“You’d never guess what I saw in Oswald Frank’s garden this morning,” said Ethel as they sped along the road.
“What?” said Archie.
“The most ghastly hen-house I’ve ever seen. Simply made of matchwood. Run up anyhow. Too clumsy and cheap-looking for words. It’ll blow to pieces in the first gale. And the idiot had bought it from a man at the door. Can you imagine anyone being idiotic enough to buy a hen-house from a man at the door? After all I said yesterday about craftsmanship and workmanship—to go and buy a ready-made, ramshackle thing like that! And to buy it from a man at the door. Isn’t it idiotic!”
“Idiotic!” agreed Archie happily.
Turning the bend in the road they met William, Henry, Ginger and Douglas. They were eating ice creams and lolly-pops. Their pockets bulged with giant humbugs, acid drops, pear drops, mint fancies, almond delight . . .
The eyes of William and Archie met for a fleeting second. They exchanged the ghost of a wink.
Chapter 6 - William Does a Bob-a-Job
“We’re gettin’ on with it jolly well,” said William.
“Not too bad,” admitted Ginger, “’cept for the ones that shut the door in our faces soon as they saw us.”
William took his “Bob-a-job” book from his pocket and studied it complacently.
“Well, we’ve done all the ones we did all right. They were jolly pleased with us. But”—his expression clouded over—“I’m getting tired of weedin’, aren’t you?” He studied the card again. “Gosh! They’ve all been weedin’ so far.”
“Well, it’s taught us which are weeds an’ which aren’t,” said Ginger.
“Yes, but it’s goin’ on an’ on,” grumbled William. “Anyone’d think there wasn’t anythin’ in the world but weeds. I’d like to do somethin’ a bit more excitin’. There isn’t any adventure in weeds.”
“Well, what sort of adventure d’you expect for a bob-a-job?” said Ginger.
“Someone might set us to find a missing will,” said William, “or hunt for clues after a burglary or track down a spy—or help ’em with a space journey or somethin’.”
“Well, they won’t,” said Ginger. “Not for a bob-a-job.”
“Anyway, let’s say we’ll do anythin’ but weedin’ the next place we go to,” said William.
“All right,” agreed Ginger. “I’m about sick of ’em, too.”
They had decided to confine their bob-a-job operations to the rows of new houses that skirted the village, not occupied by older inhabitants, who, they considered, might be unduly prejudiced against them. And so far everything had gone well. Householders had thrown satisfied glances at flowerbeds cleared of weeds, had signed the cards and handed over their shillings without demur. But William’s enthusiasm for weeds, never very great, was flagging. “They’re all right for those that like them,” he said gloomily, “but I’m beginnin’ to feel I never want to see another weed as long as I live. I can’t think why anyone ever started ’em.”
“Well, where shall we go next?” said Ginger.
They stood and looked about them. A neat little road, shady and inviting, led off the main road.
“Let’s try that,” said William, adding dispiritedly, “but I bet they all grow nothin’ but weeds.”
They walked down the road, inspecting each garden as they passed it.
“Too many of them there,” said William, eyeing bitterly the groundsel and toadflax and mare’s tails that flourished luxuriantly among the thin rows of antirrhinum and lobelia. “Seems as if they trained ’em to shoot up as soon as they see us comin’.”
At last they reached a garden that showed only clear brown earth between its ordered rows of plants.
“Gosh!” said William. “You can hardly b’lieve it, can you? Come on! I bet there’ll be somethin’ a bit more excitin’ than weedin’ to do here.”
A vague-looking old lady with white hair and a pleasant, rosy, wrinkled face opened the door to them.
“Bob-a-job!” announced William in a loud stern tone, fixing on her the fierce scowl with which he was wont to proffer his services.
“Oh, yes. How very kind of you! Do come in.”
She led them down the little hall to the kitchen. A cup of tea and a biscuit stood on the table.
“I was just going to have a cup of tea before I started out do my shopping,” she said. “I expect you’d like some before you set to work, wouldn’t you?”
