William Carries On Page 14

  The tramp burst into a roar of laughter.

  “A mongrel? Him a mongrel?” he repeated. “Why, ’e’s one of the most valu’ble dawgs in England. ’E’s an Abyssinian Retriever. I’ve been offered as much as a hundred pounds for him. I don’t know that there is another in England. They’ve been in our family since my great grandfather was in Abyssinia an’ brought one back, an’ since then we’ve kept ’em in our family. There’s dawg fanciers all over England mad to get ’old of one. There’s organisations of dawg thieves up to every trick to steal this ’ere one. I daren’t let ’im out of my sight for a minute. If you’d told me this time last week that I’d ever sell ’im I’d have laughed at you . . . but—well, I don’t think the sort of life I’m leadin’s good for a dawg. I’d like the dawg to ’ave a good ’ome for the dawg’s sake. You can see for yourself I’ve come down in the world. It’d surprise you to know the sort of family I started from—butlers an’ evenin’ dress an’ fountings in the garden same as you see in the pictures—but I’ve ’ad misfortunes, through no fault of me own. I ’aven’t got it in me to do a dishonest action an’ that’s why I’ve come down in the world. Honest Jim’s been me nickname from a child. I’ve always put others before myself an’ that’s why I want this ’ere little dawg to ’ave an ’appy ’ome ’owever much I miss ’im. ’Ow much money ’ave you got in that purse of yours?”

  “A pound,” said William, “but it’s not mine.”

  “Well, then, don’t you spend it, me lad,” said the tramp virtuously. “Never spend money that’s not your own. That’s been my motter through life an’ I’ve never regretted it. Always remember Honest Jim tellin’ you that . . . But, mind you, there’s nothin’ against you buyin’ somethin’ with that there pound that you know you can sell again for more. Then you’ll ’ave your pound back an’ a good bit besides.”

  William considered. He was anxious to do something to help his mother’s society. The one pound he carried in his purse still seemed pitifully inadequate to provide comfort for the aged, homes for the homeless, food for the starving . . .

  “How much are you selling the dog for?” said William.

  The tramp looked at him speculatively.

  “Well, it depends ’oo it’s to,” he said. “Most people I’d ask a ’undred pounds for ’im, but I’ve took a liking to you. I’ve never met a boy I’ve took such a liking to as I’ve took to you. You’re honest, same as what I am myself. Most people would think I’m a fool, but I’ve got a soft ’eart an’ I’m not ashamed of it an’ when I makes a friend I likes to treat ’im as such. Now don’t laugh at me—but I’ll let you ’ave that there little dawg for as little as a pound.”

  William considered this, his freckled face set and frowning. He was deeply touched by the tramp’s generosity, but he was still not completely lost to sanity.

  “I might not be able to sell it,” he said. “People haven’t got much money jus’ now ’cause of the war, an’ there’s not many dog places round here. There’s only Emmett’s in Hadley an’—”

  “Emmett’s in ’Adley!” repeated the tramp, with a short surprised laugh. “Well, if that don’t beat all! I was down in ’Adley this mornin’ an’ I was walkin’ past the shop when out come Emmett ’isself. ’E sez, ‘Ow much d’you want for that Abyssinian Retriever?’ ’e sez, an’ I sez, ‘A ’undred pound,’ I sez, an’ he sez, ‘Well, it’s less than it’s worth,’ ’e sez. ‘I’ve bin tryin’ to get an Abyssinian Retriever for years. But what with the war an’ all, fifty pound down’s all I could give you, an’ I’d give you that this very minute if you’d let me ’ave the dawg,’ ’e sez. ‘Well, I’m not sellin’ at the minute,’ I sez. ‘I’ll let you know when I am,’ I sez. ‘An’ I’ll ’ave fifty pound ready an’ waitin’,’ ’e sez.”

  William opened his mouth to speak when the tramp hastily interrupted him.

