‘Plunged in an’ dragged ’em out.’
But it was useless. They refused to take any notice of him. Raising his voice still higher, he said:
‘There’s a very deep pond jus’ round this corner. It’s quite shallow round the edges but in the middle it’d drown hundreds of people all standing on the top of each other.’
They turned the corner and at once came upon a very shallow pond in the middle of which lay Ginger, reposing at full length, his head emerging at an uncomfortable angle from the surface of the water.
‘Why,’ said William as if surprised, ‘there’s a boy drownin’ in it now!’
With a heroic gesture he flung off his coat and plunged into the pond, descending upon his hands and knees and making much play of battling against waves as he neared the middle where Ginger was reclining. Having reached Ginger, he began with much realism to rescue him. There was in fact more realism than Ginger liked.
‘Here! Shut up pulling my ears about like that,’ said Ginger indignantly.
‘That’s the way you have to rescue people,’ panted William. ‘You stay still an’ let me rescue you. I din’t give you that marble and catapult an’ all those other things to carry on like this.’
‘Well, you stop pullin’ my hair.’
‘I’ve gotter pull your hair. You’re supposed to be drownin’.’
‘Leave me alone. You’re drownin’ me.’
‘I’m not. I’m savin’ you. If you’d only keep still, I’d—’
But clawing the air and spluttering wildly, Ginger arose to his full height (showing that the water came well below his knees) and hurled himself furiously upon his rescuer. His rescuer, equally wet and furious, joined battle and for a few minutes they wrestled in the middle of the pond forgetful of onlookers. It was William who remembered the onlookers first. The swaying fortunes of the battle had brought them to the water’s edge and William, remembering suddenly the business in which he was supposed to be engaged, disentangled himself from Ginger and splashed, dripping, out of the pond and up to the two startled watchers.
There he sputtered for a few minutes, rubbed the water out of his eyes, stroked it out of his hair and, still sputtering though less violently, said:
‘Saw me rescue him, din’t you?’
They stared at him in an amazement which had little of admiration in it.
‘Looked as if we were standin’ up in the water, din’t it?’ went on William with a careless, though still rather waterlogged laugh. ‘I got him onto a narrer bridge that runs across the water jus’ under where you can see an’ then he started to struggle same as drownin’ people always do. It was jolly hard to keep him on that narrer bridge. I bet most people ’d’ve let him go an’ then he’d’ve been drowned.’
‘You look awful,’ said the little girl dispassionately.
She had been so much engrossed in Claude’s conversation that she had seen nothing till she suddenly noticed the terrible boy who was supposed to be taking them for a walk fighting with another boy as terrible as himself in the middle of the pond.
WILLIAM SPLASHED OUT OF THE POND AND FACED THE TWO STARTLED WATCHERS. ‘SAW ME RESCUE HIM, DIN’T YOU?’ HE ASKED
‘He looks the limit,’ agreed Claude.
THEY STARED AT HIM IN AMAZEMENT. ‘YOU LOOK AWFUL,’ SAID THE LITTLE GIRL.
‘Well, I’m certainly not going anywhere with him now,’ said the little girl. ‘He looks too awful for words. Let’s go home, Claude. He ought to go home too and change his clothes. He’s got himself into an awful mess. I expect his mother will be very cross with him. I should be if I was his mother. I’m not going home the way he goes home, either. I wouldn’t be seen with him anywhere.’
Her glance of scorn only increased William’s admiration for her, made him long all the more to talk to her about civilisation and pianos, and ostriches, and sacks. He opened his mouth passionately to defend himself, but a fit of choking came over him (he’d swallowed several quarts of pond water), and by the time he’d recovered from it Claude and the little girl had disappeared.
William wandered dejectedly homewards in the wake of the dripping Ginger.
In his heart was a furious hatred of all mankind, except the little girl, and a fierce regret at having given Ginger the glass marble and the catapult.
He was still without a plan when his mother announced that Mrs. Stacey had asked him to tea again.
‘It’s little Cynthia’s last day with her,’ she said, ‘and so she wants to have someone to tea and she said that you behaved so nicely the last time you went that she thought she’d like to have you again. I want you to go, too, because at least if you’re there to tea I shall know that you aren’t wandering over the countryside falling into ponds.’
