by Paul Merton
Moreover, as he pointed out to the Outlaws, the members of the Sunday School could be waylaid and induced to attend the show and they would probably be provided with money for collection. The more William thought over it, the more attractive became the idea of a Sunday afternoon in spite of superficial difficulties; therefore Sunday afternoon was finally chosen.
The day was fortunately a fine one, and William and the other Outlaws were at work early. William had asked his mother, with an expression of meekness and virtue that ought to have warned her of danger, if he might have ‘jus’ a few friends’ in his room for the afternoon. His mother, glad that her husband should be spared his son’s restless company, gave willing permission.
By half past two the exhibits were ready. In a cage by the window sat a white rat painted in faint alternate stripes of blue and pink. This was Douglas’s contribution, handpainted by himself in watercolours. It wore a bewildered expression and occasionally licked its stripes and then obviously wished it hadn’t. Its cage bore a notice printed on cardboard:
RAT FROM CHINA
RATS ARE ALL
LIKE THIS IN CHINA
Next came a cat belonging to William’s sister, Smuts by name, now imprisoned beneath a basket chair. At the best of times Smuts was short-tempered, and all its life had cherished a bitter hatred of William. Now, enclosed by its enemy in a prison two feet square, its fury knew no bounds. It tore at the basketwork, it flew wildly round and round, scratching, spitting, swearing. Its chair bore the simple and appropriate notice:
WILD CAT
William watched it with honest pride and prayed fervently that its indignation would not abate during the afternoon.
Next came a giant composed of Douglas upon Ginger’s back, draped in two sheets tied tightly round Douglas’s neck. This was labelled:
GENWIN GIANT
Ginger was already growing restive. His muffled voice was heard from the folds of the sheets informing the other Outlaws that it was a bit thick and he hadn’t known it would be like this or he wouldn’t have done it, and anyway he was going to change with Douglas half time or he’d chuck up the whole thing.
The next exhibit was a black fox fur of William’s mother’s, to which was fortunately attached a head and several feet, and which he had surreptitiously removed from her wardrobe. This had been tied up, stuffed with waste paper and wired by William till it was, in his eyes, remarkably lifelike. As the legs, even with the assistance of wire, refused to support the body and the head would only droop sadly to the ground, it was perforce exhibited in a recumbent attitude. It bore marks of sticky fingers, and of several side slips of the scissors when William was cutting the wire, but on the whole he was justly proud of it. It bore the striking but untruthful legend:
BEAR SHOT
BY OUTLAWS
IN RUSHER
Next came:
BLUE DOG
This was Henry’s fox terrier, generally known as Chips. For Chips the world was very black. Henry’s master mind had scorned his paintbox and his watercolours. Henry had ‘borrowed’ a blue bag and dabbed it liberally over Chips. Chips had, after the first wild frenzied struggle, offered no resistance. He now sat, a picture of black despair, turning every now and then a melancholy eye upon the still enraged Smuts. But for him cats and joy and life and fighting were no more. He was abject, shamed – a blue dog.
William himself, as showman, was an imposing figure. He was robed in a red dressing gown of his father’s that trailed on the ground behind him and over whose cords in front he stumbled ungracefully as he walked. He had cut a few strands from the fringe of a rug and glued them to his lips to represent moustaches. They fell in two straight lines over his mouth. On his head was a tinsel crown, once worn by his sister as Fairy Queen.
The show had been widely advertised and all the neighbouring children had been individually canvassed, but under strict orders of secrecy. The threats of what the Outlaws would do if their secret were disclosed had kept many a child awake at night.
William surveyed the room proudly.
‘Not a bad show for a penny, I should say. I guess there aren’t many like it, anyway. Do shut up talkin’, Ginger. It’ll spoil it all, if folks hear the giant talking out of his stomach. It’s Douglas that’s got to do the giant’s talking. Anyone could see that. I say, they’re comin’! Look! They’re comin’! Along the wall!’
There was a thin line of children climbing along the wall in single file on all fours. They ascended the scullery roof and approached the window. These were the first arrivals who had called on their way to Sunday School.
Henry took their pennies and William cleared his throat and began:
‘White rat from China, ladies an’ gentlemen, pink an’ blue striped. All rats is pink an’ blue striped in China. This is the only genwin China rat in England – brought over from China special las’ week jus’ for the show. It lives on China bread an’ butter brought over special, too.’
‘Wash it!’ jeered an unbeliever. ‘Jus’ wash it an’ let’s see it then.’
‘Wash it?’ repeated the showman indignantly. ‘It’s gotter be washed. It’s washed every morning an’ night same as you or me. China rats have gotter be washed or they’d die right off. Washin’ ’em don’t make no difference to their stripes. Anyone knows that that knows anything about China rats, I guess.’
He laughed scornfully and turned to Smuts. Smuts had grown used to the basket chair and was settling down for a nap. William crouched down on all fours, ran his fingers along the basketwork, and, putting his face close to it, gave vent to a malicious howl. Smuts sprang at him, scratching and spitting.
