William Again (7 page)

‘S’pose – s’pose he murders us?’ whispered Ginger.

‘If he does,’ said William grimly, still aggrieved by his family’s general attitude to him, ‘I know
some
folks that’ll p’raps be
sorry
for
some
things!’

Then suddenly –

‘He’s there!’ said William excitedly. ‘Look! I can see him!’

They crept behind some bushes and watched. A man was digging in the middle of the lawn. He stood up to his neck in a large hole and was throwing up spadeful after spadeful of earth on to the
edge. Occasionally he stopped to wipe his brow. He was a thin, youngish man.

‘Diggin’ graves for dead folks he’s murdered,’ explained William.

‘Golly!’ breathed Ginger, his eyes and mouth wide open. ‘How’re you goin’ to stop him?’

‘Get him in the hole,’ said William, ‘an’ then – an’ then – I dunno yet,’ he ended uncertainly.

The man bent down for another spadeful.

‘Come on!’ said William.

They crept across the lawn and suddenly overturned the heap of fresh-dug earth that was on the edge of the hole upon its occupant, using feet and hands and head and body. It all happened in a
second. The man, up to his neck in the sudden avalanche of damp garden soil, looked up at them, sputtering anger and earth.

‘I say! I say, you know,’ he said. ‘Look here!’

William leant over the edge of the hole.

‘You jus’ gotter
stop
it,’ he said fiercely. ‘D’you see? You jus’ gotter
stop
it!’

The young man gazed at him in amazement. He made no effort to arise. He lay back on his earthen couch.

‘You’ve jolly well winded me, you young devil!’ he said, still ejecting earth from his mouth as he spoke. ‘Stop what?’

‘You
know,’ said William mysteriously, bending still farther over the edge of the hole. ‘You jolly well
know,
doesn’t he, Ginger? How’d you like
someone to do it to you – murderin’ you an’ buryin’ you in back gardens? Jus’ think of that! Jus’ think of how you’d like
other
folk doin’ it to
you, ’fore you start doin’ it to other folks.’

‘I’ll jolly well murder you, once I get out of here,’ said the man. ‘I’ll murder you and bury you ten times over. Don’t worry about that.’

‘You oughter reform an’ start again on the – what was it? – the path of virt – virt something – now I’ve told you like what he said – with jus’ a
word.
Well,
I’ve said the word, an’ you oughter
re
form an’—’

THEY CREPT ACROSS THE LAWN AND SUDDENLY OVERTURNED THE HEAP OF FRESH-DUG EARTH OVER THE EDGE OF THE HOLE UPON ITS OCCUPANT.

‘Just you wait, my son,’ said the young man grimly, beginning to unearth himself.

But Ginger had made a discovery.

‘Look, William,’ he said. ‘Look at this!’

‘This’ was a tin, containing curious earth-covered coins, at the edge of the hole.

‘He’s a thief, too,’ said William indignantly. ‘Takin’ folks’ money as well as buryin’ them. He’s goin’ right down the broad evil path like
what he said. Well, he oughter stop. I’ve said it. I’ve said the word like what he said, an’ he oughter
re
form an’ come back to the path of virt— what he
said.’

The young man was fast unearthing himself. He looked a curious sight.

‘Just you wait,’ he said again, as he began to climb out of the hole. ‘Murder won’t be in it.’

Instinctively and throwing the zeal of the reformer to the winds, William and Ginger took to their heels and fled – across the lawn, down the drive, down the road – with fleetness of foot gained
in many a flight from irate farmers and landowners. Ginger still hugged to his breast the tin of coins. The earthen young man followed, leaving a trail of soil as he ran.

‘Here!’ he shouted. ‘Bring back that tin! Here!
Thieves!’

They threw him off at the first turning, and made for William’s house. They fled panting up the drive.

‘Look out!’ said William breathlessly. ‘There’s Father!’

Mr Brown, putting on his hat in the hall for a quiet evening stroll, turned to see his son and his son’s friend walking slowly and demurely up the drive. The son’s friend held an old
tin clasped to his breast. Both were red and breathless in spite of their slow and demure progress. Mr Brown looked at his son with a suspicion born of experience.

‘Where have you been?’ he said.

‘Jus’ for a walk,’ said William meekly and with wide-eyed, appealing innocence.

The two proceeded towards the stairs.

‘Where are you going now?’ said Mr Brown, still more suspiciously.

‘Jus’ up to my room, Father,’ said William.

Mr Brown fastened his stern gaze upon the tin.

‘What have you got there?’ he demanded.

‘Jus’ some ole things we’ve found,’ floated in William’s dulcet tones from halfway upstairs.

‘Crumbs!’ said William upstairs. ‘I thought he was going to nab us.’

‘My sainted aunt!’ said William’s father downstairs, ‘That boy’s up to
something
again!’

William’s father, however, soon forgot William. It was a perfect evening. Sabbath calm reigned supreme over the countryside. The trees were just beginning to turn from
green to gold. The birdsong rang through the still evening air. As Mr Brown walked along, a sense of peace and well-being descended upon him. He completely forgot William. Then, suddenly, he turned
a bend in the road and saw a curious figure – so curious that Mr Brown pinched himself to make sure he was awake. Sabbath calm ceased to reign supreme over the countryside and Mr Brown’s
sense of peace deserted him. The figure was that of a hatless, wild-eyed young man, covered to the neck in soil, and bearing traces of it upon his face.

‘I say,’ he began abruptly, ‘are you a resident of these parts?’

‘Yes,’ admitted Mr Brown, debating in his mind on the safest method of dealing with an escaped lunatic.

‘I’ve been robbed. Some most valuable coins. Simply robbed in broad daylight.’