  “I ’spect you’re wonderin’ why I din’t go back to ’im when I made up me mind to sell the dawg. Well, I din’t want to tell you about that, ’cause I can see you’ve got a soft ’eart, but I s’pose I’d better. Well, I’ve ’eard since then that me pore ole mother’s very ill an’ askin’ for me so I’ve not time to go down to ’Adley. I’m hurryin’ ’ome to me pore ole mother. An’ I mustn’t stay ’ere chatterin’ any longer, young sir, spite of the fancy I’ve took to you. Juty calls, an’ Honest Jim’s never been deaf to the call of juty. Now make up your mind quick. Either you want to turn one pound into fifty or you don’t. ’And it over an’ take the dawg or I mus’ find someone else an’ get on to me pore ole mother. I’d like you to ’ave it. I’ll regret it almost as much as you if you don’t, ’cause of this fancy I’ve took to you. An’ you’ll regret it the rest of your life. Well, I can’t stop no longer so—”

  “All right,” said William breathlessly. “I’ll take it. You—you’re sure I can get fifty pounds for it at Emmett’s?”

  The tramp looked at him reproachfully.

  “I’m surprised at you askin’ that, young sir. Honest Jim’s never spoke a word of untruth in ’is life. All you’ve gotter do is to go into Emmett’s with the little dawg an’ say ‘Ere’s Honest Jim’s Abyssinian Retriever’, an’ come out with fifty pounds in your ’and, but if you don’t b’lieve me . . .”

  “Yes, I do believe you,” said William hastily. “It’s all right.” He took out the leather purse, poured the eight half-crowns into his grimy palm and carefully counted them into the tramp’s still grimier one.

  “Well, that’s the best bargain you’ll ever get in your life,” said Honest Jim. He picked up the puppy, put it into William’s arms, pocketed the eight half-crowns and with a “Go’-bye, young sir. You’re in luck’s way to-day,” set off jauntily and somewhat hurriedly down the road.

  William looked at his purchase. It was an attractive puppy—brown and plump and friendly. An Abyssinian Retriever . . . worth a hundred pounds. He put it down on the ground. It seemed to accept him as its new master with exuberant delight, jumping up at him and uttering sharp, shrill excited barks. Had William’s heart not been given to his own dog Jumble (engaged at the moment on an illicit marauding expedition in the neighbouring woods) he would have found it hard to part from this new friend. But he watched the friskings and leapings with an absent expression, his brow furrowed by thought. An Abyssinian Retriever . . . worth a hundred pounds. There was a small cold doubt in his mind that he dared not face . . .

  “Well, come on, boy!” he called and set off in the direction of Hadley.

  The puppy frisked and frolicked, running on in front of him, running back to him, leaping up at him. William fixed his mind on the pleasant picture of his mother’s joy and surprise on receiving fifty pounds instead of the expected one . . . but the small cold doubt at his heart grew larger and colder . . . An Abyssinian Retriever . . .

  He entered Emmett’s boldly, the puppy still frisking and frolicking at his heels.

  Emmett—a stout bull-like man—was standing in the middle of the shop in check cap and shirt-sleeves, chewing a straw. William was dismayed to notice that his eyes rested on the Abyssinian Retriever with complete indifference. Perhaps he was thinking of something else and hadn’t really seen it. He went nearer, his heart beating quickly.

  “Please, I’ve brought Honest Jim’s Abyssinian Retriever,” he said.

  Mr. Emmett spat the straw out of his mouth and stared at him.

  “You’ve brought whose what?” he said.

  “Honest Jim’s Abyssinian Retriever,” repeated William, the doubt now so cold and large that it sent an icy chill into every part of him. “You said you’d give fifty pounds for it.”

  “Me? Fifty pounds! For that!" exploded Mr. Emmett.

  “It—it’s an Abyssinian Retriever,” faltered William.

  “Abyssinian—? There ain’t no such a breed,” said Mr. Emmett indignantly.

  “Well, what sort of a dog is it, then?” said William. The dog fancier inspected the claimant with undisguised contempt.

  �
��There’s hardly any sort of dog it ain’t,” he said at last. “Out-an’-out little mongrel, it is.”

  “B-but you know Honest Jim? He said—”

  “Never heard of him, whoever he is. Look here, you little blighter, you’re not tryin’ to be funny, are you? ’Cause, if you are—”

  “No,” said William. “I’m not. Listen. This man, called Honest Jim, he said you knew him an’ he said you’d offered him fifty pounds for this Abyss—this dog. He said—”

  “I’ve no time for fairy tales this morning,” interrupted the dog fancier impatiently. “Clear out an’ take your encyclopaedia with you.”

  “But listen,” pleaded William. “Do listen. This man said—”

  “Clear out!” shouted the dog fancier and, bearing down upon William and his protege, swept them before him into the street.

