Still William (10 page)

‘I’ve got your coat up here.’

Mr Bott threw a startled glance up into the tree whence the voice came. From among the leaves a stern, freckled, snub-nosed, wild-haired face glared down at him.

‘I’ll give you your coat,’ said William, ‘ ’f you’ll promise to let Bob stay.’

Mr Bott clasped his dripping head with a dripping hand.

‘Bob?’

‘Bob Andrews what you’re sending away for nothing.’

Mr Bott tried to look dignified in spite of the chattering of his teeth and the water that poured from his hair down his face.

‘I have my reasons, child,’ he said, ‘of which you know nothing. Will you kindly give me back my coat? I’m afraid you are a very naughty, ill-behaved little boy to do a
thing like this and if you aren’t careful I’ll tell the police about it.’

‘I’ll give you your coat if you’ll promise not to send Bob away,’ said William again sternly.

‘I shall most certainly speak to your father
and
the police,’ said Mr Bott. ‘You’re a very impudent little boy! Give me my coat at once.’

‘I’ll give you your coat,’ said William again, ‘if you’ll promise not to send Bob away.’

Mr Bott’s dignity began to melt away.

‘You young devil,’ he roared. ‘You—’

He looked wildly around and his eyes fell upon something upon which William’s eye ought to have fallen before. William had for once overlooked something vital to his strategy. In the long
grass behind the tree lay a ladder that had been left there long ago by some gardener and forgotten. With a yell of triumph Mr Bott rushed to it.

‘Oh, crumbs!’ said William among the leafage.

Mr Bott put the ladder against the tree trunk and began to swarm up it – large, dripping, chattering with rage and cold. William retreated along his branch, still clinging to the overcoat.
Mr Bott pursued furiously.

‘You young rogue – you young devil. I’ll teach you – I’ll—’

The branch down which William was retreating pursued by Mr Bott was directly over the lake. William alone it could easily have supported, but it drew the line at Mr Bott. With a creaking and
crashing above which rose a yell of terror from Mr Bott, it fell into the water accompanied by its two occupants. The splash made by Mr Bott’s falling body at first obscured the landscape.
Before William could recover from the shock caused by Mr Bott’s splash and yell and his own unexpected descent, Mr Bott was upon him. Mr Bott was maddened by rage and fury, and wet and cold.
He ducked William and shook William and tore his wet overcoat from William. William butted Mr Bott in his largest and roundest part, then scrambled from the lake and fled dripping towards the gate.
Mr Bott at first pursued him, then realising that the path was taking him within sight of the high road, turned back, drew his soaked overcoat over his shoulders and fled chatteringly and
shiveringly towards his resplendent mansion.

Two hours later, William met the other Outlaws by appointment in the old barn where all their meetings were held.

‘Well?’ said the other Outlaws eagerly.

William, who was wearing his best suit, looked pale and chastened but none the less determined.

‘It didn’t quite come off,’ admitted William. ‘Something went wrong.’

Their faces fell, but they did not question him.

‘Well, we’ve done all we can,’ said Ginger resignedly, ‘an’ we jus’ can’t help it.’

‘I’ve got another idea,’ said William grimly. ‘I’ve jolly well not
finished
yet.’

They looked at him with awe and respect.

‘We’ll have another meeting in three days,’ said William with his stern frown, ‘an’ – an’ – well, you jus’ wait and see.’

The next day was bright and sunny. Mr Bott almost enjoyed his morning exercises. He thought occasionally with indignation of the events of the previous morning. That dreadful boy . . . anyway
he’d
shown
him – he wasn’t likely to come again after yesterday. And most certainly Bob Andrews should go . . . he’d like to see any fool boy dictating to
him
.
But Mr Bott could not feel bad-tempered for long. It was such a bright sunny morning and he’d just discovered himself to be 7/8 of an inch thinner round the waist than this time last week . .
.

He leapt and skipped and gambolled and splashed. Once he imagined he saw the horrible boy’s face in the bushes, but looking again he came to the conclusion that he must have been mistaken.
Once too, he thought he heard a snap or a click as if someone had stepped on a twig, but listening again he came to the conclusion that he must have been mistaken. He enjoyed his exercises for the
next two mornings as well. But on the third morning as soon as he had come down, dressed and glowing, to his study after his exercises, to look at his letters before breakfast the butler threw open
the door and announced:

‘They said it was himportant business, sir, an’ you knew about it. I ’ope it’s all right.’

Then four boys walked up to his desk. One was the boy who had taken his overcoat up a tree two days before. The butler had gone. Mr Bott, sputtering with rage, reached out to the bell. He was
going to say ‘Kick these boys out’, when the worst of the boys – the devil – laid half a dozen snapshots on his desk. Mr Bott looked at them, and then sat rigid and
motionless, his hand still outstretched towards the bell.

Then his rubicund face grew pale.

The first snapshot showed Mr Bott, short, fat, and (except for his microscopic bathing drawers) naked, skipping by the lake. The angle of his legs was irresistibly comic. The second snapshot
showed Mr Bott, still short and fat and almost naked, balancing himself on one arm and one leg, the others stuck out wildly in the air, his eyes staring, his tongue hanging out of his mouth. The
third snapshot showed Mr Bott in the act of overbalancing in a rather difficult exercise. That was the gem of the collection. The fourth showed Mr Bott lying on his back and kicking his legs in the
air. The fifth showed Mr Bott standing on two very stiff arms and stiff legs with an expression of acute suffering on his face. The sixth showed Mr Bott splashing in the lake.