William groaned. But he was secretly much elated by the invitation. He felt that Fate was giving him another opportunity of cutting out the obnoxious Claude and winning the admiration of the little girl. He saw himself walking alone with her along a country road talking. He still wanted to talk to her . . .
He was told the exciting news by a friend who passed him as he was on his way to Mrs. Stacey’s. A lunatic had escaped from the asylum just beyond Croombe Woods. The keepers were out searching the woods for him. William hastened to announce this thrilling piece of information to his hostess and her household. The result fulfilled his highest expectations. The little girl lost all interest in the attractions of Nice and the composition of a jazz band. Her only interest—and that a consuming one—was the escaped lunatic. She could talk of nothing but the escaped lunatic. She insisted on going to the edge of the wood in order to peer fearfully through the railings.
‘They murder people,’ she said impressively. ‘All escaped lunatics murder people.’
‘They’re very cunning too,’ said Claude, ‘it’s very hard to catch them when once they’ve escaped.’
Claude spoke as one having a long and exhaustive familiarity with escaped lunatics.
William as bringer of the news had achieved a distinct but very passing fame. It had been quickly eclipsed by Claude’s assumption of knowledge of the subject in all its branches. There was evidently nothing about escaped lunatics that Claude did not know. Every time that William tried to speak, Claude interrupted him. The little girl hung on to Claude’s words. The whole situation was suddenly more than William could bear. He took out his penknife with a flourish and examined it ostentatiously. They stared at him. Casually he remarked:
‘Seems sharp enough. I may not need it anyway. He may come quiet once I catch him.’
With that cryptic remark he leapt over the railing and swaggered off through the trees into the wood.
The little girl called out, ‘William! Come back. He’ll kill you.’
There was fear and pleading in her voice.
It was balm to William’s soul.
When, however, he had advanced so far into the wood as to be no longer visible to them, something of the ardour with which he had set out upon his quest faded. He was alone in a wood with a dangerous lunatic. There might, of course, be a few keepers about too, but they’d probably be at the other end of the wood when he met the lunatic. His heart began to fail him. It is one thing to set out upon a daredevil exploit before admiring eyes, and quite another to pursue it unencouraged and alone, as many people besides William have discovered. But after a brief inward struggle he resisted the temptation to creep back to another part of the road by a devious route. After all, he played the part of Chief of a Thousand Braves almost daily. Almost daily in that character he put to flight scores of hostile tribes, and slew in a series of mighty single combats the ferocious fauna that infested the district near his camp. Was he to be turned back by one lunatic? No, he informed himself with a scornful ‘Huh,’ and strode forward into the wood, still with an indescribable swagger in his walk. He was, however, more than a little discomfited on turning a bend in the tiny track among the trees to run into a tall red-haired bare-headed man wearing leggings and carrying a s
tick. For a minute his heart quailed, and he was on the point of turning to flee when the man said:
‘Hello, you’ve not seen anyone about here have you?’
‘No,’ said William, and added with relief, ‘you’re lookin’ for the lunatic?’
‘Yes,’ said the man, ‘I’m one of the attendants from up there.’
‘I—I’ll stay with you an’ help look,’ offered William readily.
He felt unspeakably grateful for the protection that the presence of this large red-headed man would afford if they met the lunatic.
‘I’ve got a penknife,’ he added, ‘for if he starts carryin’ on any way.’
He was eager to prove himself a valuable ally.
The red-headed man inspected the weapon carefully.
‘That wouldn’t be much good,’ he said.
‘But it’d scare him if he saw it,’ protested William eagerly. ‘Look. Here’s a thing for taking stones out of a horse’s hoof. I bet that’d scare him.’
‘I bet it wouldn’t,’ said the red-headed man.
‘What’s he like?’ said William, ‘is he dangerous?’
‘I should just think he is,’ said the red-headed man; ‘he’d make mincemeat of you soon as look at you.’
