Still William Page 9

  ‘Now you can look at me first,’ he said in a deep unnatural voice. ‘I’m a native of South Africa dressed in native coschume an’ this here is native orn’ments made by me an’ you can buy the orn’ments for a penny each,’ he added not very hopefully.

  ‘Yes,’ said the tallest boy, ‘an’ we can do without buyin’ ’em equ’ly well.’

  ‘Yes, an’ I’d jus’ as soon you din’ buy ’em,’ said William proudly but untruthfully, ‘ ’cause they’re worth more’n a penny an’ I’ll very likely get a shillin’ each for ’em before the exhibition’s over.’

  ‘Huh!’ said the boy scornfully. ‘Well, wot’s next? ’S not worth a penny so far.’

  ‘ ’F it’d been worth a penny so far,’ said William, ‘d’you think I’d’v let you see it all for a penny? Why don’ you try to talk sense?’

  The small girl at the tail of the procession was still sobbing indignantly.

  ‘I’m not a cheat. Boo-hoo-hoo an’ I won’t give the narsy boy my Sat’day penny. I won’t. I wanter buy sweeties wiv it an’ I’m not a cheat, boo-hoo-hoo!’

  ‘A’ right,’ said the goaded William. ‘You’re not then an’ don’t then an’ shut up.’

  ‘You’re being very wude to me,’ said the young pessimist with a fresh wail.

  Beyond William were three other sacking-shrouded figures, each behind a piece of wood on which were displayed small objects.

  ‘Now I’m a guide,’ said William returning to his hoarse, unnatural voice. ‘This way please ladies an’ gentlemen an’ we’d all be grateful if the lady would kin’ly shut up.’ This remark occasioned a fresh outburst of angry sobs on the part of the aggrieved lady. ‘This,’ taking off the first sackcloth with a flourish and revealing Ginger dressed in an old tapestry curtain, the exposed parts of his person plentifully smeared with moist boot blacking, ‘this is a native of Australia, and these are native wooden orn’ments made by him. Talk Australian, Native.’

  The confinement under the sacking had been an austere one and the day was hot and streams of perspiration mingling with the blacking gave Ginger’s countenance a mottled look. Before him were wooden objects roughly cut into shapes that might have represented almost anything. As examples of art they belonged decidedly to the primitive school.

  ‘Go on, Ging— Native, I mean. Talk Australian,’ commanded William.

  ‘Monkey, donkey, fluky, tim-tim,’ said Ginger, ‘an’ crumbs, isn’t it hot?’

  ‘Call that Australian?’ said the audience indignantly.

  ‘Well,’ said William loftily, ‘he’s nat’rally learnt a bit of English comin’ over here.’ Then, taking up one of the unrecognisable wooden shapes and handing it to the little girl: ‘Here, you can have that if you’ll shut up an’ it’s worth ever so much, I can tell you. It’s valu’ble.’

  She took it, beaming with smiles through her tears.

  ‘I ’spect some of you’d like to buy some?’ said William.

  ‘TALK AUSTRALIAN!’ COMMANDED WILLIAM. ‘MONKEY, FLUKY, TIM-TIM,’ SAID GINGER. ‘CALL THAT AUSTRALIAN?’ SAID THE AUDIENCE INDIGNANTLY.

  His audience hastily and indignantly repudiated the suggestion.

  ‘What do I do now?’ said Ginger.

  ‘You jus’ wait for the next lot,’ said William covering him up with the sacking. Ginger sat down again muttering disconsolately about the heat beneath his sacking.

  Henry was a Canadian and Douglas was an Egyptian. Both were pasted with blacking and both shone with streaky moisture. Henry wore a large cretonne cushion cover and Douglas wore a smock that had been made for use in charades last Christmas. Both obligingly talked in their native language. Douglas, who was learning Latin, said, ‘Bonus, bona, bonum, bonum, bonam, bonum,’ to the fury and indignation of his audience.

  In front of Henry were balls of moist clay; in front of Douglas were twigs tied together in curious shapes. The sightseers refused all William’s blandishing persuasions to buy.

  ‘Well, it’s you I’m thinking of,’ said William. ‘ ’F you go home without takin’ these int’restin’ things made by natives you’ll be sorry and then it’ll be too late. An’ you mayn’t ever again see ’em to buy an’ you’ll be sorry. An’ if you bought ’em you could put ’em in a museum an’ – an’ they’d always be int’restin’.’

