Just William (2 page)

William drew a deep breath at the end, and still sucking, arose with the throng and passed out.

Once outside, he glanced cautiously around and slunk down the road in the direction of his home. Then he doubled suddenly and ran down a back street to put his imaginary pursuers off his track.
He took a pencil from his pocket and, levelling it at the empty air, fired twice. Two of his pursuers fell dead, the rest came on with redoubled vigour. There was no time to be lost. Running for
dear life, he dashed down the next street, leaving in his wake an elderly gentleman nursing his toe and cursing volubly. As he neared his gate, William again drew the pencil from his pocket and,
still looking back down the road, and firing as he went, he rushed into his own gateway.

William’s father, who had stayed at home that day because of a bad headache and a touch of liver, picked himself up from the middle of a rhododendron bush and seized William by the back of
his neck.

‘You young ruffian,’ he roared, ‘what do you mean by charging into me like that?’

William gently disengaged himself.

‘I wasn’t chargin’, Father,’ he said, meekly. ‘I was only jus’ comin’ in at the gate, same as other folks. I jus’ wasn’t looking jus’
the way you were coming, but I can’t look all ways at once, cause—’

‘Be
quiet
!’ roared William’s father.

Like the rest of the family, he dreaded William’s eloquence.

‘What’s that on your tongue? Put your tongue out.’

William obeyed. The colour of William’s tongue would have put to shame Spring’s freshest tints.

‘How many times am I to tell you,’ bellowed William’s father, ‘that I won’t have you going about eating filthy poisons all day between meals?’

‘It’s not filthy poison,’ said William. ‘It’s jus’ a few sweets Aunt Susan gave me ’cause I kin’ly went to the post office for her
an’—’

‘Be
quiet
! Have you got any more of the foul things?’

‘They’re not foul things,’ said William, doggedly. ‘They’re good. Jus’ have one, an’ try. They’re jus’ a few sweets Aunt Susan kin’ly
gave me an’—’

‘Be
quiet
! Where are they?’

Slowly and reluctantly William drew forth his bag. His father seized it and flung it far into the bushes. For the next ten minutes William conducted a thorough and systematic search among the
bushes and for the rest of the day consumed Gooseberry Eyes and garden soil in fairly equal proportions.

He wandered round to the back garden and climbed on to the wall.

‘Hello!’ said the little girl next door, looking up.

Something about the little girl’s head and curls reminded William of the simple country maiden. There was a touch of the artistic temperament about William. He promptly felt himself the
simple country son of the soil.

‘Hullo, Joan,’ he said in a deep, husky voice intended to be expressive of intense affection. ‘Have you missed me while I’ve been away?’

‘Didn’t know you’d been away,’ said Joan. ‘What are you talking so funny for?’

‘I’m not talkin’ funny’ said William in the same husky voice. ‘I can’t help talkin’ like this.’

‘You’ve got a cold. That’s what you’ve got. That’s what Mother said when she saw you splashing about with your rain-tub this morning. She said, “The next
thing that we shall hear of William Brown will be he’s in bed with a cold.’”

‘It’s not a cold,’ said William mysteriously. ‘It’s jus’ the way I feel.’

‘What are you eating?’

‘Gooseberry Eyes. Like one?’ He took the packet from his pocket and handed it down to her. ‘Go on. Take two – three,’ he said in reckless generosity.

‘But they’re – dirty.’

‘Go on. It’s only ord’nery dirt. It soon sucks off. They’re jolly good.’ He poured a shower of them lavishly down to her.

‘I say,’ he said, reverting to his character of simple country lover. ‘Did you say you’d missed me? I bet you didn’t think of me as much as I did of you. I
jus’ bet you didn’t.’ His voice had sunk deeper and deeper till it almost died away.

‘I say, William, does your throat hurt you awful that you’ve got to talk like that?’

Her blue eyes were anxious and sympathetic.

William put one hand to his throat and frowned.

‘A bit,’ he confessed lightly.

‘Oh, William!’ she clasped her hands. ‘Does it hurt all the time?’

Her solicitude was flattering.

‘I don’t talk much about it, anyway, do I?’ he said manfully.

She started up and stared at him with big blue eyes.

‘Oh, William! Is it – is it your – lungs? I’ve got an aunt that’s got lungs and she coughs and coughs,’ William coughed hastily, ‘and it hurts her and
makes her awful bad. Oh, William, I do
hope
you’ve not got lungs.’

Her tender, anxious little face was upturned to him. ‘I guess I have got lungs,’ he said, ‘but I don’t make a fuss about ’em.’

He coughed again.

‘What does the doctor say about it?’

William considered a minute.

‘He says it’s lungs all right,’ he said at last. ‘He says I gotter be jolly careful.’

‘William, would you like my new paintbox?’

‘I don’t think so. Not now. Thanks.’

‘I’ve got three balls and one’s quite new. Wouldn’t you like it, William?’

‘No – thanks. You see, it’s no use my collectin’ a lot of things. You never know — with lungs.’

‘Oh,
William
!’

Her distress was pathetic.

‘Of course,’ he said hastily, ‘if I’m careful it’ll be all right. Don’t you worry about me.’

‘Joan!’ from the house.

‘That’s Mother. Goodbye, William dear. If Father brings me home any chocolate, I’ll bring it in to you. I will – honest. Thanks for the Gooseberry Eyes.
Goodbye.’

‘Goodbye – and don’t worry about me,’ he added bravely.

He put another Gooseberry Eye into his mouth and wandered round aimlessly to the front of the house. His grown-up sister, Ethel, was at the front door, shaking hands with a young man.

‘I’ll do all I can for you,’ she was saying earnestly.

Their hands were clasped.

‘I know you will,’ he said equally earnestly.

