. The roof leaked; the floor was generally three or four inches deep in mud; the windows were broken and the walls consisted chiefly of ventilation. The place was dear to the Outlaws’ hearts, but they felt that as a show place it was hardly worthy of them. They felt that it might both figuratively and literally have a damping effect upon a circus.

  A gloomy silence fell after this remark.

  ‘Why not one of our gardens or tool sheds?’ suggested Henry brightly.

  This suggestion was treated with the contempt it deserved. Only Henry would have suggested arranging a circus on grown-up territory and practically under grown-up eyes.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said William with heavy sarcasm. ‘Oh, yes, let ’em all see us with Douglas’s aunt’s parrot an’ – an’ dressed up in their clothes. Oh, yes, they’ll like it, won’t they? They won’t come out an’ stop us, will they? Oh, no!’

  ‘All right,’ said Henry sulkily. ‘You s’gest somewhere then.’

  There was a silence. They looked at William. William’s position as leader seemed for a moment to tremble in the balance. But William was not their leader for nothing.

  ‘Why not Rose Mount School?’ he said. ‘It’ll be empty. It’s holidays.’

  Rose Mount School was a large girls’ school that had settled about a year ago in the vicinity of William’s home. The ordinary attitude of the Outlaws to this establishment was one of indifference bordering on contempt. William had not thought of it as the scene of his Celebration till he saw Ginger’s and Henry’s and Douglas’s eyes fixed expectantly upon him. Then in a flash of inspiration the idea had come. It was the Rose Mount School holidays. The place would be empty. There would be a caretaker of course. The caretaker might possibly be the fly in the ointment, but the caretaker would, after all, only lend to the situation that element of danger and excitement without which, to the Outlaws, life was so barren.

  The Outlaws looked at William with admiration in their eyes.

  Ginger voiced the general sentiment.

  ‘Crumbs!’ he said, ‘what fun. Yes, let’s.’

  Joan was to arrive on the Tuesday. The Outlaws decided to hold a few rehearsals beforehand in the old barn, and not to brave the caretaker of Rose Mount School till the day of the actual performance.

  The first few days were spent in collecting the artistes. The next-door pig refused to be bridled and sat upon by Ginger, and refused with such gusto that Ginger, limping slightly and sucking one finger, retired from the unequal contest remarking bitterly that if he’d known pigs could carry on like that he’d’ve jolly well left ’em alone. The parrot could not be procured for rehearsals, though Douglas assured them that he would bring it for the actual day.

  ‘Honest I will,’ he said earnestly, ‘’cause my aunt’s going away then. I know an’ I can jus’ borrow it an’ if her ole maid finds out she can – well, she can jus’ find out – an’ it talks; it says ‘Stop it’ an’ ‘Oh my hair!’ an’ things like that.’

  William announced that he was teaching Whitey a trick. Whitey was William’s white rat, and the ‘trick’ consisted in running up William’s coat to a biscuit balanced on his shoulder. William was inordinately proud of this.

  ‘’Straordinarily clever, isn’t it?’ he said, looking at his pet fondly.

  It was decided finally not to include William’s dog Jumble in the ‘circus.’ Jumble cherished a deep suspicion and dislike of all creatures that moved on four legs except himself and his kind, and it was felt that if Jumble figured in the circus, then Whitey and Rameses (Ginger’s family’s cat) would not figure in it – for more, that is, than a fleeting moment. Jumble, despite his mongrelhood, had a proud and warlike spirit.

  Henry felt that he was not contributing his due share to the ‘circus,’ but brightened considerably on remembering that his little sister had been presented with a new clockwork monkey only a week ago. It was a realistic monkey, and on being wound up walked across the room in a realistic manner. It was called Monk.

  He explained this to the other Outlaws.

  ‘It looks jus’ same as a real monkey doin’ tricks,’ he said eagerly. ‘She won’t guess it isn’t – not if we do it a good way off, anyway. It looks like a real monkey.’

