William Page 5

  But they weren’t. William, Ginger and Henry, lusting for the Hubert Laneites’ blood, scoured the wood from end to end and even searched all the roads leading to Hubert Lane’s house. There was no trace of the Hubert Laneites, but from an upper window in Hubert Lane’s house they were rewarded by the sight of Hubert Lane making triumphant jeering grimaces at them and licking his lips suggestively. They pretended not to see him and returned morosely to the racecourse.

  ‘Fancy that happ’nin’ on the top of everythin’ else,’ said William, ‘jus’ as if it wasn’t enough the whole race goin’ wrong like that.’

  It seemed to the Outlaws that sometimes Fate lacked artistic restraint in her effects.

  There were no traces of the greyhounds on the racecourse, but Douglas was there. He had managed to elude his pursuers and was breathless and indignant.

  ‘No wonder you wanted me to do the bettin’ part,’ he said bitterly. ‘I don’t wonder you all shoved it off on to me. I’m jus’ about wore out with it all. I can’t think what people see in bettin’.’

  When he heard of the latest catastrophe his gloom changed to consternation.

  ‘Gosh!’ he said, aghast. ‘Jus’ to think of it. Me wearin’ myself out sawin’ wood an’ earnin’ money for him – for that Hubert Lane.’

  ‘Let’s go home, anyway,’ said William. ‘I’ve had enough of it all.’

  ‘If only he’d done a bit of sawin’ for it, but gettin’ it all for nothin’ like that, stealin’ it . . .’

  ‘There’s that dog,’ said Ginger, suddenly, ‘that dog we borrowed. We’d better be takin’ him back.’

  At that moment Jumble and a fox-terrier came leaping through the trees.

  William seized the fox-terrier and inserted a grimy handkerchief through his collar.

  Douglas looked at him with distaste.

  ‘Can’t think what they wanted – all bettin’ on him!’ he said.

  ‘Come on,’ said William impatiently. They went out of the wood and down the road to the house from which they had taken the dog. Ginger kept looking at the dog thoughtfully. They crept in by the back gate, which was still open, and fastened the dog to the chain. Then they came out and hurried down the road. Ginger was still very thoughtful.

  ‘Where are we goin’ now?’ said Douglas.

  ‘Back to the wood,’ said William. ‘I’ve left the bits of the mouse there. I bet I could mend it all right. An’ I bet if we trained Jumble a bit he’d be able to race after it all right. It was only that he didn’t quite understand—’

  William’s optimism was boundless.

  ‘William,’ said Ginger very slowly and thoughtfully, ‘I don’t think that was the right dog.’

  ‘What was the right dog?’ said William impatiently.

  ‘The dog we took back wasn’t the same dog as the dog we took.’

  ‘It looked jus’ the same,’ said William.

  ‘It didn’t look quite the same,’ said Ginger. ‘I mean, it was the same make of dog all right – a fox-terrier – but it wasn’t exactly the same dog. I’m almost sure it wasn’t. You see,’ he explained simply, ‘I’m one of its friends. I know it.’

  William was aghast.

  ‘Crumbs!’ he said helplessly. ‘Well, it’ll have to stay there now. If it’s not the right one I can’t help it. The man it belongs to ’ll have to find the right one. I’ve jus’ about had enough of today.’

  They reached the racecourse once more. Jumble darted off again among the trees and William collected the bits of clockwork mouse and began to try to put them together again.

  ‘You’ll never do it,’ said Ginger gloomily. ‘There’s sixpence gone. An’ all the money we spent on the refreshments. An’ all the money we might’ve got through the bettin’ if Jumble had any sense. Greyhound Racin’!’ he exploded sarcastically, ‘he ought to’ve been a monkey on a barrel-organ for all the sense he’s got. Fancy a dog not havin’ enough sense to race with another dog and run after a mouse. I’d be ashamed of havin’ a dog that hadn’t enough sense for that.’

  William, stung to the quick by this attack on his pet, rose to his defence indignantly.

  ‘Oh, you would, would you? Well, let me tell you that Jumble couldn’t race ’cause he’s got too much sense for it. That’s what it is. He’s too intell’gent to make a racin’ dog. That’s what it is. Too intell’gent. Racin’ dogs are all stupid. They’ve gotter be so stupid that they think a clockwork hare’s a real hare and run after it. Well, Jumble’s too intell’gent for that. He knew it wasn’t a real one and that was why he wouldn’t race after it ’cause he’s too intell’gent.’ He appealed to Douglas for support. ‘Don’t you think so, Douglas?’ he said. But Douglas refused to be drawn from his own particular grievance.