William scornfully ejaculated ‘Huh!’ and added, ‘It’d take more’n him to make mincemeat of me’; then after a slight pause: ‘Are there many of you looking for him?’
‘There’s one or two more but he likes me. He thinks I’m his aunt. I can do what I like with him.’
They were walking down the path looking among the bushes as they went.
‘He’s not a bad chap,’ went on the red-headed man, ‘not as bad as some of them. He’s closely related to the Emperor of China.’
‘Is he?’ said William, impressed.
‘Yes. It makes him difficult to deal with sometimes. He has to have birds’ nests and bamboo to eat.’
‘Crumbs!’ said William, deeply impressed, ‘but why?’
‘They eat those things in China. Didn’t you know?’
‘No. Do they really?’
‘Yes. You should see him in spring and summer sitting in trees in the grounds holding a bird’s nest in his hand and taking great mouthfuls out of it same as you would a bun.’
‘Crumbs!’ said William again, his eyes and mouth wide open.
‘Yes, and as for bamboo! The first night he came we put him in a room with a bamboo suite in it, and, believe me, in the morning there wasn’t a stick of furniture left in the room. Dressing-table, wardrobe, washstand, chairs—he’d eaten ’em all up in the night.’
‘Golly!’ said William faintly, feeling the inadequacy of that and every other ejaculation at his command.
‘Yes,’ said the man calmly, ‘it’s all along of him being related to the Emperor of China.’
Suddenly he stopped and pointed through the trees.
‘There he is,’ he whispered, ‘look at him. He’s got hungry an’ he’s looking for birds’ nests.’
William peered through the wood in the direction of the man’s finger. Another man could be seen some distance away stooping down and looking among the bushes.
‘That’s him,’ whispered the red-headed man, and repeated, ‘he’s got hungry an’ he’s looking for birds’ nests.’
‘You goin’ to catch him now?’ whispered William excitedly.
The man shook his head.
‘We’ve got to go very careful,’ he said, ‘he’s a bad-tempered man, an’ he’ll be mad at havin’ found no birds’ nests. Sometimes he thinks he’s found a bamboo tree, and of course, it isn’t ’cause bamboo trees don’t grow here. Then he eats other sorts of trees and they don’t agree with him. He ate a young beech tree once, and he was in bed for a week after it.’
‘How’re you going to get him?’ said William, breathless with excitement. He was drawing out from his penknife the thing to get stones from a horse’s hoof so as to be ready for any emergency.
‘We’ve got to use cunning,’ said the red-headed man. ‘It’s no use attacking him straight off. He’s got the strength of ten men, especially when he’s not been overeating on birds’ nests and bamboo. Tell you what. I’ve got a plan.’ He sank his voice and William bent to listen. ‘You see he knows me and he doesn’t know you. Now he’s the sort of man what believes everything you tell him. If you go up to him and say that he’s a keeper he’ll believe he is a keeper, and you can tell him that I’m the one what escaped an’ you’ve found me and he’ll come over here to catch me, an’ then I’ll catch him. See?’
The idea appealed to William. He chuckled and set off to the man who could just be seen through the trees.
As he approached the man straightened himself.
‘Hello,’ he said to William, ‘what are you doing here?’
‘You’re the attendant at the asylum lookin’ for the lunatic, aren’t you?’ said William persuasively.
‘I am,’ said the man, ‘have you seen him?’
The simple success of this deep-laid plot delighted William so much that he could hardly keep his face straight.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I’ve got him. He’s just over there.’
The man followed William to where his new friend stood waiting. He laid a hand on William’s new friend’s shoulder, and blew a whistle.
‘Now come on, Charlie,’ he said kindly to the red-headed man, ‘come along back with me. You know it’s far nicer at home than out here. It’s cold out here and it’s going to rain in a minute.’
‘Did you find any birds’ nests to eat?’ said the red-headed man with interest.
‘Yes, lots,’ said the other man, ‘you come back with me and I’ll tell you all about it.’
William looked from one to the other, and for the first time a doubt came to him. There was something terribly sane-looking about the man who had just come up.
