William the Bad

by Richmal Crompton

  They had reached William’s home now.

  He picked the animal up in both arms and concealing it inadequately in his coat entered the side door in a conspiratorial fashion followed by Ginger. As soon as he had reached the foot of the stairs, however, there came the sound of the opening of his mother’s bedroom door and her footsteps on the landing. William turned and fled into the drawing-room still followed by the faithful Ginger.

  ‘We’ll just wait here till she’s gone,’ he whispered.

  Her footsteps descended the stairs and unmistakably began to approach the drawing-room.

  ‘Here! Quick!’ gasped William plunging behind a Chesterfield that was placed across a corner of the room. The triangular space thus formed was rather inadequate for the accommodation of William, Ginger and the prize cat, but by squeezing themselves together they just managed to get themselves into it. The prize cat was evidently of a philosophic disposition. It accepted this new situation as calmly as it had accepted all the other situations in which it had found itself that afternoon, licking William and pawing him with playful affection.

  The door opened almost as soon as they had reached their hiding place and Mrs. Brown entered.

  ‘I don’t expect she’ll stay here,’ whispered William breathlessly, holding his pet in both arms to keep it still.

  But Mrs. Brown closed the door and sat down. From her bedroom window she had caught sight of a visitor coming up the drive and she had come down to the drawing-room in order to receive and dispose of her as quickly as possible.

  Almost as soon as she had entered the maid announced ‘Miss Messiter,’ and a tall lady wearing horn-rimmed spectacles entered and, after greeting her effusively, took her seat on the Chesterfield behind which were William, Ginger and the prize cat.

  William was so much occupied in restraining his prize cat as soundlessly as possible that he did not hear what the visitor and his mother were saying till they had been talking for several minutes. Then as his pet seemed to have settled down to sleep on the top of Ginger he turned his attention to what the visitor was saying.

  ‘I do hope you’ll come,’ she was saying. ‘I’m trying to get everyone in the village to promise to come. He’s a marvellous speaker. In the forefront of the movement.’

  ‘Yes?’ said Mrs. Brown vaguely. ‘The movement?’

  ‘I told you, you know,’ said the visitor earnestly, ‘the Thought Mastery Movement. It’s closely allied to Christian Science, of course, but it’s wider. It embraces more spheres, so to speak. It begins with that of pain, of course, teaching that there’s no such thing. No such thing at all. I never feel pain. Never. Why? Because my thoughts know that there’s no such thing as pain so naturally they don’t feel it. Never.’

  At this moment the prize cat who had made its way under the Chesterfield and discovered one of Miss Messiter’s ankles on the other side put out an exploratory paw and touched it with extended claws. Miss Messiter uttered a scream.

  ‘Whatever’s the matter?’ said Mrs. Brown.

  The visitor was clutching her ankle.

  ‘A sudden excruciating pain,’ she said.

  ‘Neuritis perhaps, or arthritis,’ suggested Mrs. Brown soothingly. ‘They do come on suddenly.’

  ‘Where had I got to?’ said the visitor, still rubbing her ankle.

  ‘About your never feeling pain,’ said Mrs. Brown.

  ‘Oh yes . . . well the reason I don’t feel pain is simply that I’ve trained my thoughts to ignore it. My thoughts mechanically reject the notion of pain. It’s all so simple.’ She withdrew her hand from her ankle to wave it in the air. ‘All so simple and so beautiful. The lecturer will put it to you in all its beautiful simplicity. You will never feel pain again. When people say to me that they are in pain I say to them: “Pain? What is pain?”’

  At this minute the prize cat put out his paw again in order to experience a second time the delicious sensation of sinking his claws through Miss Messiter’s woollen stockings into her skin beneath.

  ‘Whatever’s the matter?’ said Mrs. Brown when Miss Messiter’s scream had died away.

  ‘Another of those excruciating pains,’ said Miss Messiter. ‘I can’t explain it. I’ve never known anything of the sort before. Excruciating.’

  THE PRIZE CAT HAD TOUCHED ONE OF MISS MESSITER’S ANKLES, AND MISS MESSITER UTTERED A SCREAM.

  ‘Neuritis probably,’ said Mrs. Brown, showing more interest than she had shown in the Thought Mastery Movement. ‘I had a cousin who used to have it. It came on just like that.’

