Still William (27 page)

He went to the garden shed directly after breakfast and discovered that he had made the holes in his cardboard boxes rather too large and the inmates had all escaped during the night. It was a
blow, but William had more serious business on hand than collecting insects. And he still had Albert. He put his face down to where he imagined Albert’s ear to be and yelled
‘Albert’ with all the force of his lungs. Albert moved – in fact scuttled wildly up the side of his box.

‘Well, he cert’n’ly knows his name now,’ said William with a sigh of satisfaction. ‘It’s took enough trouble to teach him that. I’ll go on with tricks
now.’

He went to school after that. Albert accompanied him, but was confiscated by the French master just as William and Ginger were teaching him a trick. The trick was to climb over a pencil, and
Albert, who was labouring under a delusion that freedom lay beyond the pencil, was picking it up surprisingly well. William handed him to the French master shut up in his box, and was slightly
comforted for his loss by seeing the master on opening it get his fingers covered with Albert’s marmalade ration for the day, which was enclosed in the box with Albert. The master emptied
Albert out of the window and William spent ‘break’ in fruitless search for him, calling ‘Albert!’ in his most persuasive tones . . . in vain, for Albert had presumably
returned to his mourning family for a much needed ‘rest cure’.

‘Well,
I
call it stealin’,’ said William sternly, ‘takin’ beetles that belong to other people . . . It’d serve ’em right if I turned a
Bolshevist.’

‘I don’t suppose they’d mind what you turned,’ said Ginger unfeelingly but with perfect truth.

It was a half-holiday that afternoon, and to the consternation of his family William announced his intention of staying home instead of, as usual, joining his friends the Outlaws in their
lawless pursuits.

‘But, William, some people are coming to tea,’ said Mrs Brown helplessly.

‘I know,’ said William. ‘I thought p’raps you’d like me to be in to help with ’em.’

The thought of this desire for William’s social help, attributed to her by William, left Mrs Brown speechless. But Ethel was not speechless.

‘Well, of course,’ she remarked to the air in front of her, ‘that means that the whole afternoon is spoilt.’

William could think of no better retort to this than: ‘Oh, yes, it does, does it? Well I never!’

Though he uttered these words in a tone of biting sarcasm and with what he fondly imagined to be a sarcastic smile, even William felt them to be rather feeble and added hastily in his normal
manner:

‘ ’Fraid I’ll eat up all the cakes, I s’pose? Well, I will if I get the chance.’

‘William, dear,’ said Mrs Brown, roused to effort by the horror of the vision thus called up, ‘do you think it’s quite fair to your friends to desert them like this?
It’s the only half-holiday in the week, you know.’

‘Oh, ’s all right,’ said William. ‘I’ve told ’em I’m not comin’. They’ll get on all right.’

‘Oh, yes,
they’ll
be all right,’ said Ethel in a meaningful voice and William could think of no adequate reply.

But William was determined to be at home that afternoon. He knew that Laurence Hinlock, Ethel’s latest admirer, was expected and William wished to study at near quarters the delicate art
of courtship. He realised that he could not marry Miss Dobson for many years to come, but he did not see why his courtship of her should not begin at once . . . He was going to learn how it was
done from Laurence Hinlock and Ethel . . .

He spent the earlier part of the afternoon collecting a few more insects for his empty boxes. He was still mourning bitterly the loss of Albert. He deliberately did not catch a stag beetle that
crossed his path because he was sure that it was not Albert. He found an earwig that showed distinct signs of intelligence and put it in a large, airy box with a spider for company and some leaves
and crumbs and a bit of raspberry jam for nourishment. He did not give it marmalade because marmalade reminded him so poignantly of Albert . . .

Then he went indoors. There were several people in the drawing-room. He greeted them rather coldly, his eye roving round the while for what he sought. He saw it at last . . . Ethel and a tall,
lank young man sitting in the window alcove in two comfortable chairs, talking vivaciously and confidentially. William took a chair from the wall and carried it over to them, put it down by the
young man’s chair, and sat down.

There was a short, pregnant silence.

‘Good afternoon,’ said William at last.

‘Er – good afternoon,’ said the young man. There was another silence.

‘Hadn’t you better go and speak to the others?’ said Ethel.

‘I’ve spoke to them,’ said William.

There was another silence.

‘Don’t you want to go and play with your friends?’ asked the young man.

‘No, thank you,’ said William.

Silence again.

‘I think Mrs Franks would like you to go and talk to her,’ said Ethel.

‘No, I don’t think she would,’ said William with perfect truth.

The young man took out a shilling and handed it to William.

‘Go and buy some sweets for yourself,’ he said.

William put the shilling in his pocket.

‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I’ll go and get them tonight when you’ve all gone.’

There was another and yet deeper silence. Then Ethel and the young man began to talk together again. They had evidently decided to ignore William’s presence. William listened with rapt
attention. He wanted to know what you said and the sort of voice you said it in.

‘St Valentine’s Day next week,’ said Laurence soulfully.

‘Oh, no one takes any notice of that nowadays,’ said Ethel.

‘I’m going to,’ said Laurence. ‘I think it’s a beautiful idea. Its meaning, you know . . . true love . . . If I send you a Valentine, will you accept it?’

‘That depends on the Valentine,’ said Ethel with a smile.

‘It’s the thought that’s behind it that’s the vital thing,’ said Laurence soulfully. ‘It’s that that matters. Ethel . . . you’re in all my waking
dreams.’

‘I’m sure I’m not,’ said Ethel.

‘You are . . . Has anyone told you before that you’re a perfect Botticelli?’

