William_the Dictator

by Richmal Crompton

  There was a hunted look on William’s face. He made another desperate attempt to postpone the denouement.

  “I’ll take you to it,” he said to Aunt Louie.

  Mrs. Brown looked surprised. Why ever couldn’t the child bring the tea-cloth here to Louie, instead of taking Louie to the tea-cloth? Still, she was a little glad of the respite. Her headache was threatening again, and Louie was just a trifle tiring.

  “Very well,” she murmured.

  Mystified, Aunt Louie followed William to the summer-house. He opened the door and stood aside. She peered about her still more mystified. Then her bewildered gaze fell upon a tortoise that was making a slow, experimental journey across the floor.

  “Whatever’s that?” she said.

  “A tortoise,” said William.

  “Yes, I know it’s a tortoise. I mean . . .”

  “It’s your present,” said William.

  "What?"

  “Your present,” repeated William stonily.

  “Your mother’s birthday present?”

  “Yes.”

  “To me?”

  “Yes.”

  For a moment Aunt Louie seemed too bewildered for words—then she rallied her forces.

  “How sweet of her!” she said faintly. “How very sweet of her!” She considered the question in silence for another few moments. “Do you know, I’ve never had a tortoise in my life before.”

  “She—she thought p’raps you hadn’t,” said William. “They’re jolly good pets.”

  “I’m sure they are. Er—what made your mother think of it?” she added wonderingly.

  William pretended not to hear this and led her back to the drawing-room.

  “How sweet of you, dear!” she said to Mrs. Brown. “Thank you so much.”

  Mrs. Brown had looked slightly surprised to see Aunt Louie come into the room empty-handed.

  “Has William given it you?”

  “Yes . . . I think it’s sweet.”

  “I thought it rather pretty, myself,” said Mrs. Brown. “So dainty.”

  “Er—yes,” agreed Aunt Louie doubtfully, thinking that dainty was not precisely the word she would have chosen herself.

  “You haven’t got it with you?” said Mrs. Brown.

  “No, I left it where it was. It seemed quite happy there. But, my dear, how would you have sent it out to South Africa if I hadn’t happened to come back like this?”

  “By parcel post,” said Mrs. Brown, looking mildly surprised.

  “Parcel post!” laughed Aunt Louie. “My dear, it would have got squashed.”

  “You could have ironed it out,” said Mrs. Brown.

  Aunt Louie laughed again, thinking that Mrs. Brown was joking. Mrs. Brown looked at her in increasing perplexity.

  “Do you know, I haven’t the faintest idea what to feed it on,” went on Aunt Louie.

  Mrs. Brown put her hand to her head. Was she mad, or was Louie?

  “What, exactly, have I given you for a birthday present?” she cried.

  “A tortoise,” answered Aunt Louie.

  “A—what?” screamed Mrs. Brown.

  “A tortoise,” answered Aunt Louie calmly.

  Mrs. Brown looked around and her gaze fell on William, who sat between them, staring in front of him with his glassy stare, his freckled face blank and expressionless. She knew she need look no further.

  “William!” she said sternly. “What’s the meaning of this?”

  William drew a deep breath. “Well, you see,” he began, “it was like this . . .”

  “What did you do with the ten and six I gave you?” put in Mrs. Brown hastily, knowing that if William were not tied down to hard facts he would go on talking for ever.

  “I spent it on presents for her,” said William. “I did, honest. I bought her that drum an’ pistol an’ things.”

  “That what?” said Mrs. Brown wildly.

  “Drum an’ pistol an’ things,” said William patiently.

  “But—but I told you to get a tea-cloth,” said Mrs. Brown.

  “I know, but I didn’t think she’d want a tea-cloth. I thought she’d want these things. You see, I’d got a sort of idea that South Africa was a wilder sort of place than what it axshully seems to be, an’ we thought these things’d come in useful, ’cause—”

  “But, William, that’s no excuse at all,” said Mrs. Brown. Her face was stern and angry and William realised resignedly that the process of retribution had begun.

  “It’s inexcusable. I shall tell your father the minute he—”

  Then fate provided yet another diversion, for Mrs. Monks re-entered the room.