  There William stood for a few moments, overcome by the sheer horror of the situation. Something must be done at once—and suddenly he knew what must be done. He must get in touch with Honest Jim, return the Abyssinian Retriever to him and make him give him back his pound. He had last seen him setting off in the direction of Marleigh, so in the direction of Marleigh sped William, the puppy leaping delightedly by his side, obviously under the delusion that the whole procedure was devised for his entertainment and quite unperturbed by the slur cast on his ancestry.

  There was no trace of Honest Jim in Marleigh, but a farm labourer, questioned, said that he had seen a ragged tramp with a black beard on the road to Upper Marleigh. Panting, breathless, his heart a wild confusion of hope and despair, William ran on to Upper Marleigh . . . And there, sitting on the bench outside the Green Dragon, a mug of beer at his lips, was Honest Jim . . . Honest Jim looked for a moment a trifle disconcerted to see William and the Abyssinian Retriever approaching him. He had intended to be far enough away by the time William realised his “mistake”, but had not been able to resist the temptation to relieve a perennial thirst by means of the newly-acquired wealth . . . and time had somehow slipped by as he did so.

  “I say,” panted William, coming up to him, “you know this dog you sold me—”

  Honest Jim put down the mug and looked at him in surprise.

  “Me?” he said. “I never sold you no dawg, young sir. Never set eyes on you till this ’ere moment.”

  William stared at him, hardly able to believe his ears. “B-b-but you did," he persisted. “You said it was an Abyssinian Retriever, an’ I gave you a pound for it an’—”

  “Not me, young sir,” said the tramp, draining his mug. “Never set eyes on you or the dawg before.” He rose. “Well, I’d better be gettin’ on . . .”

  “But you did,” said William desperately. He was on the verge of tears—a rare occurrence with William. “I can’t go back to my mother without that money. It wasn’t mine or hers. It was the Poors’. I gave it you for the dog ’cause you said it was an—”

  A thoughtful look had come into the tramp’s face. “Look here,” he said, “did this man that sold you the dawg say his name was Honest Jim?”

  “Yes,” said William.

  “And was he the spit’n’ image of me to look at?”

  “Yes,” said William.

  The tramp shook his head slowly and sadly.

  “I know ’im, then. Me twin brother, ’e is. An’ a greater scoundrel never walked this ’ere earth. ’E’s done you down proper, young sir. Took your quid for a dawg that’s not worth a tanner. Oh, if only I could get me ’ands on ’im! Mind you, you’re not the only one ’e’s done down. ’E’s ruined me. If it ’adn’t been for ’im I’d be ridin’ in me own car this very second. Paid ’is debts over an’ over again, I ’ave, to keep ’im out of prison for our poor ole mother’s sake. Ruined meself for ’im.”

  William’s gaze travelled doubtfully over the ragged unsavoury figure.

  “He—he was dressed same as you,” he said.

  “That’s ’is cunnin’,” said the tramp with a sigh. “’E knows I’m trusted an’ respected through the length an’ breadth of the land, so ’e dresses same as me an’ o’ course ’e looks same as me to start with, so—well, you can see for yourself, ’ow it is. ’E’s even took me name—Honest Jim. ’E knows ’e’s only to say ’e’s Honest Jim an’ people’ll trust ’im with anythin’, thinkin’ it’s me. Now, look ’ere, young sir”—he got up and put his mug on the seat beside him—“I’ll not rest till I’ve got that quid back for you. I know ’is ’aunts an’ I’ll track ’im down an’ get that quid o’ yours back for you if it takes me the rest of me nat’ral life. That’s me. Honest Jim. Can’t rest till I’ve put wrong right. That’s ’ow I spends my life, tryin’ to put right wot ’e’s done wrong, an’ wipe the slur off me good name. No, don’t thank me till I’ve done it, but—well, good-bye, young sir, an’ wish me luck.”

  William opened his mouth to speak, but Honest Jim was already making good his escape, moving with surprising agility along the high road and, once out of sight, slipping down byways and unfrequented paths in order to put as much ground as he could between him and possible retribution.

  William sat on the bench, chin on hands, staring gloomily into the distance. He was a credulous boy and one who was always ready to believe the best of his fellow creatures, but he had little doubt that Honest Jim and his twin brother were the same. It was a depressing thought, but still more depressing was the thought of returning to his mother without her eight half-crowns. The only bright spot in the whole situation was the Abyssinian Retriever, who sat by his feet thumping the ground at intervals with his stubby tail and grinning contentedly at the world around him . . . and even he was not a very bright spot. He was the cause of the whole trouble and must somehow be disposed of, for even the optimistic William realised that, especially in the present circumstances, he would meet with but a cold reception at his mother’s hands.