  ‘I don’t wonder lots of people are against bettin’,’ he said. ‘It seems to me all wrong. I shall always be against it myself now.’

  At that minute a diversion was caused by Jumble who reappeared through the trees frisking about with another fox-terrier.

  ‘That’s the real one,’ exclaimed Ginger.

  It greeted Ginger ecstatically and the others with jubilant friendliness. It was certainly the real one. All of them recognised it.

  ‘We’ve got to take it back,’ said Ginger righteously. ‘We borrowed it an’ we’ve got to take it back. We can’t leave it loose all over the wood.’

  ‘All right,’ agreed William dispiritedly. ‘Come on.’

  He secured this fox-terrier too with his handkerchief and, accompanied by Jumble, they set off again for the fox-terrier’s home. At the back gate of the fox-terrier’s home, however, they stopped dead. The gate was still open, but the yard was no longer empty of humans. There were two men in it. Both were angry. Both were pointing with indignant gestures at the fox-terrier which the Outlaws had lately brought there and which was still chained to the kennel, watching proceedings with interest. One man was evidently its master and was accusing the other of stealing it. The other was indignantly denying the accusation and bringing a counter-charge of theft against his visitor.

  ‘You’ve stolen it. Of course you’ve stolen it. Why do I find it chained up like this in your back-yard if you haven’t stolen it. I shall tell the police.’

  ‘Stolen the thing! I’ve never seen it before. I tell you when I went out this afternoon my own dog was chained up there. What I want to know is how comes it that my dog’s gone and this wretched cur’s in its place.’

  ‘Wretched cur, indeed! You thought enough of it to steal it.’

  ‘I never stole it. My own dog—’

  ‘I don’t believe you ever had a dog.’

  ‘Liar!’

  ‘What do you call me?’

  ‘Liar!’

  ‘Dog thief!’

  ‘Dog thief!’

  ‘I’ll call up the police this instant.’

  ‘Do, and I’ll give you in charge.’

  ‘Yes, and I demand my dog of you. What have you done with it? Stolen a valuable pedigree dog and put a miserable mongrel in its place.’

  ‘Liar!’

  ‘Thief!’

  ‘Thief yourself.’

  ‘Liar yourself.’

  ‘I’ll call—’

  ‘I demand—’

  At that minute they turned and saw the Outlaws standing, a helpless, fascinated group. William was still holding the original fox-terrier by his collar.

  ‘There’s my dog!’ yelled the terrier’s owner.

  The terrier leapt upon him in ecstatic recognition. He was a dog with a very large heart.

  The spell that had till now held the Outlaws paralysed ceased to hold them and they fled precipitately down the road.

  They were pursued by angry shouts from the two men. From the shouts the Outlaws gathered that they had recognised William and were going to tell his father.

  ‘Crumbs!’ panted William as they stopped at the end of the road to draw breath. ‘Crumbs! What a day!’

  ‘Well,’ said William’s father the
next morning, ‘I really don’t want to hear any more about it. I’m sick of hearing about that dog. I don’t know why on earth you go about the countryside borrowing dogs. You’ve got one of your own, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes, but you can’t have races with only one dog,’ protested William earnestly.

  ‘But why have races? The trouble with you, my boy, is that you’re suffering from a superabundance of spirits and leisure time. There are a few logs in the wood shed. You can saw them all up into small pieces today. It will occupy your time and reduce your superfluous vitality.’

  ‘Me!’ gasped William, pale with dismay. ‘Me! Alone!’ ‘You may get your friends to help you,’ said his father pleasantly, ‘even so it will, I think, take you most of the day.’

  William joined his friends and communicated the news.

  ‘Jus’ when we were goin’ to go fishin’,’ he said despondently.

  After yesterday’s fiasco the Outlaws had decided upon fishing as a safe and pleasant pastime that couldn’t go wrong.

  ‘What makes me so mad,’ said Ginger, ‘is the thought of that ole Hubert Lane an’ the others eatin’ up all those things we bought an’ that we sawed an’ sawed for an’ now we’ve gotter saw again – course we’ll come an’ help, William – an’ – an’ I wouldn’t mind so much if we could make him do a bit of the sawin’—’

  A thoughtful expression had come over William’s face.