  “I’ve just popped in from the Village Hall,” she said. “The Poor Kiddies have all had their prizes, and yours,”—she beamed at William,—“were quite the most popular. There was one that none of them wanted at all, and, really, I don’t wonder. It’s such a very clumsy, badly-made thing, and I’m really surprised at anyone sending it, but I thought that our little badge-holder had a right to anything left over, so I’ve brought it along just in case. It might do for you to give to some young relative or . . .”

  She burrowed in her bag and brought out a roughly-carved, wooden giraffe, with spots and eyes of poker-work. She put it in William’s hand. “Do what you like with it, dear boy. I believe it came from South Africa, but it’s really very badly made. Our dear, English workmen do far better work. I’m sorry there’s not something better left over, but I’m sure that you really don’t want any reward for your good deed. And now I must run back to the Poor Kiddies. They’re just going to play Nuts in May.” She threw another anxious glance at the badge. “I think you’d better bring it round to the Vicarage for another stitch in the morning, dear. It looks a little insecure. Forgive me rushing in and out like this, Mrs. Brown. I haven’t another second. Goodbye.”

  Aunt Louie was staring at the uncouth wooden creature with the eyes of a drowning man who sees a rope flung to him.

  “It’s one of them,” she burst out, as soon as the door was closed on Mrs. Monks. “It’s what she asked me to bring from Africa. Oh, William, do let me have it. It’s worth untold gold to me.”

  William handed it to her.

  “I don’t want it,” he said.

  She took it and clasped it to her breast.

  “Oh, thank you, William,” she said. “I can never thank you enough.” She turned to Mrs. Brown. “Let it be my birthday present,” she said. “I’d rather have it than a hundred million tea-cloths. And don’t be cross with William,” she pleaded. “He’s saved my life. Promise you won’t.”

  Mrs. Brown sighed.

  “All right,” she said, “but he’s really very naughty.”

  “He’s not,” said Aunt Louie. “If he’d bought the tea-cloth, I’d be completely done for.”

  “Very well,” said Mrs. Brown. Her headache had come on again, and she didn’t really care about anything but getting back to bed.

  “And I must fly, now,” said Aunt Louie. She waved the giraffe exultantly.

  “I can never thank you enough, William, dear.”

  She departed in her car, still waving the wooden giraffe out of the window.

  “It was really very naughty of you, William,” said Mrs. Brown feebly, “but in the circumstances . . .”

  She went upstairs, took two aspirins, and retired to bed again.

  William carefully unpinned his badge, carried it across the room at arm’s length, as though it were some noxious insect, and dropped it into the fire. Then he drew a deep breath. Well, he thought, after all that fuss about nothing, he could at last go and collect the other Outlaws and start damming the stream. He’d taken a lot of trouble choosing a nice present for Aunt Louie, and he hadn’t got anything out of it.

  Then he brightened as he suddenly remembered something. He’d got the tortoise . . .

  Chapter 8 – William and the Dentist

  “I’ve made an appointment for you with the dentist this afternoon, William,” said Mr
s. Brown, “and Ethel’s very kindly going to take you there.”

  William gazed at her in stricken silence for a moment, then: "Me?” he said faintly. “The dentist? I’ve not got toothache nor nothin’.”

  Mrs. Brown sighed. They had the same argument every time.

  “No, dear, but it’s most important to have your teeth examined twice a year. You always do, you know. It’s over six months since you went last time.”

  William shuddered at the memory.

  “Yes,” he said, “an’ there was nothin’ wrong with my teeth then. I’d not got toothache nor nothin’, an’ he nearly torchered me to death. I can still feel it if I think about it long enough.”

  “Then there must have been something wrong, dear.”

  “No, there wasn’t,” persisted William hotly. “That’s jus’ the point. If I’d gotter go to him ’cause I’d got toothache, there’d be some sense in it. I’d put up with bein’ torchered then. But my teeth are abs’lutely all right. Well, look at ’em.” He bared his gums ferociously. “An’ yet I’ve gotter go an’ be torchered same as people in history, jus’ for nothin’.”

  “Don’t be silly, William,” said Mrs. Brown. “There must have been something wrong or he wouldn’t have done anything.”

