Just William (21 page)

‘
Two
, mind, an’ with long tails.’

‘Where did you get it from?’ demanded Mr Brown fiercely.

William pocketed his straying pet.

‘A friend gave it me.’

‘
What
friend?’

‘Mr French. The man what carried me when I was took ill sudden. He gave me it. I di’n’t know it was goin’ to go into your slipper. I wun’t of let it if I’d
known. An’ I di’n’t know it was goin’ to bite your toe. It di’n’t mean to bite your toe. I ’spect it thought it was me givin’ it sumthin’ to
eat. I expect—’

‘Be
quiet
! What on earth did Mr French give you the confounded thing for?’

‘I dunno. I ’spect he jus’ wanted to.’

‘He seems to have taken quite a fancy to William,’ said Mrs Brown.

Ethel blushed faintly.

‘He seems to have taken a spite against me,’ said Mr Brown bitterly. ‘How many of the wretched pests have you got?’

‘They’re rats,’ corrected William. ‘White ’uns. I’ve only got two.’

‘Good Heavens! He’s got
two.
Where’s the other?’

‘In the shed.’

‘Well,
keep
it there, do you hear? And this savage brute as well. Good Lord! My toe’s nearly eaten off. They ought to wear muzzles; they’ve got rabies. Where’s
Jumble? He in the shed, too?’ said Mr Brown hopefully.

‘No. He dun’t like ’em. But I’m tryin’ to
teach
him to like ’em. I let ’em loose and let him look at ’em with me holdin’ on to
him.’

‘Yes, go on doing that,’ said Mr Brown encouragingly. ‘Accidents sometimes happen.’

That night William obeyed the letter of the law by keeping the rats in a box on his bedroom windowsill.

The household was roused in the early hours of the morning by piercing screams from Ethel’s room. The more adventurous of the pair – named Rufus – had escaped from the box and
descended to Ethel’s room by way of the creeper. Ethel awoke suddenly to find it seated on her pillow softly pawing her hair. The household, in their various sleeping attire, flocked to her
room at the screams. Ethel was hysterical. They fed her on hot tea and biscuits to steady her nerves. ‘It was
horrible
!’ she said. ‘It was pulling at my hair. It just sat
there with its pink nose and long tail. It was perfectly
horrible
!’

‘Where
is
the wretched animal?’ said Mr Brown looking round with murder in his eyes.

‘I’ve got it, Father,’ piped up William’s small voice at the back of the crowd. ‘Ethel di’n’t understand. It was playin’ with her. It
di’n’t mean to frighten her. It—’

‘I told you not to keep them in the house.’

Mr Brown in large pyjamas looked fiercely down at William in small pyjamas with the cause of all the tumult clasped lovingly to his breast. Ethel, in bed, continued to gasp weakly in the
intervals of drinking tea.

‘They weren’t in the house,’ said William firmly. ‘They were outside the window. Right outside the window. Right on the sill. You can’t call outside the window in
the house, can you? I
put
it outside the house. I can’t help it
comin’
inside the house when I’m asleep, can I?’

Mr Brown eyed his son solemnly.

‘The next time I catch either of those animals inside this house, William,’ he said slowly, ‘I’ll wring its neck.’

When Mr French called the next afternoon, he felt that his popularity had declined.

‘I can’t think why you gave William such dreadful things,’ Ethel said weakly, lying on the sofa. ‘I feel quite upset. I’ve got such a headache and my nerves are a
wreck absolutely.’

Mr French worked hard that afternoon and evening to regain his lost ground. He sat by the sofa and talked in low tones. He read aloud to her. He was sympathetic, penitent, humble and devoted. In
spite of all his efforts, however, he felt that his old prestige was gone. He was no longer the Man Who Carried William Home. He was the Man Who Gave William the Rats. He felt that, in the eyes of
the Brown household, he was solely responsible for Ethel’s collapse. There was reproach even in the eyes of the housemaid who showed him out. In the drive he met William. William was holding
a grimy, bloodstained handkerchief round his finger. There was reproach in William’s eyes also. ‘It’s bit me,’ he said indignantly. ‘One of those rats what you gave
me’s bit me.’

‘I’m awfully sorry,’ said Mr French penitently. Then, with sudden spirit, ‘Well, you asked for rats, didn’t you?’

‘Yes,’ said William. ‘But not savage ones. I never asked for savage ones, did I? I di’n’t ask for rats what would scare Ethel and bite me, did I? I was jus’
teaching it to dance on its hind legs an’ holding up its front ones for it an’ it went an’ bit me.’

Mr French looked at him apprehensively.

‘You – you’d better not – er – tell your mother or sister about your finger. I – I wouldn’t like your sister to be upset any more.’

‘Don’t you want me to let ’em know?’

‘Er-no.’

‘Well, what’ll you give me not to?’ said William brazenly.

Mr French plunged his hand into his pocket.

‘I’ll give you half a crown,’ he said.

William pocketed the coin.

‘All right!’ he said. ‘If I wash the blood off an’ get my hands dirty nobody’ll notice.’

Things went well for several days after that. Mr French arrived the next morning laden with flowers and grapes. The household unbent towards him. Ethel arranged a day’s golfing with him.
William spent a blissful day with his half-crown. There was a fair in full swing on the fairground, and thither William and Jumble wended their way. William had eleven consecutive rides on the
merry-go-round. He had made up his mind to have twelve, but, much to his regret, had to relinquish the twelfth owing to certain unpleasant physical sensations. With a lordly air, he entered seven
tents in succession and sat gazing in a silent intensity of rapture at the Strong Man, the Fat Woman, the India-rubber-jointed Boy, the Siamese Twins, the Human Eel, the Man-headed Elephant and the
Talking Monkey. In each tent he stayed, silent and enraptured, till ejected by the showman to make room for others who were anxious to feast their eyes upon the marvels.