  The smallest boy was moved by William’s eloquence to pay a penny for a clay ball, then promptly regretted it and demanded his penny back.

  It was while this argument was going on that Violet Elizabeth appeared.

  ‘Wanter be a native like Ginger – all black,’ she demanded loudly.

  William, who was harassed by his argument with the repentant purchaser of native ware, turned on her severely.

  ‘You oughter pay a penny comin’ into this show,’ he said.

  ‘I came in a different hole, a hole of my own so I’m not going to,’ said Violet Elizabeth, ‘an’ I wanter be a native like Ginger an’ Henry an’ Douglas – all lovely an’ black.’

  ‘Well, you can’t be,’ said William firmly.

  Tears filled her eyes and she lifted up her voice.

  ‘Wanterbean-a-a-tive,’ she screamed.

  ‘All right,’ said William desperately. ‘Be a native. I don’t care. Be a native. Get the blacking from Ginger. I don’t care. Be one an’ don’t blame me. The next is the amusements, ladies an’ gentlemen.’

  There were three amusements. The first consisted in climbing a tree and lowering oneself from the first branch by a rope previously fastened to it by William. The second consisted in being wheeled once round the field in a wheelbarrow by William. The third consisted in standing on a plank at the edge of the pond and being gently propelled into the pond by William. The entrance fee to each was one penny.

  ‘Yes,’ said the tallest boy indignantly, ‘an’ s’pose we fall off the plank into the water?’

  ‘That’s part of the amusement,’ said William wearily.

  The smallest boy decided after much thought to have a penny ride in a wheelbarrow . . .

  IV

  Mrs Bott was walking proudly up the lane. She had in train, not an earl exactly, but distantly related to an earl. At any rate he was County – most certainly County. So far County had persistently resisted the attempts of Mrs Bott to ‘get in’ with it. Mrs Bott had met him and captured him and was bringing him home to tea. She had brushed aside all his excuses. He walked beside her miserably, looking round for some way of escape. Already in her mind’s eye Mrs Bott was marrying Violet Elizabeth to one of his nephews (she came to the reluctant conclusion that he himself would be rather too old when Violet Elizabeth attained a marriageable age) and was killing off all his relations in crowds by earthquakes or floods or wrecks or dread diseases to make quite sure of the earldom. Ivory charmeuse for Violet Elizabeth, of course, and the bridesmaids in pale blue georgette . . .

  Suddenly they came to a paper notice pinned very crookedly on a stile in the hedge.

  The distant relation to the peer of the realm brightened. He stroked his microscopic moustache.

  ‘I say!’ he said. ‘Sounds rather jolly, what?’

  Mrs Bott who had assumed an expression of refined disgust hastily exchanged it for one of democratic tolerance.

  ‘Yars,’ she said in her super-county-snaring accent, ‘doesn’t it? We always trai to taike an interest in the activities of the village.’

  ‘I say, I think I’ll just go in and see,’ he said.

  He hoped that it would throw her off but as a ruse it was a failure.

  ‘Oh yars!’ she said. ‘Let’s! I think it’s so good for the village to feel the upper clarses take an interest in them.’

  The hole in the hedge proved too small for Mrs Bott’s corpulency, but the depressed connection of the peerage found a larger one further up which afforded quite a broad passage when the hedge was held back.

  They entered the field.

  William, his blacking and perspiration falling in drops on to his pale blue native costume,
had just finished the wheelbarrow ride. His hair stood up round his face in matted clusters. He scowled at the newcomers.

  ‘You come to the exhibition?’ he said sternly. ‘ ’Cause you’ve gotter pay a penny ’f you have.’

  The Honourable Marmaduke Morencey took out a sixpence and gave it to William. William unbent.

  ‘ ’F you come round with me,’ he said, ‘I’ll guide you. I’m a guide – a native guide. I’m a South African, I am.’

  ‘Rahly?’ said the Honourable Marmaduke.

  ‘How very quaint!’ sighed Mrs Bott with a kindly smile. ‘I do wish my little gurl was heah. She’d have loved it. But I don’t let her mix with common children. She’s so carefully gorded. She’s in the gorden with her nurse now. She’s a beautiful chehild, and gorded most careful from childhood.’

  Henry’s canvas was removed and the Honourable Marmaduke smiled a weary smile and Mrs Bott imitated it carefully but not very exactly.

  Ginger was shown and the Honourable Marmaduke’s smile became less weary.