‘Heaps of people,’ said Ethel calmly.

‘I was thinking about love last night,’ said Laurence. ‘Love at first sight. That’s the only sort of love . . . When first I saw you my heart leapt at the sight of
you.’ Laurence was a great reader of romances. ‘I think that we’re predestined for each other. We must have known each other in former existences. We—’

‘Do speak up,’ said William irritably. ‘You’re speaking so low that I can’t hear what you’re saying.’

‘What?’

‘DON’T YOU WANT TO GO AND PLAY WITH YOUR FRIENDS?’ ASKED THE YOUNG MAN.

The young man turned a flaming face of fury on to him. William returned his gaze quite unabashed.

‘I don’ mean I want you to
shout
,’ said William, ‘but just speak so’s I can hear.’

The young man turned to Ethel.

‘Can you get a wrap and come into the garden?’ he said.

‘Yes . . . I’ve got one in the hall,’ said Ethel, rising.

William fetched his coat and patiently accompanied them round the garden.

‘NO, THANK YOU,’ SAID WILLIAM.

‘What do people mean by sayin’ they’ll send a Valentine, Mother?’ said William that evening. ‘I thought he was a sort of saint. I don’ see
how you can send a saint to anyone, specially when he’s dead ’n’ in the Prayer Book.’

‘Oh, it’s just a figure of speech, William,’ said Mrs Brown vaguely.

‘A figure of what?’ said William blankly.

‘I mean, it’s a kind of Christmas card only it’s a Valentine, I mean . . . Well, it had gone out in my day, but I remember your grandmother showing me some that had been sent
to her . . . dried ferns and flowers pasted on cardboard . . . very pretty.’

‘Seems sort of silly to me,’ said William after silent consideration.

‘People were more romantic in those days,’ said Mrs Brown with a sigh.

‘Oh, I’m romantic,’ said William, ‘if that means bein’ in love. I’m that all right. But I don’ see any sense in sendin’ pasted ferns an’
dead saints and things . . . But still,’ determinedly, ‘I’m goin’ to do all the sort of things they do.’

‘What
are
you talking about, William?’ said Mrs Brown.

Then Ethel came in. She looked angrily at William.

‘Mother, William behaved abominably this afternoon.’

‘I thought he was rather good, dear,’ said Mrs Brown mildly.

‘What did I do wrong?’ said William with interest.

‘Followed us round everywhere listening to everything we said.’

‘Well, I jus’ listened, din’ I?’ said William rather indignantly. ‘I din’ interrupt ’cept when I couldn’t hear or couldn’t understand.
There’s nothing wrong with jus’
listenin’
, is there?’

‘But we didn’t
want
you,’ said Ethel furiously.

‘Oh . . . that!’ said William. ‘Well, I can’t help people not
wanting
me, can I? That’s not
my
fault.’

Interest in Saint Valentine’s Day seemed to have infected the whole household. On February 13th William came upon his brother Robert wrapping up a large box of chocolates.

‘What’s that?’ said William.

‘A Valentine,’ said Robert shortly.

‘Well, Miss Lomas said it was a dead Saint, and Mother said it was a pasted fern, an’ now you start sayin’ it’s a box of chocolates! No one seems to know what it is.
Who’s it for, anyway?’

‘Doreen Dobson,’ said Robert, answering without thinking and with a glorifying blush.

‘Oh, I
say
!’ said William indignantly. ‘You can’t. I’ve bagged her. I’m going to do a fern for her. I’ve had her ever since the Bible
Class.’

‘Shut up and get out,’ said Robert.

Robert was twice William’s size.

William shut up and got out.

The Lomas family was giving a party on Saint Valentine’s Day, and William had been invited with Robert and Ethel. William spent two hours on his Valentine. He could not
find a fern, so he picked a large spray of yew-tree instead. There was no time to dry it, so he tried to affix it to paper as it was. At first he tried with a piece of notepaper and flour and
water, but except for a generous coating of himself with the paste there was no result. The yew refused to yield to treatment. It was too strong and too large for its paper. Fortunately, however,
he found a large piece of thick cardboard, about the size of a drawing-board, and a bottle of glue in the cupboard of his father’s writing desk. It took the whole bottle of glue to fix the
spray of yew-tree on to the cardboard, and the glue mingled freely with the flour and water on William’s clothing and person. Finally he surveyed his handiwork.

‘Well, I don’ see much
in
it now it’s done,’ he said, ‘but I’m jolly well going to do all the things they do do.’

He went to put on his overcoat to hide the ravages beneath, and met Mrs Brown in the hall.

‘Why are you wearing your coat, dear?’ she said solicitously. ‘Are you feeling cold?’

‘No. I’m just getting ready to go out to tea. That’s all,’ said William.

‘But you aren’t going out to tea for half an hour or so yet.’

‘No, but you always say that I ought to start gettin’ ready in good time,’ said William virtuously.

‘Yes, of course, dear. That’s very thoughtful of you,’ said Mrs Brown, touched.

William spent the time before he started to the party inspecting his insect collection. He found that the spider had escaped and the earwig was stuck fast in the raspberry jam. He freed it,
washed it, and christened it ‘Fred’. It was beginning to take Albert’s place in his affections.

Then he set off to Miss Lomas’s carrying his Valentine under his arm. He started out before Ethel and Robert because he wanted to begin his courtship of Miss Dobson before anyone else was
in the field.

Miss Lomas opened the door. She paled slightly as she saw William.

‘Oh . . . William,’ she said without enthusiasm.

‘I’ve come to tea,’ William said, and added hastily, ‘I’ve been invited.’