She opened a cupboard and brought out two bottles of orange squash and a tin containing biscuits and cakes. They were biscuits with sugar tops and cream insides and a large assortment of delicious-looking cakes.
“Now sit down and make yourselves at home,” she said getting out two glasses and plates. “My name’s Miss Risborough, by the way. What are your names? William and Ginger? What nice names! Now help yourselves. The more you eat the better I shall be pleased. I had some people to tea yesterday and this was left over from tea and I’d like to get it finished.”
“Gosh!” said William faintly.
None of his other employers had provided refreshments, much less refreshments on this scale.
“I’m so glad you’ve come,” said the old lady in a friendly confidential tone. “I was getting all worked up about things as one does when one has no one to tell one’s worries to.” William dived into the tin and emerged with an almond slice.
“Gosh, this looks good.”
“Bags me the jam tart!” said Ginger.
“All right! All right!” said William severely but indistinctly through his almond slice. “Have a bit of manners, can’t you?”
“It’s silly of me to worry, of course,” said the old lady, sipping her tea thoughtfully. “It’s always silly to worry—but I’ve used that right of way for so long and it’s such a handy short cut to the bus stop.”
“It’s not jam,” said Ginger. “It’s lemon curd, but it’s jolly good—what’s a right of way?”
“It’s weighin’ things right,” said William. “That new man at the sweet shop doesn’t even try to. He stops puttin’ them on soon as the scales begin to wobble ’stead of goin’ on till they go down with a bang same as he’s s’posed to by lor. I once told a p’liceman about it but he didn’t take any notice. He was prob’ly in league with him.”
“No, no, dear,” said the old lady. “A right of way gives you the right to pass over somebody else’s property. You see, when first I came to the house there was a field at the bottom of my garden and I had a right of way through the spinney of trees at the end of the field that led out to the road just by the bus stop. It saved me a long walk by the road. And when the man who owned the field sold it for building he made it a condition that I should keep my right of way. He was a kind man, you see, and he wanted to save me that long and tiring walk to the bus stop. Have you tried the coco-nut buns? I made them myself.”
“Yes,” said Ginger, “they’re smashing. I once hit a coco-nut at a fair but it didn’t come off. It jus’ waggled.”
“I’ve heard they glue them,” said the old lady. “The thing I used to like most when I went to fairs was knocking the pipe out of the man’s mouth. I did that three times on one afternoon.”
They gazed at her with deep respect.
“An’ what happened to this right of way?” said William, plunging his hand into the tin and bringing up a brandy snap. “Did they dig it up or somethin’? I’ve never had one of these before.” His voice sounded faint and muffled: “they’re super.”
“I’m so glad, dear. It’s an old family recipe—No, they couldn’t take my right of way from me because it’s legally mine, but they’re being most unpleasant. The people who built the house, I mean. There’s no reason why they should object because it just goes through the little spinney of trees at the bottom of their garden and my walking through it to the bus stop doesn’t hurt them at all, but there are two dreadful boys who do all they can to stop me.”
“What do they do?” said William, discovering a cream bun at
the bottom of the tin and setting to work on it.
“They lay booby traps and things. They dug a big hole yesterday and covered it over with brambles and undergrowth for me to fall into. And the day before that they put wet paint all along the top of the little gate I have to open. I’m going round by the road today, though it takes so much longer. I think I shall have to give up using the right of way altogether. And I’ve got another worry, too, but I won’t waste your time with that. It’s very good of you to have listened so patiently to my right of way worry. And now, if you’ve finished the cakes—yes. I’m so glad to see you have—perhaps you’ll come into the garden and let me tell you what I want you to do.”
They followed her out of the kitchen door into the back garden. It was a pleasant shady garden with a herbaceous border, rose beds and a little lawn.
“Gosh!” said William, gazing around, his eyes widening in horror.
“Yes, dear,” said the old lady placidly. “Weeds! Aren’t they dreadful! They’re simply everywhere. I’ve managed to clear the front garden, but I haven’t had time to start on the back and, as you see, it’s just choked with them. Now here are two trowels and a gardening basket so you can set to work at once and see how many you can get rid of before I return from my shopping.”