  He tried to rehearse the forthcoming scene with his mother and to prepare his explanations and excuses. “Yes, I got the half-crowns all right, but I bought a dog with them. . . .’’ “Well, you see, this man told me that it was an Abyssinian Retriever an’ . . .” No, it was no use. He couldn’t make it sound convincing even to himself. He had not only let his mother down. He had robbed the poor and needy of eight half-crowns. It was like a nightmare . . . The church clock struck twelve. He couldn’t sit here any longer. He must go home and face his mother’s anger and disappointment. Then a sudden idea struck him. He could at least try to make up something of the money. He could go round begging for the Society. Someone might give him something. He might perhaps get as much as one half-crown, which would be better than none. He didn’t really feel very optimistic, but at least he could try. He sprang up from the bench and summoned his companion, who was nosing in a neighbouring hedge.

  “Come on, boy.”

  The puppy, still blissfully unconscious of the trouble he had caused, frisked gaily down the road with William.

  William’s freckled face wore an anxious expression, and his lips moved silently as he practised his appeal. “Please could you give me a penny or two for rebuildin’ the slums?” . . . “Please could you give me some money to get soup an’ coal an’ stuff for the poor?”

  He hadn’t any great hopes as, with set fierce expression, he knocked at the door of the first house he came to and began: “Please could you spare me a penny for—” but he wasn’t prepared for the indignation of the housemaid, who said:

  “You saucy little rascal, you!” and slammed the door in his face.

  He went on to the next house. This time the mistress of the house herself answered the door. She heard him in silence, then said sadly: “You know, little boy, that this is a very serious thing. If I chose to inform the police that you were begging like this you’d get into trouble. Now go home and play with your nice toys and never do a thing like this again.”

  Despite this discouragement he made a third attempt, but this time an irascible old man opened the door a few inches, shouted: “No, I can’t tell
you the time,” and shut it with a bang before William could correct the mistake.

  Slowly he wandered on down the road. He felt too much dispirited to try again, yet he could not face the prospect of returning to his mother with his story of failure.

  He sat down on a stile by the roadside to consider the situation, fixing his eyes absently on a house half-way up the hill. Then gradually he began to notice the house. It was a large house. Even from the distance and seen between the trees, it wore an air of prosperity. Surely the people who lived in it could spare him half a crown. He felt that even one half-crown might divert something of his mother’s anger. It would be better, anyway, than returning empty-handed. He must try to make his plea more moving. He must manage to get it out before they could stop or misunderstand him. He must make a bold bid for half a crown . . . “Please could you give me half a crown for givin’ soup to the slums. No, I mean givin’ soup to the poor and rebuildin’ the slums.”

  He set off up the hill, in at the big iron gates, and up a large shady drive . . . “Please could you spare me half a crown for soup an’ coal an’ rebuildin’ the slums? . . .” The puppy still frisked at his heels.

  A little woman with greyish hair opened the door.

  “Please could you spare—” began William, but she interrupted him, clasping her hands eagerly, her eyes fixed on the frisking puppy.

  “Oh, you’ve brought him!” she said breathlessly. “Oh, I am so glad. And how quick you’ve been! I only put the notice up half an hour ago. Oh dear, what a relief! Do come in.” She snatched the puppy up and kissed it ecstatically. “Oh, Tinker, you naughty boy!”

  The puppy greeted her with the exuberant delight and affection that it seemed able to extend to the whole world. Bewildered, William followed her into a small sitting-room.

  “It’s my little niece’s dog,” explained the lady. “She’s staying with me for the war and she’s been very ill indeed, and was getting up to-day for the first time. We haven’t let the dog go into her bedroom and she’s been living for the moment when she could play with him again, and this morning I found that he’d disappeared and I didn’t know what to do. I knew that the child would be heartbroken and that it would probably send her temperature right up again, and I was in despair—especially when I heard that he’d been seen following a tramp. Then I suddenly thought of putting up that notice in the post office. Of course, I know a pound seems a large reward for a little dog like this, but it was worth it to me to get him back. I’m sure that if my little niece had come down this afternoon to find him gone, she’d never have got over it. Oh dear, oh dear! I was so dreading breaking the news to her that I was beginning to feel quite ill myself . . . Where did you find him?”