  But Miss Messiter was looking behind her.

  ‘WHATEVER’S THE MATTER?’ ASKED MRS. BROWN.

  ‘There’s a boy behind the sofa,’ she said excitedly, ‘and he must have been running pins into my foot.’

  ‘I didn’t,’ said William rising, partly to refute this accusation and partly in order to prevent the visitor’s discoveries extending to Ginger and the prize cat. ‘I never stuck pins into her foot.’

  ‘But whatever are you doing there at all, William?’ said his mother in a bewildered fashion.

  ‘I jus’—jus’ happened to be there,’ explained William coming out into the room, ‘when you came in an’ I thought I’d jus’—jus’ stay there till you’d gone but I never stuck pins into her foot. I couldn’t have even if I’d wanted to ’cause I haven’t any pins. And what’s more,’ he continued bitterly, ‘I haven’t any money to buy any pins even if I wanted some. If I’d got money to buy pins to stick into her foot I’d be going to the circus.’

  ‘How do you account for the excruciating pain that I felt then?’ demanded Miss Messiter of him sternly.

  ‘It must be neuritis,’ said William’s mother. ‘I’m sure he didn’t stick pins into your foot. He’s very troublesome and untidy and I can’t think why he was behind the sofa but I’m sure he wouldn’t stick pins into your foot. He’s never done anything like that.’

  ‘Then I must go at once and consult a specialist,’ said Miss Messiter firmly. ‘It was an excruciating pain. It came on quite suddenly, then went quite suddenly.’

  ‘I think that’s the best plan,’ said Mrs. Brown deeply sympathetic. ‘I know that neuritis can often be cured if you catch it in the early stages.’

  ‘And I shall give up the organisation of the Thought Mastery Campaign. I think that it has been too much for me. I’m highly strung.’

  They drifted out into the hall. William cautiously returned to the corner of the room. Ginger was engaged in a fierce struggle with the prize cat who wanted to return to his investigations under the Chesterfield. He wanted to find the thing into which it was so pleasant to sink one’s claws. He was uttering soft little growls as he fought with Ginger.

  ‘Let’s get him out quick,’ said William, ‘while they’re talkin’ at the front door.’

  Ginger, who was suffering agonies from cramp and was pinned helplessly beneath the prize cat, said in a muffled voice:

  ‘A’right. You take him off me an’ I’ll try to get up.’

  William bundled his pet under his arm, and followed by the bowed and limping Ginger, went to the open window, scrambled through with a skill born of long practice and made his unobtrusive way through the shrubbery to the hole in the hedge that was the Outlaws’ unofficial entrance to William’s garden. Ginger was still limping.

  ‘I’ve got that pain like what she said she’d got,’ he said. ‘Cruciating like what she said it was. I bet I’ve caught it off her. It mus’ be something infectious. I shun’t be surprise if I die of it.’

  ‘I think hers was the cat scratchin’ her,’ said William.

  ‘Was it?’ said Ginger with interest. ‘I couldn’t see what it was doin’. It’d got one of its hind feet in my mouth an’ I couldn’t get it out. It’s a wonder I’m not choked.’

  But his pins and needles were wearing off and the prize cat, gambolling by their side, was so engaging that it gradually ousted every other thought from their minds.

  ‘We’ll take it to the old
barn,’ said William, ‘then you go home an’ get some food for it. I’d better not go home jus’ now ’cause of that woman sayin’ I stuck pins into her foot. My mother’ll prob’ly want to go on talkin’ about it.’

  ‘All right,’ said Ginger, ‘what’ll I get it?’

  ‘Milk an’ a bit of bread an’ butter an’ a bit of cake,’ said William.

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Ginger sarcastically. ‘Why don’t you say a bit of roast turkey as well?’

  ‘A’right,’ said William, ‘if you can find a bit of roast turkey, bring it along. I bet it’d eat it.’

  ‘I’ll bring it what I can find with no one catchin’ me,’ said Ginger. ‘It’ll depend whether the larder window’s open. I can’t do more’n that, can I?’

  ‘Get it as much as you can anyway,’ said William.

