More William (10 page)

Then Cuthbert entered – a prince in white satin with a blue sash. There was a rapt murmur of admiration in the audience as he made his appearance.

William waited impatiently and uneasily behind the scenes. His wolf’s head was very hot. One of the eyeholes was beyond his range of vision, through the other he had a somewhat prescribed
view of what went on around him. He had been pinned tightly into the dining-room hearthrug, his arms pinioned down by his side. He was distinctly uncomfortable.

At last his cue came.

Red Riding Hood and the Prince parted after a short conversation in which their acquaintance made rapid strides, and at the end of which the Prince said casually as he turned to go:

Red Riding Hood gazed after him, remarking (all in the same breath and tone):

Here William entered amid wild applause. On the stage he found that his one eyehole gave him an excellent view of the audience. His mother and father were in the second row.
Turning his head round slowly he discovered his sister Ethel sitting with a friend near the back.

‘William,’ hissed the prompter, ‘go on! “A wolf am I—” ’

But William was engrossed in the audience. There was Mrs Clive about the middle of the room.

‘ “A wolf am I” –
go on
, William!’

William had now found the cook and housemaid in the last row of all and was turning his eyehole round in search of fresh discoveries.

The prompter grew desperate.

‘“A wolf am I – a wolf on mischief bent."
Say
it, William.’

William turned his wolf’s head towards the wings. ‘Well, I was
goin’
to say it,’ he said irritably, ‘If you’d lef’ me alone.’

The audience tittered.

‘Well, say it,’ said the voice of the invisible prompter.

‘Well, I‘m going to,’ said William. ‘I‘m not goin’ to say that again wot you said ’cause they all heard it. I’ll go on from there.’

The audience rocked in wild delight. Behind the scenes Mrs de Vere Carter wrung her hands and sniffed strong smelling salts. ‘That boy!’ she moaned.

Then William, sinking his voice from the indignant clearness with which it had addressed the prompter, to a muffled inaudibility, continued:

But there leapt on the stage again the radiant white and blue figure of the Prince brandishing his wooden sword.

At this point William should have slunk away. But the vision revealed by his one available eyehole of the Prince standing in a threatening attitude with one arm round Joan
filled him with a sudden and unaccountable annoyance. He advanced slowly and pugnaciously towards the Prince; and the Prince, who had never before acted with William in his head (which was hired
for one evening only) fled from the stage with a wild yell of fear. The curtain was lowered hastily.

There was consternation behind the scenes. William, glaring from out of his eyehole and refusing to remove his head, defended himself in his best manner.

‘Well, I di’n’t tell him to run away, did I? I di’n’t
mean
him to run away. I only
looked
at him. Well, I was goin’ to slink in a minit. I only
wanted to look at him. I was
goin’
to slink.’

‘Oh, never mind! Get on with the play!’ moaned Mrs de Vere Carter. ‘But you’ve quite destroyed the
atmosphere
, William. You’ve spoilt the beautiful story.
But hurry up, it’s time for the grandmother’s cottage scene now.’

Not a word of William’s speeches was audible in the next scene, but his attack on and consumption of the aged grandmother was one of the most realistic parts of the play, especially
considering the fact that his arms were imprisoned.

‘Not so roughly, William!’ said the prompter in a sibilant whisper. ‘Don’t make so much noise. They can’t hear a word anyone’s saying.’

At last William was clothed in the nightgown and nightcap and lying in the bed ready for little Red Riding Hood’s entrance. The combined effect of the rug and the head and the thought of
Cuthbert had made him hotter and crosser than he ever remembered having felt before. He was conscious of a wild and unreasoning indignation against the world in general. Then Joan entered and began
to pipe monotonously:

Here William wearily rose from his bed and made an unconvincing spring in her direction.

But on the stage leapt Cuthbert once more, the vision in blue and white with golden curls shining and sword again drawn.

‘Ha! Evil beast—’

It was too much for William. The heat and discomfort of his attire, the sight of the hated Cuthbert already about to embrace
his
Joan, goaded him to temporary madness. With a furious
gesture he burst the pins which attached the dining-room hearthrug to his person and freed his arms. He tore off the white nightgown. He sprang at the petrified Cuthbert – a small wild figure
in a jersey suit and a wolf’s head.

Mrs de Vere Carter had filled Red Riding Hood’s basket with packages of simple groceries, which included, among other things, a paper bag of flour and a jar of jam.

William seized these wildly and hurled handfuls of flour at the prostrate, screaming Cuthbert. The stage was suddenly pandemonium. The other small actors promptly joined the battle. The prompter
was too panic stricken to lower the curtain. The air was white with clouds of flour. The victim scrambled to his feet and fled, a ghost-like figure, round the table.

‘Take him off me,’ he yelled. ‘Take him
off
me. Take William off me.’ His wailing was deafening.

The next second he was on the floor, with William on top of him. William now varied the proceedings by emptying the jar of jam on to Cuthbert’s face and hair.

They were separated at last by the prompter and stage manager, while the audience rose and cheered hysterically. But louder than the cheering rose the sound of Cuthbert’s lamentation.