  Douglas was shown and the Honourable Marmaduke almost (not quite) laughed. He certainly murmured: ‘I say . . . By Jove, you know . . . isn’t it? What?’ Even William realised that no higher praise could be expected of him than that.

  ‘I do wish my Vahlet Elizabeth was here,’ said Mrs Bott. ‘She’d be sow int’rested – but, there, I’ve always kept her gorded from common children.’

  Then the last shrouded figure threw off its covering and jumped excitedly into the air. It was dressed in stays and small frilled knickers. Hair, face, arms and legs were covered with blacking (William had ‘borrowed’ a good supply from the store cupboard. He was never a boy for half measures).

  ‘I’m a Nindian,’ squeaked Violet Elizabeth, leaping up and down joyfully in her scanty attire. ‘I’m a native-Indian in a native-Indian coshume an’ I’m goin’ to do a native-Indian dance. I’m a Nindian. I’m a Nindian!’

  With a scream that rent the very heavens Mrs Bott made a grab at her erring child.

  At that moment from the other end of the field came a bellow of rage that drowned even the voice of Mrs Bott. The Outlaws, paralysed with terror, saw the dread form of their foe advancing upon them wrathfully across the field. Farmer Jenks had returned home unexpectedly.

  ‘Grr-r-r-r-r,’ he roared as he ran. ‘I’ll – I’ll – I’ll – Gu-r-r-r-r-r . . . Ye young . . . I’ll . . . G-r-r-r-r-r . . . At ’em, Rover! Kill ’em, Rover! Eat ’em, Rover! Ye young . . . I’ll . . . Gr-r-r-r-r!’

  The Outlaws awaited no explanation. Like so many flashes of lightning they were through the hole in the hedge and already halfway to the stile.

  After them with little gasps of ‘By Jove! I say, you know!’ panted the languid aristocrat. Seeing Rover behind him he shed his languidness and sprinted as he had never sprinted in his aristocratic life before. Rover pursued them to the stile then returned thoughtfully chewing a piece of the aristocratic nether garments.

  The native Indian at the maternal scream had taken to its heels, flying swiftly round the field by the hedge, closely pursued by the irate maternal person. Farmer Jenks seeing the other victims had escaped, turned to the pursuit of Mrs Bott with a roar of fury. In a few minutes the native Indian had found another hole in the hedge and was well on its way to its home – a little flying black and white streaked figure.

  Mrs Bott, discovering suddenly that she was being pursued by a ferocious man, sat down in the middle of the field and began to have hysterics . . .

  V

  The Outlaws reassembled in the lane. They had changed into their normal clothes and (partially) removed the blacking. Washing it, as Ginger remarked, only seemed to spread it. It retreated from the centres of their faces to their hair and necks. They were extremely weary and extremely hot.

  The sun still beat down upon the world unmercifully.

  They surveyed sadly the gains of the afternoon – one sixpence and two pennies. They had lost the other penny and the halfpenny on their flight from the field.

  ‘Eightpence,’ said Ginger bitterly. ‘Sim’ly wore ourselves out over it an’ it’s only made eightpence. What can we do with eightpence? Kin’ly tell me that.’

  It was William, his hair standing up like black smeared spikes around his earnest red and black face, who told him.

  ‘We can jolly well get a twopenny glass of lemonade each,’ he said. ‘Come on.’

  CHAPTER 7

  ‘THE HAUNTED HOUSE’

  ‘Well, you jus’ tell me,’ demanded William. ‘You jus’ give me one reason why we shun’t dig for gold.’

  ‘ ’Cause we shan’t find any,’ said Douglas simply.

  ‘How d’you know?’ said William the ever-hopeful. ‘How d’you know we shan’t? You ever tried? You ever dug for gold? D’you know anyone what’s ever dug for gold? Well, then,’ triumphantly, ‘how d’you know we shan’t find any?’

  ‘That’s ’cause why,’ said Douglas with equal triumph, ‘ ’cause no one’s ever done it . . . ’cause they’d of done it if there’d been any chance . . .’

  ‘They didn’t think of it,’ said William impatiently. ‘They sim’ly didn’t think of it. In the fields an’ woods f’rinstance – no one can ever of dug there an’ f’all you know it’s full of gold an’ jewels an’ things. How can anyone tell till they’ve tried diggin’? People in England sim’ly didn’t think of it – that’s all.’

  ‘All right,’ said Douglas, tiring of the argument. ‘I don’t mind diggin’ a bit an’ tryin’.’