  Ginger departed and William amused himself by playing with his prize cat. It was an excellent playfellow. It made little feints and darts at William. It rolled over on the ground. It ran away and challenged him to catch it. It growled and pretended to fight him. The time passed on wings till Ginger returned. Ginger’s arms were full. Evidently the larder window had been open. He was carrying two buns, half an apple pie, and a piece of cheese. And yet, despite this rich haul, his expression was one of deepest melancholy. He placed the things down absently upon a packing-case, and said:

  ‘I met a boy in the road and he’d just met a man and he said that they were looking for a lion cub that had got away from the circus.’

  William’s face dropped. They both gazed thoughtfully at the prize cat.

  ‘I—I sort of thought it was a lion cub all the time,’ said William.

  ‘So did I,’ said Ginger hastily.

  After a long and pregnant silence, William said in a far-away voice:

  ‘Well—I suppose we’ve gotter take it back.’ He spoke as one whose world has crashed about him. In his mind had been roseate dreams of a future in which every day the lion cub gambolled round his feet, played hide and seek with him and attacked him with growls of mock ferocity. Life without the lion cub stretched grey and dark before him, hardly worth living.

  ‘I s’pose we’ve gotter,’ said Ginger. ‘I s’pose it’s stealin’ if we don’t, now that we know.’

  They placed the food before the cub and watched it with melancholy tenderness.

  It ate the buns, sat on the apple pie and played football with the piece of cheese.

  Then they took up the end of William’s boot-lace again and set off sorrowfully with it to Little Marleigh.

  The proprietor of the circus received the truant with relief, and complimented the rescuers on its prompt return. They gazed at it sadly, Ginger replacing his tie and William his boot-lace.

  ‘He’s a cute little piece, isn’t he?’ said the proprietor. ‘Don’t appear yet. Too young. But goin’ to lap up tricks like milk soon . . . Well, I’d better be gettin’ a move. Early show’s jus’ goin’ to begin. Thank you, young sirs.’

  ‘I s’pose,’ said William wistfully, ‘I s’pose we couldn’t do anythin’ in the show?’

  The proprietor scratched his head.

  ‘What c’n you do?’ he said.

  ‘I c’n stand on my hands,’ said William, ‘an’ Ginger can pull funny faces. Jolly funny ones.’

  The proprietor shook his head.

  ‘Not in our line,’ he said. ‘But—tell you what. I am short-handed, as it happens. A man jus’ come over queer an’ gone home. We could do with another hand. Jus’ movin’ things off an’ on between turns. Care to help with that?’

  So deep was their emotion that William broke his boot-lace and Ginger nearly throttled himself with his tie.

  ‘I should—jolly well—think—we would,’ said William hoarsely.

  The Hubert Laneites sat together in the front row. They’d all been to the circus earlier in the week but they’d come again for this last performance, partly in order to be able to tell the Outlaws that they’d been twice and partly to comfort themselves for the fiasco of their cat show.

  ‘I say,’ said Hubert Lane to Bertie Franks, ‘I say, won’t old William be mad when we tell him we’ve been again?’

  ‘Yah,’ said Bertie Franks, ‘an’ I say, fancy him havin’ the cheek to say he knew more about circuses than us an’ not even been once. We won’t half rag him about it. We—’

  His voice died away. He stared down into the ring. For there unmistakably was William setting out the little tubs on which the performing ponies performed. He rubbed his eyes and looked again. He hadn’t been mistaken. It was William.

  ‘Golly!’ he said faintly.

  All the Hubert Laneites were staring at William, paralysed with amazement.

  ‘Golly!’ they echoed and drew another deep breath as Ginger appeared carrying the chairs on which the clown pretended to do acrobatic feats. Then the circus began. The Hubert Laneites did not see the circus at all. They were staring fascinated at the opening of the tent into which William and Ginger had vanished. After the first turn they emerged and moved away the little tubs and brought out a lot of letters which they laid on the ground for the talking horse to spell from. After that turn William came out alone and held a hoop for Nellie, the Wonder Dog, to jump through.

  Not once did the expressions of stupified amazement fade from the faces of the Hubert Laneites.

  After the circus they walked home dazedly as if in a dream.

  The next day they approached William cautiously, and with something of reverence in their expressions.

  ‘I say, William,’ Hubert said humbly, ‘tell us about it, will you?’

  ‘About what?’ said William.

  ‘About you helpin’ at the circus.’

  THEN WILLIAM CAME OUT ALONE AND HELD A HOOP FOR NELLIE THE WONDER DOG TO JUMP THROUGH.