  ‘Let’s go down by his house,’ he said, ‘an’ see if we can meet him.’

  By one of the strokes of good luck that occasionally befell the Outlaws they did meet him. They met him in the lane leading to his house. At first sight he took them for a punitive expedition and his face paled with apprehension. But nothing could have exceeded the friendliness with which William accosted him.

  ‘Hello, Hubert. How are you?’

  Hubert, still looking a little apprehensive, said that he was very well.

  The Outlaws began to walk down the lane with him.

  ‘I say, that was a jolly good trick you played on us yesterday,’ said William. ‘As a matter of fact,’ he continued shamelessly, ‘we were jolly glad to see those things gone. We’d just been wonderin’ what we were goin’ to do with them. They were jus’ a few ole bad ones left over from our tea. We’d eaten all the nice ones and we’d had all the ginger ale we could drink and we were jus’ wondering what to do with those few ole bad cakes an’ ginger ale left over, when we found you’d taken ’em. I can tell you we were jolly glad. We di’n’ want to leave ’em about in the wood ’cause of makin’ the place untidy an’ we di’n’ want to take ’em home ’cause of none of us likin’ ’em. So we were jolly glad, I can tell you, to find ’em gone.’

  Hubert’s mouth had dropped open with dismay and disappointment. Hubert was very credulous.

  ‘Oh!’ was all he said.

  ‘Yes. What’re you goin’ to do today, Hubert?’ went on William pleasantly.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Hubert cautiously.

  ‘We’re goin’ to have a lovely time,’ said William enthusiastically. ‘We’ve gotter go out this mornin’, but this afternoon we’re goin’ to have a lovely time.’

  ‘What’re you goin’ to do?’ inquired Hubert with interest.

  ‘Saw up wood,’ said William with a world of pleasurable anticipation in his voice. ‘We’ve been tryin’ to get some logs to saw up into small pieces for ever so long an’ now at last we’ve got some. They’re in our wood shed. We’d rather saw wood than anythin’ else, wouldn’t we?’ he appealed to the Outlaws.

  The Outlaws said that they would.

  ‘We’d rather do it than play Red Indians or – or anythin’,’ went on William. ‘We’re jolly well lookin’ forward to this afternoon when we’re goin’ to saw those logs. We’ve gotter be out all this mornin’ but we shall be thinkin’ all the time of those lovely logs an’ the lovely time we’re goin’ to have sawin’ ’em up this afternoon. Here’s your house, isn’t it, Hubert? You goin’ in? Goodbye, Hubert.’

  The Outlaws turned and walked back down the lane.

  ‘I bet it’ll be all right,’ said William. ‘They’ll want to do another trick on us ’cause of thinkin’ that yesterday’s didn’t come off. Let’s wait about a quarter of an hour an’ then I’ll go ’n’ look.’

  In about a quarter of an hour William crept back to the garden and peeped in at the wood shed window. Hubert and his friends were there, sawing up the logs.

  William rejoined the Outlaws. ‘’S all right,’ he called out joyously. ‘We can go fishin’ all day.’

  CHAPTER 3

  WILLIAM’S DOUBLE LIFE

  It happened that William, unusually enough, was thrown upon his own resources. It was the holidays and all the other Outlaws were away from home. Douglas had gone to stay with an aunt at the seaside. He had been bored at the prospect and the visit was not turning out any more enjoyable than he had thought it would. His only consolation was that his aunt was finding it even more trying than he. Ginger had gone with his family to stay at a boarding house. Already the oldest resident of the boarding house had taken such a dislike to Ginger’s rendering of ‘Let’s Go Round to Alice’s House’, that he had issued an ultimatum to the effect that either Ginger or he must depart at once and for ever. He had left it to the boarding house proprietress to choose between them and she had done so. She had chosen the oldest resident. Ginger’s parents were already packing . . .

  Henry was taking part in a camping holiday with some cousins of the same age and disposition as himself. The young schoolmaster who had organised the expedition had meant to camp in the same place for the whole fortnight, but as events turned out, they had moved on after each night. They had not moved on of their own accord. They had left a train of infuriated farmers behind them in their passage across England. The young schoolmaster had returned home with a nervous breakdown and had already had two successors.

  And so William was thrown upon his own resources.