  ‘She’ll see you windin’ it up,’ objected William.

  ‘No, she won’t. I’ll turn my back while I wind it up.’

  ‘She’ll hear the noise.’

  ‘No, she won’t – well, she’ll jus’ think it’s the monkey coughin’ if she does.’

  This seemed to satisfy them.

  ‘Well,’ said William summing up their resources, ‘there’ll be my rat an’ Ginger’s cat an’ Douglas’s aunt’s parrot an’ Henry’s sister’s monkey. That,’ he ended in a tone of satisfaction, ‘oughter be a jolly good show.’

  William was notoriously optimistic.

  It was decided that William should be ring-master. He made a whip that satisfied the deepest cravings of his soul by tying a long leather bootlace on to the end of a stick. He persisted that he could ‘crack’ it, though the others denied that the ‘crack’ was audible. It was only when they tired of standing in silence while William flourished his leather bootlace about in an endeavour to produce what they would admit to be an audible crack, that Ginger said: ‘All right, p’raps it does make a noise. P’raps we’re all deaf.’

  And William had to be content with that.

  As regards the costume of ring-master, William insisted on a top hat. His own father’s top hat was inaccessible. Mr Brown, whose top hat had been utilised by his son on more than one occasion and had suffered in the process, had learnt wisdom and now kept that article of adornment under lock and key. Ginger’s father, however, was of a less suspicious nature and Ginger thought that if he chose his time carefully he could easily ‘borrow’ (the word in the Outlaws’ vocabulary had a very wide application) his father’s top hat, and convey it to Rose Mount School under cover of darkness in time for the performance.

  Next William, as ring-master, insisted on some robe of office, preferably of an all-enveloping and flowing character. And here Douglas came to his help. Douglas thought that he could bring a dressing-gown of his mother’s which she only wore on special occasions, and, therefore, would not miss.

  The actual rehearsal in the barn was not an unqualified success, owing chiefly to the absence of most of the properties and some of the performers.

  Whitey was there, and at first performed very creditably. On being released from his box, he ran up to William’s shoulder and ate his biscuit in his very best style. That, however, was the end of his good behaviour. Having consumed his biscuit, he showed base ingratitude by making an unprovoked and unprincipled effort to esc
ape, and on being captured by Ginger, he bit his finger and then chewed a button off his coat.

  ‘Nice sorter rat,’ said Ginger bitterly as he sucked his finger, ‘more like a mowin’ machine.’

  ‘’S as good as your ole family’s cat,’ said William indignantly, as he placed his pet in its box, ‘an’ he didn’t mean to hurt you. It was only his fun.’

  ‘Fun!’ said Ginger, with a short, ironic laugh. ‘Fun! All right, ’f he starts bein’ funny with me again, I’ll start bein’ funny with him.’

  At this moment Rameses escaped from his basket, and unless Whitey had been transferred at once to his box, the worst (from Whitey’s point of view) would have happened. Rameses had not wished to come. Rameses did not wish to take part in the ‘circus,’ at all. He made a spring at the disappearing Whitey, missed him by a claw, flung himself at Henry and scratched his cheek, spat at William, hissed at Douglas, and after an exciting chase was finally cornered by Ginger and put back into his basket.

  ‘Well!’ said Ginger, mopping his brow with a grimy handkerchief, with which he then proceeded to bind up his scratches, ‘Talk about gratitude – I took no end of trouble finding a basket that’d fit him an’ then he carries on like this.’

  ‘Well, we’ve not done many tricks ’cept scratchin’ an’ bitin’ an’ such like,’ said William, summing up proceedings. ‘Not much to make a circus of so far’s I can see.’

  ‘Well, what about you?’ said Douglas with spirit, ‘what about those insecks you were goin’ to teach tricks to?’

  ‘I haven’t c’lected ’em yet,’ said William with dignity. ‘I – I,’ with a sudden flash of inspiration, ‘I don’t want ’em getting’ stale before the day.’