‘Wild cat,’ said William triumphantly. ‘Look at it! Kill anyone if it got out! Spring at their throats, it would, an’ scratch their eyes out with its paws an’ bite their necks till its teeth met. If I jus’ moved away that chair it would spring out at you.’ They moved hastily away from the chair. ‘And I bet some of you would be dead pretty quick. It could have anyone’s head right off with bitin’ and scratchin’. Right off – separate from their bodies!’
There was an awestricken silence.
Then:
‘Garn! It’s Smuts. It’s your sister’s cat!’
William laughed as though vastly amused by this idea.
‘Smuts!’ he said, giving a surreptitious kick to the chair that infuriated its occupant still more. ‘I guess there wouldn’t be many of us left in this house if Smuts was like this.’
They passed on to the giant.
‘A giant,’ said William, rearranging the tinsel crown, which was slightly too big for him. ‘Real giant. Look at it. As big as two of you put together. How d’you think he gets in at doors and things? Has to have everything made special. Look at him walk. Walk, Ginger.’
Ginger took two steps forward. Douglas clutched his shoulders and murmured anxiously, ‘By Jove!’
‘Go on,’ urged William scornfully, ‘that’s not walkin’.’
The goaded Ginger’s voice came from the giant’s middle regions.
‘If you go on talkin’ at me, I’ll drop him. I’m just about sick of it.’
‘All right,’ said William hastily.
‘Anyway it’s a giant,’ he went on to his audience. ‘A jolly fine giant.’
‘It’s got Douglas’s face,’ said one of his audience.
William was for a moment at a loss.
‘Well,’ he said at last, ‘giant’s got to have some sort of a face, hasn’t it? Can’t not have a face, can it?’
The Russian Bear, which had often been seen adorning the shoulders of William’s mother and was promptly recognised, was greeted with ribald jeers, but there was no doubt as to the success of the Blue Dog. Chips advanced deprecatingly, blue head drooping, and blue tail between blue legs, making abject apologies for his horrible condition. But Henry had done his work well. They stood around in rapt admiration.
‘Blue dog,’ said the showman, walking forward proudly and stumbling violently over
the cords of the dressing gown. ‘Blue dog,’ he repeated, recovering his balance and removing the tinsel crown from his nose to his brow. ‘You never saw a blue dog before, did you? No, and you aren’t likely to see one again, neither. It was made blue special for this show. It’s the only blue dog in the world. Folks’ll be comin’ from all over the world to see this blue dog – an’ thrown in in a penny show! If it was in the zoo you’d have to pay a shilling to see it, I bet. It’s – it’s jus’ luck for you it’s here. I guess the folks at the zoo wish they’d got it. Tain’t many shows have blue dogs. Brown an’ black an’ white – but not blue. Why, folks pay money jus’ to see shows of ornery dogs – so you’re jus’ lucky to see a blue dog an’ a dead bear from Russia an’ a giant, an’ a wild cat, an’ a China rat for jus’ one penny.’
After each speech William had to remove from his mouth the rug fringe which persisted in obeying the force of gravity rather than William’s idea of what a moustache should be.
‘It’s jus’ paint. Henry’s gate’s being painted blue,’ said one critic feebly, but on the whole the Outlaws had scored a distinct success in the blue dog.
Then, while they stood in silent admiration round the unhappy animal, came a sound from the next door, a gentle sound like the sighing of the wind through the trees. It rose and fell. It rose again and fell again. It increased in volume with each repetition, till at its height it sounded like a wild animal in pain.
‘What’s that?’ asked the audience breathlessly.
William was slightly uneasy. He was not sure whether this fresh development would add lustre or dishonour to his show.
‘Yes,’ he said darkly to gain time, ‘what is it? I guess you’d like to know what it is!’
‘Garn! It’s jus’ snorin’.’
‘Snorin’!’ repeated William. ‘It’s not ornery snorin’, that isn’t. Jus’ listen, that’s all! You couldn’t snore like that, I bet. Huh!’
They listened spellbound to the gentle sound, growing louder and louder till at its loudest it brought rapt smiles to their faces, then ceasing abruptly, then silence. Then again the gentle sound that grew and grew.
William asked Henry in a stage whisper if they oughtn’t to charge extra for listening to it. The audience hastily explained that they weren’t listening, they ‘jus’ couldn’t help hearin’.’
A second batch of sightseers had arrived and were paying their entrance pennies, but the first batch refused to move. William, emboldened by success, opened the door and they crept out to the landing and listened with ears pressed to the magic door.
Henry now did the honours of showman. William stood, majestic in his glorious apparel, deep in thought. Then to his face came the faint smile that inspiration brings to her votaries. He ordered the audience back into the showroom and shut the door. Then he took off his shoes and softly and with bated breath opened Aunt Emily’s door and peeped within. It was rather a close afternoon, and she lay on her bed on the top of her eiderdown. She had slipped off her dress skirt so as not to crush it, and she lay in her immense stature in a blouse and striped petticoat, while from her open mouth issued the fascinating sounds. In sleep Aunt Emily was not beautiful.