  ‘Oh that,’ said William carelessly. ‘Oh, I gen’rally help at circuses round about here. I don’t always go into the ring like what I did yesterday, but I’m gen’rally in the tent behind helpin’ with the animals. Trainin’ them for their tricks. Gettin’ ’em ready an’ such-like. I suppose that one circus tells another about me and that’s why they’re always askin’ me to help. I said I knew a jolly sight more about circuses than what you did, you remember.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Hubert Lane still more humbly, ‘it must be jolly fun, isn’t it, William?’

  ‘Oh, it’s all right,’ said William, ‘it’s hard work an’ of course it’s jolly dangerous. Trainin’ the animals an’ lockin’ ’em up for the night an’ such-like.’ He walked a few yards with an ostentatious limp, and then said, ‘the elephant trod on my foot yesterday when I was puttin’ it in its cage,’—and he touched the scratch that his mother’s cat had made. It was certainly quite a showy affair—‘the bear gave me this the other night when I was combin’ it out ready to go on and do its tricks. It’s work not everyone would like to do.’

  They gazed at him as at a being from another and a higher sphere.

  ‘I say, William,’ said Bertie Franks, ‘if—if they want anyone else to help you—you’ll give us a chance won’t you?’

  ‘I don’t s’pose they will,’ said William, ‘’sides this circus has gone now and I don’t know when another’s comin’. It’s dangerous work, you know, but I’m used to it.’

  And followed by their admiring eyes, he limped elaborately away.

  He was limping with the other foot this time, but, of course, no one noticed that.

  CHAPTER 6

  WILLIAM ADOPTS AN ORPHAN

  The Outlaws sat on their usual seat at the back of the school hall and surreptitiously played marbles while the lecturer on the school platform poured forth his spate of eloquence over their unresisting heads. They had not the slightest idea what he was talking about nor did they wish to have the slightest idea what he was talking about. To the Outlaws a lecture was merely a blessed respite from lessons, an oasis in the desert of a school morning, an hour when they could sit, screening themselves from the eye of Authority wi
th an art born of long practice, and indulge in various recreations suitable to the occasion—such as racing the caterpillars they always carried on their persons, playing a game of cricket invented by William, in which a ruler took the place of a bat and a ball of blotting-paper the ball, or marbles. These were not, of course, all the diversions at their command. There was no end to the diversions at the command of the Outlaws during the hour of a school lecture. The idea that a lecturer had anything to say that could possibly be of any interest to anyone would have surprised them. A lecturer was to them simply a man who stood on a platform and talked. It did not matter what he said. You did not listen to him. He was not meant to be listened to. His sole function was to provide an hour’s relaxation in the middle of the morning. Had they been told after a lecture that it had been delivered in the Arabic language they would not have been in the least surprised. It might have been given in any language under the sun for all the Outlaws, deeply engrossed in caterpillar racing, ruler-and-blotting-paper-cricket, marbles and other pursuits, ever knew of it.

  A marble dispatched with undue energy by Ginger rolled with a sudden re-echoing noise against the wall. A master rose from the front bench and walked slowly down the room. When he reached the back bench he found the four Outlaws sitting in rigid immobility, their eyes fixed with tense earnestness upon the lecturer. There were no traces of marbles, or caterpillars or anything but a burning interest in the lecturer and his lecture. The master was not for a minute deceived, but there was nothing to go on, so he returned to his seat.

  After the short interval dictated by caution, the Outlaws relaxed the rigidity of their pose and the earnestness of their expressions, took out the ruler and balls of blotting-paper and began to play cricket. William bowled, Ginger batted, and Douglas and Henry fielded. The game proceeded uneventfully till an unguarded ‘swipe’ on Ginger’s part sent the ball high into the air. It travelled the length of the hall before it descended upon the head of the master who had already visited them. He rose from his chair and once more made his way slowly down to the back of the room. Again he found four boys in attitudes of frozen rigidity, gazing with rapt concentration at the lecturer. Again they appeared to be so deeply absorbed in the lecture as not even to notice his approach. He took up his position, leaning idly against the wall, watching them. The Outlaws, keeping the corners of their eyes upon him, realised with a sinking of their hearts, that he meant to stay there till the end of the lecture. In sheer self-defence they began to listen to what the lecturer was saying.