  They turned on to Henry next. ‘Where’s that walkin’ monkey you said you was goin’ to bring?’

  ‘Well,’ said Henry, ‘I’ve got to be jolly careful how I take her things. She makes enough fuss about it.’

  ‘Thought she couldn’t talk yet,’ said William.

  ‘No, but she can yell an’ scream an’ carry on somethin’ awful if I jus’ touch any of her things. It’s goin’ to be jolly awful when she can talk as well,’ he ended gloomily. ‘I’ll have to wait till she’s asleep the night before an’ get it an’ even then she’ll make enough fuss when she wakes up an’ finds it gone.’

  William looked round at the box containing Whitey and the basket containing the still scratching, spitting, swearing, but now invisible Rameses, and sighed. Then his unfailing optimism came to his aid.

  ‘Well, I daresay it’ll turn out all right on the day,’ he said.

  The Outlaws were walking stealthily down the road towards Rose Mount School. It was the evening before the day of the performance. Joan was expected to arrive in the morning and was to be escorted to Rose Mount School for the Celebration in the afternoon. Joan did not know this (the Outlaws did not shine as letter writers) but they trusted Joan to come at all costs when she was told that they expected her. Joan was like that.

  Douglas triumphantly carried the parrot, scolding angrily, in his cage beneath its baize cover.

  William carried his box of insects and Whitey in his box.

  Ginger, whose face and hands were by this time a maze of scratches, still carried with true British determination the still furious Rameses.

  Henry carried beneath his coat the clockwork monkey which he had taken from his little sister’s toy box after her departure to bed. As regards tomorrow he was hoping for the best. Perhaps she wouldn’t remember it. He might be able to replace it in her toy box before she thought of it. Not that he had much real hope. She had a notoriously awkward memory.

  Jumble followed jauntily behind. Jumble seemed to think that he was to take part in the show, though he had been sent home six or seven times. When Jumble was sent home he retired to the ditch till the Outlaws had proceeded some way and, he hoped, forgotten about him (Jumble was as great an optimist as his master), then he emerged from the ditch and followed again, keeping a discreet distance.

  He had smelt Whitey, and was anxious that the acquaintance should not end with the sense of smell.

  He had heard Rameses, and at the sound his heart had kindled with the lust of battle.

  He had seen Monk, and though Monk lacked smell and sound to stir his appetite, still the sight of Monk had intrigued him, and he meant at the earliest opportunity to investigate Monk further. Jumble quivered to the tip of his nondescript tail with expectation.

  Douglas carried his mother’s dressing-gown over his arm. It had proved more frilly than William thought compatible with his dignity, but it was better than nothing. Ginger carried his father’s top hat on his head.

  They entered the gate of Rose Mount School very cautiously and made their way under cover of the bushes towards the kitchen window. William peeped through the kitchen window while the others stood in the shadow and watched him. A very old woman was asleep in a chair by the fire. Fate had favoured the Outlaws. The caretaker and his wife had gone away for a short holiday, leaving the caretaker’s wife’s mother in charge. She was a very cheering sight as she sat there sleeping by the fire. She looked stout and well established and as though she would sleep for a long time yet. She looked, too, as though she’d be rather deaf when she did wake up. She looked a satisfactory sort of caretaker altogether.

  Immensely cheered by the sight of her the Outlaws walked round to the front of the house. Opening the drawing-room window with the help of Ginger’s penknife, they entered as silently as they could and began to dispose their circus performers about the room.

  Douglas’s aunt’s parrot called out, ‘Stop it!’ in a loud voice, and then uttered a harsh ironic laugh. Rameses was silent for the time being. He had either fallen asleep or was quietly planning some devilry. Whitey was audibly employed in trying to eat a way through his box. Jumble sat down on the hearth-rug and began to scratch himself. Henry thoughtlessly put Monk down in his immediate vicinity and Jumble stopped scratching himself, seized Monk by one ear, and sent him hurtling across the room into the glass door of a bookcase, then sat down wagging his tail. He looked upon himself obviously at that moment as a super-dog, a cave-dog, a hero, a conqueror. At this shock Monk’s works began to function with a little growling sound, and Jumble flung himself to the attack once more. William caught him just in time and Henry rescued Monk from the debris of the glass door of the bookcase.