Having now completely recovered from the sensations caused by the merry-go-round, he purchased a large bag of popcorn and stood leaning against a tent pole till he had consumed it. Then he
purchased two sticks of nougat and with it drank two bottles of ginger beer. The remaining
Ad
was spent upon a large packet of a red sticky mixture called Canadian Delight.

Dusk was falling by this time and slowly, very slowly, William returned home. He firmly refused all food at supper. Mrs Brown grew anxious.

‘William, you don’t look a bit well,’ she said. ‘You don’t feel like you did the other day, do you?’

William met Mr French’s eye across the table and Mr French blushed.

‘No, not a bit like that,’ said William.

When pressed, he admitted having gone to the fair.

‘Someone gave me half a crown,’ he excused himself plaintively. ‘I jus’ had to go somewhere.’

‘It’s perfectly absurd of people,’ said Mrs Brown indignantly, ‘to give large sums of money to a boy of William’s age. It always ends this way. People ought to know
better.’

As they passed out from the supper table, William whispered hoarsely to Mr French:

‘It was the half-crown what you give me.’

‘Don’t tell them,’ whispered Mr French desperately.

‘What’ll you give me not to?’

Furtively Mr French pressed a two-shilling piece into his hand.

Glorious vistas opened before William’s eyes. He decided finally that Mr French must join the family. Life then would be an endless succession of half-crowns and two-shilling pieces.

The next day was Sunday, and William went to the shed directly after breakfast to continue the teaching of Rufus, the dancing rat. Rufus was to be taught to dance, the other, now christened
Cromwell, was to be taught to be friends with Jumble. So far this training had only reached the point of Cromwell’s sitting motionless in the cage, while in front of it William violently
restrained the enraged Jumble from murder. Still, William thought, if they looked at each other long enough, friendship would grow. So they looked at each other each day till William’s arm
ached. As yet friendship had not grown.

‘William! It’s time for church.’

William groaned. That was the worst of Sundays. He was sure that with another half-hour’s practice Rufus would dance and Cromwell would be friends with Jumble. He was a boy not to be
daunted by circumstance. He put Rufus in his pocket and put the cage containing Cromwell on the top of a pile of boxes, leaving Jumble to continue the gaze of friendship from the floor.

He walked to church quietly and demurely behind his family, one hand clutching his prayer book, the other in his pocket clasping Rufus. He hoped to be able to continue the training during the
Litany. He was not disappointed. Ethel was on one side of him, and there was no one on the other. He knelt down devoutly, one hand shading his face, the other firmly holding Rufus’s front
paws as he walked him round and round on the floor. He grew more and more interested in his progress.

‘Tell William to kneel up and not to fidget,’ Mrs Brown passed down the row via Ethel.

William gave her a virulent glance as he received the message and, turning his back on her, continued the dancing lesson.

The Litany passed more quickly than he ever remembered its doing before. He replaced the rat in his pocket as they rose for the hymn. It was during the hymn that the catastrophe occurred.

The Browns occupied the front seat of the church. While the second verse was being sung, the congregation was electrified by the sight of a small, long-tailed white creature appearing suddenly
upon Mr Brown’s shoulder. Ethel’s scream almost drowned the organ. Mr Brown put up his hand and the intruder jumped upon his head and stood there for a second, digging his claws into
his victim’s scalp. Mr Brown turned upon his son a purple face that promised future vengeance. The choir turned fascinated eyes upon it, and the hymn died away. William’s face was a
mask of horror. Rufus next appeared running along the rim of the pulpit. There was a sudden unceremonial exit of most of the female portion of the congregation. The clergyman grew pale as Rufus
approached and slid up his reading desk. A choirboy quickly grabbed it, and retired into the vestry and thence home before his right to its possession could be questioned. William found his
voice.

‘He’s took it,’ he said in a sibilant whisper. ‘It’s mine! He took it!’

‘
Shh!
’ said Ethel.

‘It’s mine,’ persisted William. ‘It’s what Mr French give me for being took ill that day, you know.’

‘What?’ said Ethel, leaning towards him.

The hymn was in full swing again now.

‘He gave it me for being took ill so’s he could come and carry me home ’cause he was gone on you an’ it’s mine an’ that boy’s took it an’ it was
jus’ gettin’ to dance an’—’

‘
Shh!
’ hissed Mr Brown violently.

‘I shall never look anyone in the face again,’ lamented Mrs Brown on the way home. ‘I think
everyone
was in church! And the way Ethel screamed! It was
awful
! I
shall dream of it for nights. William, I don’t know how you
could
!’

‘Well, it’s mine,’ said William. ‘That boy’d no business to take it. It was gettin’ to know
me.
I di’n’t
mean
it to get loose,
an’ get on Father’s head an’ scare folks. I di’n’t mean it to. I meant it to be quiet and stay in my pocket. It’s mine, anyway, an’ that boy took
it.’

‘It’s not yours any more, my son,’ said Mr Brown firmly.

Ethel walked along with lips tight shut.

In the distance, walking towards them, was a tall, jaunty figure. It was Mr French, who, ignorant of what had happened, was coming gaily on to meet them returning from church. He was smiling as
he came, secure in his reception, composing airy compliments in his mind. As Ethel came on he raised his hat with a flourish and beamed at her effusively. Ethel walked past him, without a glance
and with head high, leaving him, aghast and despairing, staring after her down the road. He never saw Mr and Mrs Brown. William realised the situation. The future half-crowns and two-shilling
pieces seemed to vanish away. He protested vehemently.