  ‘You can’t tell it at once – gold,’ said William importantly. ‘You’ve gotter wash it in water an’ then it shows up sud’nly. So we’d better start diggin’ by some water.’

  They began operations the next morning by the pond, and had dug patiently for two hours before they were chased furiously from the spot by Farmer Jenks and a dog and a shower of sticks and stones. The washing of the soil had been the only part of the proceeding they had really enjoyed and a good deal of the resultant mud still adhered to their persons. They wandered down the road.

  ‘Well, we’ve not found much gold yet, have we?’ said Douglas sarcastically.

  ‘D’you think the gold diggers in – in—’ William’s geography was rather weak, so he hastily slurred over the precise locality – ‘anyway, d’you think the gold diggers found it in one morning? I bet it takes weeks an’ weeks.’

  ‘Well, ’f you think I’m goin’ to go on diggin’ for weeks an’ weeks, I’m not!’ said Douglas firmly.

  ‘Well, where can we find some more water to dig by, anyway?’ said Ginger the practical.

  ‘It’s a silly idea digging by water. I bet I’d see gold in the earth if there was any without washin’ it,’ said Henry.

  ‘An’ I bet you wun’t,’ said William indignantly. ‘I’ve been readin’ tales about it, an’ that’s what it says. D’you think you’re cleverer than all the gold diggers in – in – in those places?’

  ‘Yes, I do, ’f they can’t see gold without washin’ it,’ said Henry.

  ‘Where’s some more water, anyway?’ said Ginger again plaintively.

  They were passing an old house in a large garden. The house had been empty for more than a year because the last owner had died in mysterious circumstances, but that fact did not affect the Outlaws in any way. A stream flowed through the overgrown, neglected garden. William peered through the hedge.

  ‘Water!’ he called excitedly. ‘Come on, an’ dig for gold here.’

  Led by William they scrambled through the hedge and trampled gleefully over the grass of the lawn that grew almost as high as their waists.

  ‘Jus’ like a jungle!’ shouted William. ‘Now we can imagine we’re in – in – in real gold diggin’ parts.’

  They dug industriously for half an hour. William had a spade, ‘borrowed’ from the gardener. (The gardener was at that minute hunting for it through toolhouse and greenhouse and garden. His thoughts were already turning William-wards in impotent fury. ) Ginger
had a coal shovel with a hole in it rescued from the dustbin. Henry had a small wooden spade abstracted from his little sister when her attention was engaged elsewhere, and Douglas had a piece of wood. They threw every spadeful of earth into the stream and churned it about with their spades.

  ‘Seems a silly idea to me!’ objected Henry again. ‘Jus’ makin’ mud of it! Seems to me you’re more likely to lose the gold, chuckin’ it into the water every time. I shun’t wonder ’f we’ve lost lots already, sinkin’ down to the bottom among the pebbles. We ’ve not found much, anyway.’

  ‘Well, I tell you it’s the right way,’ said William impatiently. ‘It’s the way they do. I’ve read it. If it wasn’t the right way they wun’t do it, would they? D’you think the gold diggers out in – out in those places would do it if it wasn’t right?’

  ‘Well, I’m gettin’ a bit tired of it anyway,’ said Henry.

  He voiced the general opinion. Even William’s enthusiasm was waning. It seemed a very hot and muddy way of getting gold . . . and it didn’t even seem to get any.

  Douglas had already laid aside his sodden stick and wandered up to the house. He was pressing his nose against a dirty, cracked window pane. Suddenly he shouted excitedly.

  ‘I say . . . a rat . . . there’s a rat in this room!’

  The Outlaws gladly threw away their spades and rushed to the window. There certainly was a rat. He sat upon his hind legs and trimmed his whiskers, staring at them impudently. All thought of gold left the gold diggers.

  ‘Open the window!’

  ‘Catch him!’

  ‘Gettim! Crumbs! Gettim!’

  The window actually did open. With a yell of joy William raised it and half rolled, half climbed over the sill into the room, followed by the Outlaws, uttering wild war-whoops. After one stricken glance at them the rat disappeared down his hole . . .

  But the Outlaws were thrilled by the house. They tramped about the wooden floors in the empty re-echoing rooms – they slid down the dirty balusters – they found a hole in the floor and delightedly tore up all the rotten boards around it – they explored the bedrooms and the cistern loft and the filthy, airless cellars – they met four rats and chased them with deafening shouts.