  ‘Wish you’d keep your dog a bit quieter,’ said Henry with indignation.

  ‘Well, I like that,’ rejoined William with equal indignation. ‘You go sticking that thing down next to a brave dog like Jumble an’ expect him not to fight it. I bet some dogs would be frightened of it, too – an ugly-looking thing with a face like that. I bet some dogs would’ve jus’ ran off as fast as they could. I bet not many dogs would’ve gone for it like that. I bet Jumble’s about the bravest dog in the world. You all oughter be proud of knowin’ a dog like Jumble—’

  Jumble endorsed these sentiments by a short sharp bark.

  ‘Oh, stop it, stop it, stop it!’ said the parrot irascibly beneath his cover.

  ‘Well, hadn’t we better start doin’ somethin’?’ said Douglas mildly.

  ‘All right,’ said William, still holding Jumble. Jumble was watching with a gleaming eye the excrescence in Henry’s coat that represented the vanished Monk.

  ‘All right. ’Sno good having a rehearsal because prob’ly someone’d go makin’ a noise an’ wake her. An’ we don’ need a rehearsal. We’ve had a sort of rehearsal an’ it’s no use rehearsin’ an’ rehearsin’ an’ rehearsin’ an’ gettin’ everyone tired before we start. I votes we jus’ hide the things away somewhere so’s we can find ’em again for the circus tomorrow, ’cause if we take ’em all home again I bet we’ll lose ’em or someone’ll take ’em off us or somethin’ll happen. Seems to me it’s safer to leave ’em here now we’ve got ’em here. Hide ’em somewhere safe, you know, where she won’t find ’em.

  ‘I bet she’s woke up already
what with all the noise you’ve all been makin’,’ said Douglas severely.

  William opened the door very silently and listened. No sound came from the kitchen regions except a faint snore. The caretaker’s mother-in-law still slept.

  ‘’S all right!’ he hissed as he returned and closed the door.

  ‘Well, where shall we hide ’em?’ said Henry, looking round the drawing-room. ‘Doesn’t look to me as if there was much place to hide ’em – not where she wun’t find ’em – dustin’ an’ such like an’ she’ll chuck ’em away or else stick to ’em an’ then where’ll our circus be?’

  ‘Oh, my hair!’ chuckled the parrot derisively.

  ‘I’ve got an idea,’ said Douglas suddenly.

  They looked at him expectantly. Jumble had been put down upon the ground again, and, temporarily forgetting the elusive Monk, was occupied in tearing bits off the hearthrug and eating them.

  ‘I votes,’ said Douglas solemnly, ‘that we hide one thing in each room an’ then even s’pose she finds one she’s not likely to find ’em all.’

  The deep, almost Machiavelli-like cunning of this suggestion won the admiration of the Outlaws.

  ‘Jolly good,’ said William approvingly. ‘Yes, we’ll do that. Let’s start with this room. What’ll we hide here?’

  ‘Let’s hide your insects,’ said Ginger.

  They approached the box which William had inadvertently left open. It was empty.

  ‘They’ve hid themselves,’ said William, as though pleased at the sign of the intelligence from his exhibits. ‘’S ’all right. I can find ’em again tomorrow. Or, anyway, I can c’lect some more. What shall we hide next? I bet we won’t find it easy to hide that ole parrrot. It takes up such a lot of room. She’s sure to find it wherever we put it – specially if it keeps on talkin’ and carryin’ on the way it does.’

  ‘Well, you wanted a talkin’ one, didn’t you?’ said Douglas with spirit. ‘What’s the good of one that can’t talk for a circus? You wanted a talkin’ one an’ then you grumble ’cause it talks.’