  “Wouldn’t he?” said William darkly. “They’re my teeth, aren’t they? Not his. I know all right when there’s anythin’ wrong with ’em. An’ there never is anythin’ wrong with them. He’s one of those people what ought to be in prison for torcherin’ people. This Prevention of Cruelty to Children thing goes on messin’ about with bazaars an’ such like, an’ lets dentists torcher children without even tryin’ to stop ’em. I wrote to ’em after the last time, but they never answered.” Seeing that his mother remained unmoved by this aspect of the case, he hastily switched over to another. “It’s really my teeth I’m thinkin’ of,” he said, “I don’t mind a bit of pain, but if he goes on, time after time, messin’ ’em about an’ diggin’ at ’em when they’re quite all right, I won’t have any left by the time I’m grown up, an’ then I’ll have to starve to death. It’s not good for ’em to keep disturbin’ the roots. They’re same as plants that way. They die off if you keep on an’ on at ’em, disturbin’ the roots. Mine are all right if they’re left alone. Some teeth are all right if they’re left alone, an’ mine are that kind. Well, look at pots an’—an’ milk jugs an’ things like that. You don’t take them to be mended before they’re broke, do you? It’s same as takin’ boots and shoes to be mended before they’re wore out. Just a waste of money. I want to keep my teeth. I don’t want their roots disturbed on an’ on an’ on, till they’ve all died off an’ I can’t eat nor talk nor anythin’ . . .”

  But it was obvious that his mother was no longer listening to him. She had gone to her desk and was adding up tradesmen’s books. She had had, perforce, to acquire the art of shutting William’s voice out of her consciousness, just as some people have to acquire the art of ignoring the wireless. Otherwise she would never have got anything done. She finished the books and went into the kitchen to speak to Cook. William followed her.

  “Wild animals don’t go to dentists,” he said.

  “What, dear?” said Mrs. Brown, breaking off the conversation with Cook. “No, of course, wild animals don’t go to dentists. Don’t say such silly things.”

  “I jolly well wish I was one. Anyway, my teeth are jus’ as good as a wild animal’s, so why should I have ’em ruined by dentists if wild animals don’t?” Another thought occurred to him. “I jolly well wish they did have to go to dentists. I’d like him to have to do a lion’s teeth. I bet it wouldn’t put up with it same as I have to. I bet it’d start springin’ at him the minute he got his drill thing down, an’ I wouldn’t do anythin’ to help him, even if I was there.” He warmed to his theme. “I think that every dentist ought to have to do a wild animal’s teeth by lor, jus’ to punish them for torcherin’ people. I bet there wouldn’t be many of ’em left after that, an’ I jolly well wouldn’t be sorry. I don’t know why anyone ever started ’em at all. I bet that, when ordin’ry torcherin’ in the Tower an’ such like was stopped by lor, the torcherers set up as dentists, an’ I bet all those little pickaxes an’ things they use are what was left of the torcher instruments out of the torcher chambers.” Still talking, he followed his mother back to the dining-room. “First thing I’d do if I was made Prime Minister, would be to stop dentists by lor. People’s teeth’d be all right if it wasn’t for dentists messin’ ’em about an’ disturbin’ the roots an’ such like. I bet that, if once dentists were put a stop to by lor, there’d never be anythin’ wrong with people’s teeth ever again.”

  Mrs. Brown, who had taken her work-basket and sat down by the fire, looked at him as if surprised to find him still there.

  “Hadn’t you better go out, dear?" she suggested. “It’s such a nice morning."

  “Huh!" said William bitterly. “It’s a nice mornin’ for people what aren’t bein’ torchered to death."

  “Well, dear,” Mrs. Brown reminded him mildly, as she hunted for her favourite darning-needle, “you aren’t being tortured to death."

  “No, but you want me to be,” said William. “Your own son, an’ you’re sendin’ me off to the torcherers.”

  “He may find nothing to be done," said Mrs. Brown, as she broke off a length of darning wool and threaded her needle.

  “Him?” said William with biting sarcasm. “Him find nothin’ to be done? What’s he there for with all his little pickaxes and filings? Torcherers can always find somethin’ to be done.”