  Though much relieved that his own family was not taking a holiday (for William hated to be torn from his familiar pursuits and the familiar fields and ditches of his native village) he was for the first two days rather at a loss as to what to do without the other Outlaws. And then he had an inspiration. An aquarium. He’d make an aquarium. He’d already made a zoo and a circus, he’d already organised greyhound racing (all without any striking success), but he’d never yet made an aquarium. He’d make an aquarium with two hundred inhabitants in a large pail (William’s mind, like the minds of all great organisers, leapt ahead, arranging even the smallest detail). He’d start at once . . .

  The first thing to do, of course, was to find a pail. He was prepared to go to any lengths to obtain one and had just conceived the bold design of carrying off the washing pail from under the cook’s vigilant and hostile eyes, when to his amazement she offered it him.

  ‘That pail’s just beginning to leak, Master William,’ she said carelessly, ‘if you’d like it for any of your contraptions you can have it.’

  William accepted it coldly. It was disappointing to have screwed up his courage for a daring coup and then to find that the coup was unnecessary. Moreover, William preferred the cook as an enemy than a friend. Life was very dull to William when he and the cook were being polite to each other. However, he found a little comfort in making a bold daylight raid upon a workman’s hod when actually in action in the workman’s hand in order to obtain some mortar to mend the leak in the pail. The workman, welcoming the little diversion almost as much as did William, threw down the hod and pursued him unavailingly to the end of the road, showering threats and abuse in his wake, then returned, cheered and invigorated, to his work.

  The pail was mended, filled with water and put into the shed to await its two hundred inhabitants.

  And here William’s troubles began. For the fish denizens of the neighbourhood were coy. They refused to enter the net that William held in the stream with such patience and jerked up at intervals wi
th such sudden cunning. They ignored his worms obtained with great labour and at the expense of some of the choicest garden plants. They scorned his bent pins. In the course of two mornings’ hard work, he caught only an old tin, a curtain hook and a bottle in his net and on his bent pin a bootlace and the remnants of a grimy shirt discarded by some passing tramp. William was not the boy lightly to abandon any idea he had once taken up, but it was just as despair was descending upon him that he remembered the pond in the garden of The Laburnums. The Laburnums was a largish house at the further end of the village and in its garden just beyond the orchard was a pond – a pond teeming with potential inhabitants of William’s aquarium. William and the other Outlaws had discovered it about a year ago, but the owner had then been an irate colonel who had caught the Outlaws fishing in his pond and robbing his orchard and had inflicted such condign punishment that even those bold spirits had not wooed that particular adventure again. But it occurred now to William that he had seen a ‘To Let’ notice at the gate of The Laburnums and he set off at once – net, glass jar with string handle, worm, bent pin, stick and all – to reconnoitre. His impression turned out to be correct. There was a ‘To Let’ notice at the gate of The Laburnums. He did not enter boldly at the front gate because in his acquaintance of empty houses (and it was a wide one) there was generally a caretaker in possession, and caretakers, though content generally to doze their lives away in the kitchen, were, nevertheless, of a savage disposition when roused, and, like the wild buffaloes of Africa, attacked on sight.

  So he walked down the road till he found the place in the hedge where a year ago a serviceable hole had been made by the frequent passage of the Outlaws’ solid bodies. Time had healed the breach to a certain extent, but there was still room just to admit William with his accoutrements. Having scraped through the hole with only a few casualties (the loss of his worm, a hole in his net and a forest of scratches on his hands) William cautiously made his way to the orchard. It took him longer than it need have done to cross the orchard. The amount of apples William could consume during a leisurely stroll across an average-sized orchard would have astounded anyone of normal digestive capacities. At length, however, gorged and happy, he made his way to the pond. And the pond exceeded his wildest expectations. It teemed with inhabitants, and inhabitants of an engagingly friendly and trusting disposition. They jostled each other for entrance to his net and those who fell through the hole seemed to struggle to get back again. They impaled themselves willingly upon his bent pin. They even placed themselves confidently in his bare hand. He fished there for over an hour. At last, carefully carrying his glass jar by its string handle and glowing with the pride of the successful hunter, he sauntered slowly back through the orchard. The apples delayed him again for some time, and when even William had reached his limit (a limit to be spoken of with bated breath) he stuffed his pockets and wandered homeward, mentally composing (slightly exaggerated) accounts of the affair to tell the other Outlaws on their return.