William thoughtfully propped up a cushion in the doorway and stood considering the situation.
In a few minutes the showroom was filled with a silent, expectant crowd. In a corner near the door was a new notice:
PLACE FOR TAKING
OFF SHOES AND TAKING
OTH OF SILENCE
William, after administering the oath of silence to a select party in his most impressive manner, led them shoeless and on tiptoe to the next room.
From Aunt Emily’s bed hung another notice:
FAT WILD WOMAN
TORKIN NATIF
LANGWIDGE
They stood in a hushed, delighted group around her bed. The sounds never ceased, never abated. William only allowed them two minutes in the room. They came out reluctantly, paid more money, joined the end of the queue and re-entered. More and more children came to see the show, but the show now consisted solely in Aunt Emily.
The China rat had licked off all its stripes; Smuts was fast asleep; Ginger was sitting down on the seat of a chair and Douglas was on the back of it, and Ginger had insisted at last on air and sight and had put his head out where the two sheets joined; the Russian Bear had fallen on to the floor and no one had picked it up; Chips lay in a disconsolate heap, a victim of acute melancholia – and no one cared for any of these things. Newcomers passed by them hurriedly and stood shoeless in the queue outside Aunt Emily’s room eagerly awaiting their turn. Those who came out simply went to the end again to wait another turn. Many returned home for more money, for Aunt Emily was 1d extra and each visit after the first, ½d. The Sunday School bell pealed forth its summons, but no one left the show. The vicar was depressed that evening. The attendance at Sunday School had been the worst on record. And still Aunt Emily slept and snored with a rapt, silent crowd around her. But William could never rest content. He possessed ambition that would have put many of his elders to shame. He cleared the room and reopened it after a few minutes, during which his clients waited in breathless suspense.
When they re-entered there was a fresh exhibit. William’s keen eye had been searching out each detail of the room. On the table by her bed now stood a glass containing teeth, that William had discovered on the washstand, and a switch of hair and a toothless comb, that William had discovered on the dressing-table. These all bore notices:
FAT WILD
WOMAN’S
TEETH
FAT WILD
WOMAN’S
HARE
FAT WILD
WOMAN’S
KOME
Were it not that the slightest noise meant instant expulsion from the show (some of their number had already suffered that bitter fate) there would have been no restraining the audience. As it was, they crept in, silent, expectant, thrilled to watch and listen for the blissful two minutes. And Aunt Emily never failed them. Still she slept and snored. They borrowed money recklessly from each other. The poor sold their dearest treasures to the rich, and still they came again and again. And still Aunt Emily slept and snored. It would be interesting to know how long this would have gone on, had she not, on the top note of a peal that was a pure delight to her audience, awakened with a start and glanced around her. At first she thought that the cluster of small boys around her was a dream, especially as they turned and fled precipitately at once. Then she sat up and her eyes fell upon the table by her bed, the notices, and finally upon the petrified horror-stricken showman. She sprang up and, seizing him by the shoulders, shook him till his teeth chattered, the tinsel crown fell down, encircling ears and nose, and one of his moustaches fell limply at his feet.
‘You wicked boy!’ she said as she shook him. ‘You wicked, wicked, wicked boy!’
He escaped from her grasp and fled to the showroom, where, in sheer self-defence, he moved a table and three chairs across the door. The room was empty except for Henry, the blue dog, and the still sleeping Smuts. All that was left of the giant was the crumpled sheets. Douglas had, with an awestricken ‘By Jove!’ snatched up his rat as he fled. The last of their clients was seen scrambling along the top of the garden wall on all fours with all possible speed.
Mechanically William straightened his crown.
‘She’s woke,’ he said. ‘She’s mad wild.’
He listened apprehensively for angry footsteps descending the stairs and his father’s dread summons, but none came. Aunt Emily could be heard moving about in her room, but that was all. A wild hope came to him that, given a little time, she might forget the incident.
‘Let’s count the money—’ said Henry at last.
They counted.
‘Four an’ six!’ screamed William. ‘Four an’ six! Jolly good, I should say! An’ it would only have been about two shillings without Aunt Emily, an’ I thought of her, didn’t I? I guess you can all be jolly grateful
to me.’
‘All right,’ said Henry unkindly. ‘I’m not envying you, am I? You’re welcome to it when she tells your father.’
And William’s proud spirits dropped.
Then came the opening of the fateful door and heavy steps descending the stairs.
William’s mother had returned from her weekly visit to her friend. She was placing her umbrella in the stand as Aunt Emily, hatted and coated and carrying a bag, descended. William’s father had just awakened from his peaceful Sunday afternoon slumber, and, hearing his wife, had come into the hall.
Aunt Emily fixed her eye upon him.
‘Will you be good enough to procure a conveyance?’ she said. ‘After the indignities to which I have been subjected in this house I refuse to remain in it a moment longer.’
Quivering with indignation she gave details of the indignities to which she had been subjected. William’s mother pleaded, apologised, coaxed. William’s father went quietly out to procure a conveyance. When he returned she was still talking in the hall.