‘He’th a nathty, rough boy! He puthed me down. He’th methed my nith clotheth. Boo-hoo!’

Mrs de Vere Carter was inarticulate.

‘That boy . . . that
boy . . . that boy
!’ was all she could say.

William was hurried away by his family before she could regain speech.

‘You’re disgraced us publicly,’ said Mrs Brown plaintively. ‘I thought you must have gone
mad.
People will never forget it. I might have known . . .’

THE SIGHT OF THE HATED CUTHBERT ABOUT TO EMBRACE HIS JOAN GOADED WILLIAM TO TEMPORARY MADNESS.

When pressed for an explanation, William would only say:

‘Well, I felt hot. I felt awful hot, an’ I di’n’t like Cuthbert.’

He appeared to think this sufficient explanation, though he was fully prepared for the want of sympathy displayed by his family.

‘Well,’ he said firmly, ‘I’d just like to see you do it, I’d just like to see you be in the head and that ole rug an’ have to say stupid things an’
– an’ see folks you don’t like, an’ I bet you’d
do
something.’

But he felt that public feeling was against him, and relapsed sadly into silence. From the darkness in front of them came the sound of Cuthbert’s wailing as Mrs Clive led her two charges
home.

‘
Poor
little Cuthbert!’ said Mrs Brown. ‘If I were Joan, I don’t think I’d ever speak to you again.’

‘Huh!’ ejaculated William scornfully.

But at William’s gate a small figure slipped out from the darkness and two little arms crept round William’s neck.

‘Oh,
William
,’ she whispered, ‘he’s going tomorrow, and I’m glad. Isn’t he a softie? Oh, William, I do
love
you, you do such
’citing
things!’

CHAPTER 7

W
illiam lay on the floor of the barn, engrossed in a book. This was a rare thing with William. His bottle of lemonade lay untouched by his side,
and he even forgot the half-eaten apple which reposed in his hand. His jaws were arrested midway in the act of munching.

‘Our hero,’ he read, ‘was awakened about midnight by the sound of the rattling of chains. Raising himself on his arm he gazed into the darkness. About a foot from his bed he
could discern a tall, white, faintly gleaming figure and a ghostly arm which beckoned him.’

William’s hair stood on end.

‘Crumbs!’ he ejaculated.

‘Nothing perturbed,’ he continued to read, ‘our hero rose and followed the spectre through the long winding passages of the old castle. Whenever he hesitated, a white, luminous
arm, hung around with ghostly chains, beckoned him on.’

‘Gosh!’ murmured the enthralled William. ‘I’d have bin scared!’

‘At the panel in the wall the ghost stopped, and silently the panel slid aside, revealing a flight of stone steps. Down this went the apparition followed by our intrepid hero. There was a
small stone chamber at the bottom, and into this the rays of moonlight poured, revealing a skeleton in a sitting attitude beside a chest of golden sovereigns. The gold gleamed in the
moonlight.’

‘Golly!’ gasped William, red with excitement.

‘William!’

The cry came from somewhere in the sunny garden outside. William frowned sternly, took another bite of apple, and continued to read.

‘Our hero gave a cry of astonishment.’

‘Yes, I’d have done that all right,’ agreed William.

‘
William!
’

‘Oh, shut
up
!’ called William, irritably, thereby revealing his hiding place.

His grown-up sister, Ethel, appeared in the doorway.

‘Mother wants you,’ she announced.

‘Well, I can’t come. I’m busy,’ said William, coldly, taking a draught of lemonade and returning to his book.

‘Cousin Mildred’s come,’ continued his sister.

William raised his freckled face from his book.

‘Well, I can’t help that, can I?’ he said, with the air of one arguing patiently with a lunatic.

Ethel shrugged her shoulders and departed.

‘He’s reading some old book in the barn,’ he heard her announce, ’and he says—’

Here he foresaw the complications and hastily followed her.

‘Well, I’m
comin’
, aren’t I?’ he said. ‘As fast as I can.’

Cousin Mildred was sitting on the lawn. She was elderly and very thin and very tall, and she wore a curious, long, shapeless garment of green silk with a golden girdle.

‘Dear child!’ she murmured, taking the grimy hand that William held out to her in dignified silence.

He was cheered by the sight of tea and hot cakes.

Cousin Mildred ate little but talked much.

‘I’m living in
hopes
of a psychic revelation, dear,’ she said to William’s mother. ‘
In hopes!
I’ve heard of wonderful experiences, but so far
none – alas! – have befallen me. Automatic writing I have tried, but any communication the spirits may have sent me that way remained illegible – quite illegible.’

She sighed.

William eyed her with scorn while he consumed reckless quantities of hot cakes.

‘I would
love
to have a psychic revelation,’ she sighed again.

‘Yes, dear,’ murmured Mrs Brown, mystified. ‘William, you’ve had enough.’

‘
Enough?
’ said William in surprise. ‘Why I’ve only had—’ He decided hastily against exact statistics and in favour of vague generalities.

ETHEL APPEARED IN THE DOORWAY. ‘MOTHER WANTS YOU,’ SHE ANNOUNCED.

‘I’ve only had hardly any,’ he said aggrievedly.