William gulped.
“You—you’ve not got a missin’ will you’d like us to look for, have you?” he said.
“No, dear,” said the old lady, looking a little puzzled.
“Or—or clues or anythin’?” said William earnestly. “If you’ve had a burglary lately we could hunt for clues.”
“No, dear,” said the old lady, looking still more puzzled. “I haven’t had a burglary.” She smiled. “Just your little joke, isn’t it, dear? Well now. I’ll pop along and leave you to it and hope to see the place looking a lot better when I return.”
She trotted back to the house and, peering through the bushes, they saw her setting off with a large shopping basket and making her way down the road.
“Well!” said William. “Weedin’! Fancy that! Weedin’! It’s a s’prise to me there’s a single weed left in the world after all those we’ve pulled up.”
As he looked around, the faces of groundsel, toadflax, nettles, mare’s tails and dandelions seemed to leer at him in malicious triumph from among the plants.
“Well, there is,” said Ginger, “an’ I s’pose we’d better start on ’em.”
Half-heartedly William picked a dandelion and laid it in the gardening basket. Then he straightened himself and looked about him again.
“Wonder where that right of way is,” he said.
“It’s weedin’ we’ve got to do,” Ginger reminded him sternly. “She was jolly good to us, givin’ us all those cakes an’ orange squash.”
“Yes, I know,” said William. “That’s what makes me think I’d rather do somethin’ more int”resting for her than jus’ pullin’ up weeds. Anyone could pull up weeds. A child could do it. I’d like to do something for her that’s got a bit more adventure in it. Anyway, you can do anythin’ for a bob-a-job. Getting back a right of way’s as good a bob-a-job as weedin’ an’ it’s a jolly sight more int’restin’.” His eyes went to a little wooden gate at the bottom of the garden. “I bet that’s where it is.”
“We’d better leave it alone, William,” said Ginger. He bent down to remove a piece of groundsel and started back with a yell. “Gosh! I’ve been half murdered by a nettle. I wasn’t anywhere near it. It jus’ sprang out at me. They ought to pay us danger money, weedin’ with all these nettles . . . Anyway,” resignedly, “we’ve got to do weedin’ same as she said—after all those cakes.”
But William was already on his way towards the little wooden gate.
“I’m only goin’ to have a sort of look,” he said. “I’m not goin’ to do anythin’. Not unless there’s somethin’ to do, I mean. Well, I mean, it’d be a jolly sight more useful to her to get that right of way fixed than jus’ to have a few weeds pulled up. I mean, she was jolly good to us. Gosh! I can still taste that cream bun. I keep tellin’ you. I’d like to do somethin’ for her. I don’t call pullin’ up weeds doin’ anythin’. Well, they die nat’ral same as everythin’ else if you leave them long enough. Well, it’s news to me if they don’t, so it jus’ seems a waste of time pullin’ ’em up. If people had any sense they’d jus’ wait for ’em to die nat’ral—an’ I keep tellin’ you. I’m only goin’ to look. You needn’t come if you don’t want to.”
But Ginger had laid down his trowel and was following William through the little gate.
The gate led to a small spinney of trees at the foot of the garden of the adjoining house. The spinney had evidently been left in the same state as when it had formed the boundary of the original field. The ground beneath the trees was overgrown with brambles and rough grass, but the path that formed the right of way was plain to see, winding among the trees and bushes to the gate at the further end.
“Well, you’ve looked, William,” said Ginger nervously. “Come on! Let’s go back to weedin’.”
“I’m jus’ goin’ to walk along to the end of the path,” said William, “jus’ to make sure it’s all right for her. Jus’—ow!” His arms waved wildly in the air as he fell headlong over a piece of string that had been fixed across the path beneath the undergrowth. And that was not all. By some complicated mechanism the string was connected with a bucket of water perched on the branches of a tree that stretched out over the path and its contents descended on to the ground perilously near William, splashing his entire person. Almost before he realised what had happened, two boys leapt out from the cover of a neighbouring holly bush. One was fair with colourless eyelashes and projecting teeth. The other was dark with a long thin pointed nose. Both were grinning derisively.