  “William, dear, do go out and play at something," said Mrs. Brown patiently. “I’m so tired of hearing you talk.”

  “An’ what about me?” demanded William. “If listenin’ to someone talkin’ about bein’ torchered was all I gotter do, I wouldn’t mind. It’s bein’ torchered I’m tired of.” He went into the hall and came back, struck by a sudden idea. “Savidges don’t have ’em," he said.

  “Have what, dear?” said Mrs. Brown, tearing her mind away from a consideration of the next day’s menus.

  “Dentists. An’ that proves that we needn’t have ’em really if savages don’t need ’em. Savages have a jolly sight better time than us all round. They—”

  “Now, William,” said Mrs. Brown, hastily interposing before he had fully embarked upon this well-worn theme, “why not try to forget all about it till this afternoon? Things are hardly ever as bad as you think they’re going to be.”

  William snorted again and went into the hall. There yet another thought struck him, and he returned to the dining-room.

  “Why can’t I have ’em all taken out an’ get some false ones?”

  “William, what an idea!” said Mrs. Brown aghast.

  “’S a very good idea,” said William earnestly. “Now jus’ listen. It’d save you all the expense of me goin’ to a dentist all the rest of my life. I bet false ones don’t cost much. They’d cost less than all the dentist’s bills till I’m grown up, anyway. I don’t mind havin’ cheap ones. I bet you can get cheap ones made out of the teeth of dead animals. I bet they sell ’em cheap at the Zoo, an’ places like that. I’d like to have wild animals’ teeth. A tiger’s or a leopard’s, or somethin’ like that. I’d rather have ’em than my own. An’ he’d have to take ’em out with gas so I wouldn’t feel it, an’ I’d be all right for the rest of my life. An’ it’d save you a lot of money.”

  “I never heard such nonsense, William,” said Mrs. Brown. “Do stop talking and go out. Your appointment’s at half-past two, you remember, and it’s very kind of Ethel to give up her afternoon to taking you.”

  William was silent a moment, then, assuming his blandest expression, said: “I don’t like to bother Ethel, Mother. S’pose I go alone, so’s to save her the trouble.”

  “No, William,” said Mrs. Brown firmly. “You know what happened the last time you went alone.”

  “Oh, that . . .” said William carelessly. “I’m a good b
it older than that, now.”

  But he withdrew rather hastily, in order to avoid having to continue that particular topic. About a year ago he had gone alone to the dentist’s, had tapped on the door so softly that he could hardly hear the sound himself, and immediately gone off to spend the afternoon with the Outlaws, reporting to his parents afterwards that he could get no answer to his knock.

  He set off now, gloomily, to join the Outlaws, deciding not to return home till tea-time, when it would be too late for his appointment.

  All the attempts of the Outlaws to cheer him were unsuccessful. He remained sunk in dejection.

  “Gotter choose between bein’ starved to death or torchered to death,” he said. “That’s a nice thing to happen in a country what’s supposed to be civilised.”

  When lunch-time came, he found the pangs of hunger irresistible, and decided to go home for lunch, but slip away again quietly afterwards. He found, however, that this was impossible. His mother, indeed, seemed to be expecting him to make some such attempt (a lack of faith in him that grieved him deeply), and took possession of him the moment he had finished his lunch, in order to perform on him the process of cleansing and tidying that, in his eyes, added insult to injury.

  “What does it matter what I look like?” he protested. “He’s goin’ to torcher me, not look at me. I don’t see why anyone’s gotter be clean to be torchered.”

  But Mrs. Brown brushed ruthlessly at his hair and made no answer.

  Even then he had not quite given up hope of escape.

  There might yet be an interlude during which he would be supposed to be waiting for Ethel, which might easily be put to good use, but, to his disgust, he found Ethel ready in the hall when he came downstairs with Mrs. Brown. She wore her elder-sister air of aloofness and disdain that always irritated William. He decided not to expose to her any weakness that might conceivably form a handle against him later.

  “I’ve been jolly well lookin’ forward to this afternoon,” he said breezily, as they set off. “I don’t mind goin’ to the dentist. I like goin’ to the dentist. I’m not frightened of a bit of pain.”