‘You’d better go to the police about it,’ said Mr Brown soothingly. ‘Come with me. I’ll show you the way.’

He thought the police station the best receptacle for the strange wanderer.

‘I’ve taken Beechwood, you know,’ went on the excited young man, ‘and I’m doing some excavating there on my own. I belong to the Archæological Society.
I’ve found traces of Roman occupation here. I’ve had some experts down and there’s no doubt that there was a Roman villa on the site of Beechwood. I found some most valuable coins
this afternoon and I’ve been robbed of them. They’re irreplaceable!’

‘Who stole them?’ said Mr Brown. He was rather bored by the whole proceeding. He was anxious to deposit the strange young man in the police station and continue his walk.

‘Mere boys,’ said the young man. ‘Mere boys. They pushed earth in on me and shouted some gibberish and made off with the coins. Probably some rival collector heard of the thing
and sent them.’

‘Probably,’ agreed Mr Brown without interest. ‘Well, here’s the station. I’ll say goodnight and good luck.’

He touched his hat and was on the point of proceeding with his walk, but the young man was pathetically anxious to confide the whole tale.

‘I’ve really no clue,’ he said sorrowfully. ‘The coins were in an old tin – simply an old tin. Well, I suppose I’d better go in. Goodnight.’

Mr Brown was standing motionless. He seemed to have lost all desire to proceed with his walk. His smile had faded from his face. He was seeing a sudden vision of two small boys, red-faced and
breathless, but wearing looks of innocence that blazoned guilt far and wide, creeping cautiously upstairs. One of the boys had held an old tin in his hand – simply an old tin. He turned to the
young man. The young man had already reached the door of the police station.

‘Here!’ shouted Mr Brown. ‘One minute!’

The man returned to him.

‘You said boys,’ said Mr Brown slowly. ‘What sort of boys? Could you describe them?’

‘One was freckled,’ said the young man. ‘He called the other one Ginger.’

Mr Brown swallowed.

‘I think,’ he said, ‘that I can help you – if you’ll come home with me.’

‘Have you got a clue?’ said the young man excitedly.

‘I think,’ said Mr Brown, ‘that I have.’

The young man, dropping garden soil with every movement upon Mrs Brown’s drawing-room carpet, clasped his tin box to his breast – William, frowning and injured, stood before an accusing
family circle and defended himself.

‘Well, how was I to
know?
I found him diggin’ graves for the folks he’d murdered. I was trying to
re
form him – like what he said in church. How was I to
know
that he wasn’t diggin’ graves for the folks he’d murdered? I wanted to
re
form someone same as he said. He
said
he was a murderer too – he as near as near
murdered Ginger an’ me – how was I to
know?’

The young man interrupted, with a quick movement and another shower of garden soil at which Mrs Brown shut her eyes and breathed an inward prayer.

‘Look here!’ he said. ‘It was all a misunderstanding. I say, suppose you come to tea with me tomorrow and we bury the hatchet instead of the murdered – eh? I say, I’d
better go and change, hadn’t I?’

WILLIAM DEFENDED HIMSELF. ‘WELL, HOW WAS I TO KNOW? I FOUND HIM DIGGIN’ GRAVES FOR THE FOLKS HE’D MURDERED.’

‘I’ll see you down the road,’ said Mr Brown.

The young man went off, happily clasping his tin and scattering earth thickly around him.

The rest of the family turned to William.

‘Well, you’ve done it
now
!’ said Ethel.

‘I
said
Sunday wasn’t over!’ said Robert.

‘The carpet is simply
ruined
!’ moaned Mrs Brown.

‘Well – how was I to
know?
said William desperately.

‘It’s ever so long after your bedtime, William,’ said Mrs Brown with a sigh. ‘He’s simply
trodden
the stuff in besides putting it there.’

‘I advise you to go to bed before Father comes back,’ said Robert with a superior elder-brother air.

William inwardly agreed. There was something to be said for being in bed and asleep when his father came home. Explanations, put off to the following day, are apt to lose the keenness of their
edge. He turned to the door.

‘Nothing I do ever seems to come out right,’ he said gloomily. ‘How was I to
know –
diggin’ away like that?’

‘I daresay you didn’t mean anything, dear,’ said Mrs Brown, ‘but it was only new last January.’

William reached the bottom of the staircase, then had a sudden thought and returned.

‘Anyway,’ he said, putting his head round the drawing-room door, ‘if you hadn’t made me go to church when I was feelin’ so ill, I wun’t have known anything
about
re
forming folks.’

‘William,’ said Mrs Brown wearily, ‘do go to bed.’

William complied, but again only reached the foot of the staircase. Here another thought struck him, and he returned.

‘Anyway,’ he said, putting his head round the door again, ‘I bet
you
wun’t have gone right up to a murderer, diggin’ a grave for the folks he’d
murdered, an’ I bet if he
had
been a real murderer an’ I’d been dead
an’
buried by now,
you’d
be feelin’ a bit—’

‘William,’ said Mrs Brown, ‘are you going to bed?’

William again retired. This time he got halfway upstairs. Then a third thought struck him and again he descended.

Anyway,’ he said, and his family groaned as the familiar untidy shock of hair and frowning freckled face once more appeared. ‘Didn’t Ethel say that he never had folks in,
an’ isn’t he having me in to tea tomorrow, so I bet you can’t say I haven’t
re
formed him.’

‘William!
’ said Mrs Brown. Are – you – going – to – bed?’

William
was.
He had heard the click of the gate at the end of the drive.

When William’s father entered the house three minutes later, William was in bed and asleep.

CHAPTER 5

NOT MUCH

W
illiam walked down the village street singing lustily His strident, unmelodious young voice rang out harshly. His face was purple with vocal
effort.