‘No, I’m not coming,’ said the red-headed man. ‘I’m looking for escaped lunatics. They’re all over the wood. All eatin’ birds’ nests,’ he turned and cocked a careless thumb at William. ‘He’s one of them.’
Other keepers were coming up in answer to the whistle. One of them approached the red-headed man, and said:
‘I say, Charlie, the Emperor of China’s giving a party. He wants to know if you’re coming to it.’
‘Are there birds’ nests to eat?’ said the red-headed man majestically.
‘Hundreds of them,’ said the keeper.
The red-headed man considered for a moment, and finally bowed graciously and said:
‘I’ll come. Lead the way.’
The keeper prepared to lead the way when the red-headed man wheeled suddenly round and pointed at William.
‘He’s my page,’ he said, ‘but I dismiss him. He’s utterly incompetent. Utt-er-ly.’
Then he swung round to the keeper. ‘Lead me to his majesty,’ he said.
They went off arm in arm. The red-headed man seemed quite friendly with the keeper. He was pointing up into the trees as they went and talking about birds’ nests.
The other keepers were surrounding William and congratulating him. Someone gave him five shillings.
William having got over the first shock of surprise was carrying the situation off rather well.
‘Oh, I jus’ thought I’d have a shot at tryin’ to find him,’ he said carelessly. ‘I found him almost at once, and then I jus’ walked on with him, hum’ring him till we met a keeper. I knew that we’d be meetin’ a keeper soon, so I jus’ walked on with him, hum’ring him till we saw one. Then I left him for a minute while I went to tell the keeper that I’d found him, I jus’ kept on hum’ring him. I knew he was a lunatic all right.’
One of them escorted him back to the road and to Mrs. Stacey’s, and handed him over to his hostess with an account of his exploit.
They found the little girl sobbing. It appeared that she had been sobbing ever since William had gone into the wood. She had refused all comfort.
‘I wasn’t a b-bit
n-nice to him,’ she had sobbed. ‘I was h-horrid to him. And now he’s g-gone and got k-killed. I know he’s g-got k-killed. He’s g-got k-killed by a l-lunatic.’
She listened open-mouthed and open-eyed to the story of William’s capture. All through tea she gazed at him in mute admiration. William, in the intervals of making a very adequate meal, enlarged upon his adventure.
‘The minute I saw him I knew he was a lunatic, of course,’ he said, speaking indistinctly through a mouthful of currant bun. ‘He’d got red hair and he—he sort of looked like a lunatic. They’ve gotter sort of look, lunatics have. You can tell ’em at once. Well, I told this one at once. I saw he was a lunatic from the look of him, the minute I saw him, so I got my penknife out. It’s got a sort of thing that’s meant for taking things out of a horse’s hoof, but it’d go right into a man’s head if you stuck it in hard enough. I let him see I’d got it so’s he wouldn’t start struggling or anythin’, and then I started hum’ring him. Yes, I’ll have another bun, thank you . . . Well,’ still more indistinctly, ‘I started hum’ring this lunatic. I knew he was a lunatic all right. It’s quite easy hum’ring lunatics. You talk to ’em about birds’ nests and bamboo an’ things like that. Well, I kept walkin’ with him an’ hum’ring him talkin’ about birds’ nests and bamboo and things like that same as you do to lunatics—thanks, yes, the sort with sugar on, over there—thanks—till we came to where we saw a keeper. Of course, I knew that if we went on walkin’ long enough we’d meet a keeper, ’cause they were out in the wood lookin’ for him, so as soon as we met this keeper, I thought of a very cunning plan—yes, thanks very much. I’d like a piece of that currant cake, thank you very much—I thought of a very cunnin’ plan. I sort of made him think that he was the keeper and the other the lunatic. I daresay he wun’t’ve believed it if anyone’d told him so, but I’m good at hum’ring lunatics so he believed it an’ so I sort of got ’em together an’ the real keeper got him. They gave me,’ he added modestly, ‘a lot of money for it. They thought it was a jolly clever thing to do. But it din’t seem very clever to me . . . Yes, thank you very much, I’ll have one of those biscuits . . . I mean there doesn’t seem much in jus’ catchin’ a lunatic to me.’
William the Bad Page 4