“Yah! That got you!” said the dark one, dancing about with glee. “That got you, all right! That got you!”
“That’ll teach you to come trespassing in other people’s gardens,” shouted the fair one.
William advanced on them bull-like, his neck stretched out, his face set in lines of ferocity.
“You didn’t do it for us,” he said. “You didn’t know we were comin’. You did it for ole Miss Risborough, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, we did,” said the dark one, pointing his long thin nose at William, “an’ you can tell her so, too.” He turned to his brother. “He can tell her so, too, can’t he, Hugo?”
“Yeah!” said Hugo, his teeth leaping out in a mocking grimace. “Yeah, he can, too, Eric—an’ you can tell her the next time she comes we’re goin’ to fix up a meat chopper and see if we can kill the old girl. And now you can clear off double quick before we set the police on you for trespassing.”
He put out a hand to push William and at once William sprang to the attack. Hie battle was short and fierce but the victory was never for a moment in doubt. William was a good fighter and Ginger an able second, and by the end of three or four minutes Eric and Hugo were fleeing across the lawn, closely pursued by their foes. They rushed in at the front door, slamming it in William’s face. Without a moment’s hesitation William and Ginger ran round to the back door, entering it before the others could reach it. Another battle, also short and fierce, took place in the hall.
Howling with pain and fury, Eric and Hugo plunged upstairs. Forgetful of everything but the lust for battle, William and Ginger plunged upstairs after them. The brothers dashed into a room at the top of the stairs and slammed the door. The key was on the outside of the door. Instinctively, and without stopping to think, William turned the key in the lock.
“Got ’em!” he panted.
From inside the room came the sound of angry shouts and hammering on the door.
“Got ’em!” said William again triumphantly.
“Yes,” said Ginger, “an’ what are we goin’ to do about it?”
“What d’you mean, do about it?” said William. He was flushed with victory, jubilant with the thrill of battle. “It was a jolly g
ood fight an’ we’ve got ’em beat an’ locked up.”
“Yes,” said Ginger, “’an we’re in somebody’s else’s house that we don’t know an’ that we’ve got no business to be in an’ what’s goin’ to happen if their father or mother comes home, that’s what I want to know.”
William was silent for a moment as the glow of triumph gradually faded into the cold hard light of reality.
“Well it’s been a nice change from weedin’ anyway,” he said a little lamely.
“Yes, but what are we goin’ to do?” persisted Ginger.
The tornado of shouts and knocking had died away. There was an ominous silence behind the locked door, broken by furtive whispers.
“P’r’aps we’d better let ’em out,” said William.
“Yes, an’ start another fight,” said Ginger, “an’ like as not their mother or father’ll come back in the middle of it an’ then what’ll we say?”
“Oh, I bet I’ll think up somethin’ to say,” said William airily.
“Yes, an’ I bet they’ll think up somethin’ to do,” said Ginger.
“Well, p’r’aps we’d better go,” agreed William regretfully as the cold hard light of reality grew colder and harder. “It was a jolly good fight an’ we’ve got ’em beat an’ locked up an’ I bet we’ve taught ’em a lesson about messin’ up that right of way.”
“I bet we haven’t,” said Ginger, showing a greater knowledge of human nature than his friend. “I bet we’ve only made ’em worse. They said they were goin’ to kill her next time.”
“Oh, all right,” said William. “Let’s go, then.”
They made their way downstairs and out of the back door, but before they had taken more than half a dozen steps, a heavy tile whizzed past William’s head, missing it by a fraction of an inch. He looked up to see Eric leaning out of an open window holding another tile poised for action.
“There’s a bit stack of tiles up here,” he yelled, “that my dad’s got to put in a new fireplace an’ you’re jolly well goin’ to get ’em all if you try to escape, we're going to stay here till my dad comes home an’ then—Gosh! won’t he wallop you?”
William's Television Show Page 13