Both look and handclasp were long. The young man walked away. Ethel stood at the door, gazing after him, with a faraway look in her eyes. William was interested.

‘That was Jack Morgan, wasn’t it?’ he said.

‘Yes,’ said Ethel absently and went into the house.

The look, the long handclasp, the words lingered in William’s memory. They must be jolly fond of each other, like people are when they’re engaged, but he knew they weren’t
engaged. P’raps they were too proud to let each other know how fond they were of each other — like the man and girl at the pictures. Ethel wanted a brother like the one in the pictures
to let the man know she was fond of him. Then a light came suddenly into William’s mind and he stood, deep in thought.

Inside the drawing-room, Ethel was talking to her mother.

‘He’s going to propose to her next Sunday. He told me about it because I’m her best friend, and he wanted to ask me if I thought he’d any chance. I said I thought he had,
and I said I’d try and prepare her a little and put in a good word for him if I could. Isn’t it thrilling?’

‘Yes, dear. By the way, did you see William anywhere? I do hope he’s not in mischief.’

‘He was in the front garden a minute ago.’ She went to the window. ‘He’s not there now, though.’

William had just arrived at Mr Morgan’s house.

The maid showed him into Mr Morgan’s sitting-room.

‘Mr Brown,’ she announced.

The young man rose to receive his guest with politeness not unmixed with bewilderment. His acquaintance with William was of the slightest.

‘Good afternoon,’ said William. ‘I’ve come from Ethel.’

‘Yes?’

‘Yes.’ William fumbled in his pocket and at last drew forth a rosebud, slightly crushed by its close confinement in the company of the Gooseberry Eyes, a penknife, a top and a piece
of putty.

‘She sent you this,’ said William gravely.

Mr Morgan gazed at it with the air of one who is sleep-walking.

‘Yes? Er — very kind of her.’

‘Kinder keep-sake. Souveneer,’ explained William.

‘Yes. Er – any message?’

‘Oh, yes. She wants you to come in and see her this evening.’

‘Er – yes. Of course. I’ve just come from her. Perhaps she remembered something she wanted to tell me after I’d gone.’

‘P’raps.’

Then, ‘Any particular time?’

‘No. ‘Bout seven, I expect.’

‘Oh, yes.’

Mr Morgan’s eyes were fixed with a fascinated wondering gaze upon the limp, and by no means spotless, rosebud.

‘You say she – sent this?’

‘Yes.’

‘And no other message?’

‘No.’

‘Er – well, say I’ll come with pleasure, will you?’

‘Yes.’

Silence.

Then, ‘She thinks an awful lot of you, Ethel does.’

Mr Morgan passed a hand over his brow.

‘Yes? Kind — er — very kind, I’m sure.’

Always talkin’ about you in her sleep,’ went on William, warming to his theme. ‘I sleep in the next room and I can hear her talkin’ about you all night. Jus’
sayin’ your name over and over again. “Jack Morgan, Jack Morgan, Jack Morgan.”’ William’s voice was husky and soulful. ‘Jus’ like that – over
an’ over again. “Jack Morgan, Jack Morgan, Jack Morgan.”’

Mr Morgan was speechless. He sat gazing with horror-stricken face at his young visitor.

‘Are you –
sure
?’ he said at last. ‘It might be someone else’s name.’

‘No, ’tisn’t,’ said William firmly. ‘It’s yours. “Jack Morgan, Jack Morgan, Jack Morgan” – jus’ like that. An’ she eats just
nothin’ now. Always hangin’ round the windows to watch you pass.’

The perspiration stood out in beads on Mr Morgan’s brow.

‘It’s –
horrible
,’ he said at last in a hoarse whisper.

William was gratified. The young man had at last realised his cruelty. But William never liked to leave a task half done. He still sat on and calmly and silently considered his next statement.
Mechanically he put a hand into his pocket and conveyed a Gooseberry Eye to his mouth. Mr Morgan also sat in silence with a stricken look upon his face, gazing into vacancy.

‘She’s got your photo,’ said William at last, ‘fixed up into one of those little round things on a chain round her neck.’

‘Are – you –
sure
?’ said Mr Morgan desperately.

‘Sure’s fate,’ said William rising. ‘Well, I’d better be goin’. She pertic-ler wants to see you alone tonight. Goodbye.’

But Mr Morgan did not answer. He sat huddled up in his chair staring in front of him long after William had gone jauntily on his way. Then he moistened his dry lips.

‘Good Lord,’ he groaned.

William was thinking of the pictures as he went home. That painter one was jolly good. When they all got all over paint! And when they all fell downstairs! William suddenly guffawed out loud at
the memory. But what had the painter chap been doing at the very beginning before he began to paint? He’d been getting off the old paint with a sort of torch thing and a knife, then he began
putting the new paint on. Just sort of melting the old paint and then scraping it off. William had never seen it done in real life, but he supposed that was the way you did get old paint off.
Melting it with some sort of fire, then scraping it off. He wasn’t sure whether it was that, but he could find out. As he entered the house he took his penknife from his pocket, opened it
thoughtfully, and went upstairs.

Mr Brown came home about dinnertime.

‘How’s your head, Father?’ said Ethel sympathetically.

‘Rotten!’ said Mr Brown, sinking wearily into an armchair.

‘Perhaps dinner will do it good,’ said Mrs Brown, ‘it ought to be ready now.’

The housemaid entered the room.

‘Mr Morgan, Mum. He wants to see Miss Ethel. I’ve shown him into the library.’

‘
Now
?’ exploded Mr Brown. ‘What the deu— why the dickens is the young idiot coming at this time of day? Seven o’clock! What time does he think we have
dinner? What does he mean by coming round paying calls on people at dinnertime? What—’