MR BOTT LEAPED AND SKIPPED AND GAMBOLLED AND SPLASHED. HE WAS DETERMINED TO OBEY TO THE FULL THE SPECIALIST’S ADVICE ABOUT PHYSICAL EXERCISES.

Mr Bott took out his handkerchief and wiped away the perspiration that was standing out on his brow.

‘If you burn ’em,’ said William firmly, ‘we can get more. We ’ve got the films and we can make hundreds more – and
jolly good
ones too.’

Mr Bott began to stammer.

‘W-what are you g-going to d-do with them?’ he asked.

‘Just show them to people,’ said William calmly.

Horrid visions passed before Mr Bott’s eyes. He saw the wretched things in the local paper. He saw them passed from hand to hand in drawing-rooms. He saw strong men helpless with mirth as
they seized on them. His position in Society – well, the less said about his position in Society if those things became public the better . . .

William took a crumpled document from his pocket and laid it solemnly upon Mr Bott’s desk.

‘That’s a contrack,’ he said, ‘signed in all our life’s blood sayin’ that we’ll keep ’em hid safely and never show ’em to anyone
s’long as you let Bob stay.’

ONCE MR BOTT THOUGHT HE SAW THAT HORRIBLE BOY’S FACE IN THE BUSHES. ONCE HE IMAGINED HE HEARD AN ODD CLICK, AS IF SOMEONE HAD STEPPED ON A TWIG.

Mr Bott knew when he was beaten. He moistened his lips.

‘All right,’ he whispered. ‘All right . . . I promise – only –
go away
.’

They went away.

Mr Bott locked the contract in his desk and pocketed the key.

Mrs Bott came in. Mr Bott still sat huddled in his chair.

‘You don’t look well, Botty, darling,’ said Mrs Bott with concern in her voice.

‘No,’ said Mr Bott in a hollow voice. ‘I don’t know that this treatment’s doing me any good.’

‘Isn’t it, ducky?’ said Mrs Bott. ‘Well, I’ll try to find you a new man.’

That afternoon the Outlaws passed Bob. He stood outside his Lodge, hands in pockets, pipe in mouth, handsome, white-bearded, gloriously lazy.

‘I’ve found a grass snake for ye, me bhoys,’ he sang out. ‘He’s in a box in the yard beyond. Oh, an’ Bob Andrews is
not
goin’, me bhoys. The sack
is withdrawn. Th’aud devil’s realised me value, glory be to God.’

That night Robert, William’s elder brother, came downstairs with his camera in his hand.

‘I say,’ he said, ‘I could have sworn I put this away with half a dozen films in.’

‘When did you have it last, dear?’ said his mother.

William took a book from a shelf and sat down at the table, resting his head on his hands.

‘I put it away last autumn till the decent weather came round, but I could have sworn I put it away with a roll of films in.’

His eyes fell sternly and accusingly upon William.

William looked up, met it unflinchingly with an expression of patient endurance on his face.

‘Robert,’ he said with a sigh. ‘I wish you’d talk more quietly. I’m trying to learn my history dates.’

Robert’s jaw dropped. Then he went quietly from the room still gaping. There was simply no making head or tail of that kid . . .

CHAPTER 6

T
he rain poured ceaselessly upon the old barn where the Outlaws were assembled. They had meant to spend the afternoon bird’s-nesting, and
they had continued to bird’s-nest in spite of the steady downpour till Ginger had torn such a large hole in his knickers that as he pathetically remarked, ‘ ’S’all very well
for you. ’S only rainin’ on your clothes. But it’s rainin’ right on to
me
through my hole an’ its jolly cold an’ I’m goin’ home.’

His threat of going home was hardly serious. It was not likely that any of the Outlaws would waste the precious hours of a half-holiday in a place so barren of any hope of adventure as home.

‘All right,’ said William the leader (upon whose stern and grimy countenance the rain had traced little channels of cleanliness) testily. ‘All right. My goodness, what a fuss
you make about a bit of rain on your bare skin. What would you do if you was a Red Indian an’ had to be out of doors all weathers and nearly all bare skin?’

‘Well, it doesn’t rain in Red Indian climits,’ said Ginger. ‘So there! Don’t you be too clever. It doesn’t rain in Red Indian climits.’

William was nonplussed for a moment, then he summoned his fighting spirit.

‘How do you know?’ he said. ‘You ever been there? You ever been to a Red Indian climit? Well, I din’t know you’d ever been to a Red Indian climit. But I’m
very int’rested to hear it. It’s very int’restin’ an’ funny you din’t get killed an’ eat, I
mus’
say.’

William’s weapon of heavy sarcasm always proved rather bewildering to his friends.

‘I don’ see that it matters whether I’ve been to a Red Indian climit or not,’ said Ginger stoutly, ‘it wun’t stop me feelin’ wet now if I had, would
it?’

‘Well, what would you do if you was a diver,’ went on William, ‘ ’f you’re so frightened of gettin’ a bit wet? P’raps what with knowin’ so much
about Red Indian climits you’ll say it’s not wet in the sea. Of course ’f you say it’s not wet in the sea we’ll all b’lieve you. Oh yes, we’ll all
b’lieve you ’f you say it’s not wet in the sea. I s’pose that’s wot you’ll be sayin’ next – that it’s not wet in the sea – with
knowin’ so much about Red Indian climits—’