Still William (28 page)

‘You’re rather early,’ said Miss Lomas.

‘Yes, I thought I’d come early so’s to be sure to be in time,’ said William, entering and wiping his feet on the mat. ‘Which room’re we goin’ to have
tea in?’

With a gesture of hopelessness Miss Lomas showed him into the empty drawing-room.

‘It’s Miss Dobson I’ve really come for,’ explained William obligingly as he sat down.

Miss Lomas fled, but Miss Dobson did not appear.

William spent the interval wrestling with his Valentine. He had carried it sticky side towards his coat, and it now adhered closely to him. He managed at last to tear it away, leaving a good
deal of glue and bits of yew-tree still attached to his coat . . . No one came . . . He resisted the temptation to sample a plate of cakes on a side table, and amused himself by pulling sticky bits
of yew off his coat and throwing them into the fire from where he sat. A good many landed on the hearthrug. One attached itself to a priceless Chinese vase on the mantelpiece. William looked at
what was left of his Valentine with a certain dismay. Well . . . he didn’t call it pretty, but if it was the sort of thing they did he was jolly well going to do it . . . That was all . . .
Then the guests began to arrive, Robert and Ethel among the first. Miss Dobson came in with Robert. He handed her a large box of chocolates.

‘A Valentine,’ he said.

‘Oh . . . thank you,’ said Miss Dobson, blushing.

William took up his enormous piece of gluey cardboard with bits of battered yew adhering at intervals.

‘A Valentine,’ he said.

Miss Dobson looked at it in silence. Then:

‘W-what is it, William?’ she said faintly.

‘A Valentine,’ repeated William shortly, annoyed at its reception.

‘Oh,’ said Miss Dobson.

Robert led her over to the recess by the window which contained two chairs. William followed, carrying his chair. He sat down beside them. Both ignored him.

‘Quite a nice day, isn’t it?’ said Robert.

‘Isn’t it?’ said Miss Dobson.

‘Miss Dobson,’ said William, ‘I’m always dreamin’ of you when I’m awake.’

‘What a pretty idea of yours to have a Valentine’s Day party,’ said Robert.

‘Do you think so?’ said Miss Dobson coyly.

‘Has anyone ever told you that you’re like a bottled cherry?’ said William doggedly.

‘Do you know . . . this is the first Valentine I’ve ever given anyone?’ said Robert.

Miss Dobson lowered her eyes.

‘Oh . . . is it?’ she said.

‘I’ve been thinkin’ about love at first sight,’ said William monotonously. ‘I got such a fright when I saw you first. I think we’re pre-existed for each
other.’

‘Will you allow me to take you out in my sidecar tomorrow?’ said Robert.

‘Oh, how lovely!’ said Miss Dobson.

‘No . . . pre-destinated . . . that’s it,’ said William.

Neither of them took any notice of him. He felt depressed and disillusioned. She wasn’t much of a catch anyway. He didn’t know why he’d ever bothered about her.

‘Quite a lady-killer, William,’ said General Moult from the hearthrug.

‘WHAT IS IT, WILLIAM?’ ASKED MISS DOBSON. ‘A VALENTINE,’ REPEATED WILLIAM. ‘MY VALENTINE.’

‘Beg pardon?’ said William.

‘I say you’re a lady-killer.’

‘I’m not,’ said William, indignant at the aspersion. ‘I’ve never killed no ladies.’

‘I mean you’re fond of ladies.’

‘I think insects is nicer,’ said William dispiritedly.

He was quiet for a minute or two. No one was taking any notice of him. Then he took up his Valentine, which was lying on the floor, and walked out.

The Outlaws were in the old barn. They greeted William joyfully. Joan, the only girl member, was there with them. William handed her his cardboard.

‘A Valentine,’ he said.

‘What’s a Valentine?’ said Joan who did not attend Miss Lomas’s class.

‘Some say it’s a saint what wrote soppy letters to girls ’stead of gettin’ martyred prop’ly, like Peter an’ the others, an’ some say it’s a bit of
fern like this, an’ some say it’s a box of chocolates.’

‘Well, I never!’ said Joan surprised. ‘But it’s beautiful of you to give it to me, William.’

‘It’s a jolly good piece of cardboard,’ said Ginger, ‘ ’f we scrape away these messy leaves an’ stuff.’

William joined with zest in the scraping.

‘How’s Albert?’ said Joan.

After all there was no one quite like Joan. He’d never contemplate marrying anyone else ever again.

‘He’s been took off me,’ said William.

‘Oh, what a
shame
, William!’

‘But I’ve got another . . . an earwig . . . called Fred.’

‘I’m so glad.’

‘But I like you better than
any
insect, Joan,’ he said generously.

‘Oh, William, do you
really
?’ said Joan, deeply touched.

‘Yes – an I’m goin’ to marry you when I grow up if you won’t want me to talk a lot of soppy stuff that no one can understand.’

‘Oh, thank you, William . . . No, I won’t.’

‘All right . . . Now come on an’ let’s play Red Indians.’

Richmal Crompton was born in Lancashire in 1890. The first story about William Brown appeared in
Home
magazine in 1919, and the first collection of William stories was
published in book form three years later. In all, thirty-eight William books were published, the last one in 1970, after Richmal Crompton’s death.

‘Probably the funniest, toughest children’s books ever written’

Sunday Times
on the Just William series

‘Richmal Crompton’s creation [has] been famed for his cavalier attitude to life and those who would seek to circumscribe his enjoyment of it ever since he first
appeared’

Guardian

Books available in the Just William series

More William

William Again

William the Fourth

Still William

William the Conqueror

William the Outlaw

William in Trouble

William the Good

William at War

First published 1925

This selection first published 1984 by Macmillan Children’s Books

This edition published 2011 by Macmillan Children’s Books

This electronic edition published 2011 by Macmillan Children’s Books
a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited
Pan Macmillan, 20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR
Basingstoke and Oxford
Associated companies throughout the world
www.panmacmillan.com

ISBN 978-0-330-54352-1 EPUB

All stories copyright © Richmal C. Ashbee
This selection copyright © Richmal C. Ashbee 1984
Foreword copyright © Tony Robinson 2010
Illustrations copyright © Thomas Henry Fisher Estate

The right of Richmal C. Ashbee to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

You may not copy, store, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (electronic, digital,
optical, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be
liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

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