Still William (13 page)

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 . . .

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

‘W
ell, 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.

They were drunk with delight. Their hands and faces were covered with dust and their hair full of cobwebs. Then William and Ginger claimed the upstairs as their castle and Henry and Douglas
charged from below and they all rolled downstairs in a mass of arms and legs and cobwebs. Finally they formed a procession and marched from room to room, stamping with all their might on the wooden
floors and singing lustily in their strong and inharmonious voices. They had entirely forgotten their former avocation of gold digging.

‘I say,’ said William at last, hot and dirty and breathless and happy, ‘it’d be just the place for a meeting place, wun’t it? Better than the old barn.’

‘Yes, but we’d have to be quieter,’ said Ginger, ‘or else people’ll be hearin’ us an’ makin’ a fuss like what they always do.’

‘All right!’ said William sternly. ‘You’ve been makin’ more noise than anyone.’

‘An’ let’s keep at the back,’ said Henry, ‘or ole Miss Hatherly’ll be seein’ us out of her window an’ comin’ in
interferin’.’

William knew Miss Hatherly, whose house overlooked the front of the empty house. He had good cause to know her. Robert was deeply enamoured of Marion, Miss Hatherly’s niece, and Miss
Hatherly disapproved of Robert because he had no money and was still at college and rode a very noisy motorcycle and dropped cigarette ash on her carpets and never wiped his boots and frightened
her canary. She disapproved of William still more and for reasons too numerous to state.

The empty house became the regular meeting place of the Outlaws, and the old barn was deserted. They always entered cautiously by a hole in the garden hedge, first looking up
and down the road to be sure that no one saw them. The house served many purposes besides that of meeting place. It was a smugglers’ den, a castle, a desert island, a battlefield, and an
Indian Camp.

It was William, of course, who suggested the midnight feast and the idea was received with eager joy by the others. The next night they all got up and dressed when the rest of their households
were in bed.

William climbed down the pear tree which grew right up to his bedroom window, Ginger got out of the bathroom window and crawled along the garden wall to the gate, Douglas and Henry got out of
the downstairs windows. All were a-thrill with the spirit of adventure. They would not have been surprised to meet a Red Indian in full warpaint, or a smuggler with eyepatch and daggers, or a herd
of lions and tigers – or even – despite their scorn of fairy tales – a witch with a cat and a broomstick walking along the moonlit road. William had brought his pistol and a good
supply of caps in case they met any robbers.

‘I know it wun’t
kill
’em,’ he admitted, ‘but the bang’d make ’em think it was a real one and scare ’em off. It makes a fine bang. Not that
I’m
frightened
of ’em,’ he added hastily.

Ginger had brought a stick which he thought would be useful for killing snakes. He had a vague idea that all roads were infested by deadly snakes at night. They entered the house, disturbing
several rats who fled at their approach.

They sat around a stubby candle-end thoughtfully provided by Henry. They ate sardines and buns and cheese and jam and cakes and dessicated coconut on the dusty floor in the empty room whose
paper hung in cobwebby strands from the wall, while rats squeaked indignantly behind the wainscoting, and the moon, pale with surprise, peeped in at the dirty uncurtained window. They munched in
happy silence and drank lemonade and liquorice water provided by William.

‘Let’s do it tomorrow, too,’ said Henry as they rose to depart, and the proposal was eagerly agreed to.

Miss Hatherly was a member of the Society for the Encouragement of Higher Thought. The Society for the Encouragement of Higher Thought had exhausted nearly every branch of
Higher Thought and had almost been driven to begin again at Sublimity or Relativity. (They didn’t want to because, in spite of a meeting about each, they were all still doubtful as to what
they meant.)

But last week someone had suggested Psychical Revelation, and they had had quite a lively meeting. Miss Sluker had a cousin whose wife thought she had heard a ghost. Miss Sluker, who was
conscientious, added that the cousin’s wife had never been quite sure and had admitted that it might have been a mouse. Mrs Moote had an aunt who had dreamed of her sister and the next day
her sister had found a pair of spectacles which she had lost for weeks. But no one else had any psychic experience to record.

‘We must have another meeting and all collect data,’ said the President brightly.

‘What’s “data”?’ said little Miss Simky to her neighbour in a mystified whisper.

‘It’s the French for ghost story,’ said the neighbour.

‘Oh!’ said little Miss Simky, satisfied.

The next meeting was at Miss Hatherly’s house.

The ‘data’ were not very extensive. Miss Euphemia Barney had discovered that her uncle had died on the same day of the month on which he had been born, but after much discussion it
was decided that this, though interesting, was not a psychic experience. Miss Whatte spoke next. She said that her uncle’s photograph had fallen from its hook exactly five weeks to the day
after his death. They were moving the furniture, she added, and someone had just dropped the piano, but still . . . it was certainly data.

‘I’m afraid I’ve no personal experience to record,’ said little Miss Simky, ‘but I’ve read some very exciting datas in magazines and such like, but I’m
afraid they won’t count.’

Then Miss Hatherly, trembling with eagerness, spoke.

‘I have a very important revelation to make,’ she said. ‘I have discovered that Colonel Henks’ old house is haunted.’

There was a breathless silence. The eyes of the members of the Society for the Encouragement of Higher Thought almost fell through their horn-rimmed spectacles on to the floor.

‘Haunted!
’ they screamed in chorus, and little Miss Simky clung to her neighbour in terror.

‘Listen!’ said Miss Hatherly. ‘The house is empty, yet I have heard voices and footsteps – the footsteps resembling Colonel Henks’. Last night,’ – the
round-eyed, round-mouthed circle drew nearer – ‘last night I heard them most distinctly at midnight, and I firmly believe that Colonel Henks’ spirit is trying to attract my
attention. I believe that he has a message for me.’

Little Miss Simky gave a shrill scream and was carried to the dining-room to have hysterics in comfort among the wool mats and antimacassars.

‘Tonight I shall go there,’ said Miss Hatherly, and the seekers after Higher Thought screamed again.

‘
Don’t
, dear,’ said Miss Euphemia Barney. ‘Oh – it sounds so –
unsafe
– and do you think it’s
quite
proper?’