William in Trouble (17 page)

‘Yes.’

‘Well, we’ll jus’ go an’ fetch some water for them from the house an’ that’ll do all right for ’em. Then we’ll hide the bottles in the
other
packing-case an’ have ’em with the cakes – jus’ you an’ me – when all the others’ve gone home.’

Again Hubert’s small eyes gleamed.

‘
Jolly
good idea, Bertie,’ he said. ‘Let’s move ’em quick.’

They put the bottles into the other packing-case, and moved it too against the wall. Then Hubert went to the house and returned with a large jug of water which he put upon the table. The feast
had now assumed a Spartan appearance. Then William suddenly noticed two small objects in the middle of the table upon a piece of paper. Bertie and Hubert also were gazing at these. By craning his
neck, William discovered that they were a penknife of an exceptionally magnificent kind and a magnifying glass, and that upon the paper was written: ‘For the Captain of the Winning
Team.’

‘Did your mother put that there?’ said Bertie.

Hubert nodded gloomily, then said bitterly, ‘Can’t think what she wants with givin’
two
presents for, anyway. Nice thing if
they
get ’em, won’t it
be?’

‘An’ they prob’ly
will
get ’em,’ said Bertie still more gloomily, ‘they’re so
rough.
’

Then a light dawned through the gloom of his expression.

‘Well, look here, they won’t know. None of ’em knows. Slip the penknife into your pocket, Huby, and I’ll have the glass thing. See? Much better than
them
gettin’ ’em, isn’t it, and your mother’ll never know.’

He seized the paper and tore it into tiny pieces and Hubert obediently slipped the penknife into his pocket while Bertie slipped the glass into his. There was a smile, fatuous and admiring, upon
Hubert’s face.

‘I say, Bertie,’ he said, ‘you
are
clever – shall we tell the others what we’ve done –
our
side, I mean?’

‘Gosh, no,’ said Bertie, ‘don’t tell
anyone –
all the more for us two.’ Then he looked round at the table with its plain and wholesome fare and began
to chuckle. ‘I say,’ he gasped, ‘if they
knew –
if they only
knew.
’

The joke of this appealed to Hubert. He began to chuckle. It grew on them more and more as they looked round the table with its plain buns and water. They stood laughing helplessly, holding
their sides.

William slipped down silently from his hiding place, crept back to the wall, climbed it, and ran quickly back to the field.

Most of the Hubert Laneites and Outlaws had now assembled and were employed in carrying on unofficial preliminary contests. Several sticks had already been broken, and the only ball had been
accidentally hit into the pond at the end of the field where it had sunk. A salvage party surrounded the pond, standing with the water well over their boots, fishing vainly for the vanished ball.
The player who was responsible for its loss stood by, torn between compunction at having thus lost the most necessary part of the whole proceedings, and pride at the length of the shot which had
caused its disappearance.

Cheers were raised by the Hubert Laneites at the sight of Hubert Lane and Bertie Franks coming on to the field arm-in-arm. The question of the missing ball was discussed at some length. One
small boy’s offer to go home and fetch a coconut (which he said he’d bought yesterday and hadn’t opened and would do just
ripping
for a ball) was refused.

The problem was solved by William, who filled his handkerchief with grass and stones and tied it firmly together to form a ball. The next question was the choice of the side of field. No one had
brought a coin, so William decided that the two captains should throw stones and the one who could throw the farther should be said to have won the toss. William’s throw easily outdistanced
Hubert’s. Hubert’s stone quite by accident hit one of his own supporters, who burst into tears and went home roaring with pain and anger to tell his father.

The actual game does not come into the story. As a matter of fact the actual game demands a story of itself (only it can’t have one). It was a glorious game. It was a game famous in the
annals of the village. Bits of broken walking-sticks remained to mark the field for months afterwards. The only important fact as regards this story was the fact that the Outlaws won gloriously by
twenty goals to nil.

The match was over.

They stood panting, purple-faced, black as to the eyes and bruised as to the shins and wild as to the hair, covered with mud, and put on their coats again. Henry had managed unostentatiously to
slip Monk off with his coat. Now he was trying equally unostentatiously to slip Monk on with his coat. William was standing in front of him to hide his movements from the Hubert Laneites.

Hubert Lane and Bertie Franks came up to them. Hubert Lane still pale and noticeably thinner since his exertion of the afternoon (as a matter of fact he’d kept well away from the ball and
out of the danger zone) approached with an oily smile.

‘Will you all come to our shed an’ have some tea?’ he said. He winked at Bertie Franks as he spoke and Bertie Franks sniggered.

The whole party moved off in the direction of the Lanes’ garden. When they entered the shed and beheld the table of plain buns and water, some faces which had expected a far, far better
sight might have been observed to drop. But not William’s. William, standing loyally by the Monk-encumbered Henry, wore his most sphinx-like expression. They all gathered round the table.
Buns were passed. Water was poured out. Bertie Franks and Hubert Lane were sniggering together in a corner.

Suddenly at an unguarded movement of Henry’s, his coat burst open and Monk fell out. The Hubert Laneites (sore both in mind and body as a result of the match) burst into a triumphant
outburst of jeering. ‘Oh, look at Henry’s toy monkey.’ ‘Yah! he’s brought his toy monkey.’ ‘Oh, Baby.’ ‘Diddums have to bring his ickle monkey,
then?’

For a minute the Outlaws were at a loss. Dimly they felt that an onslaught upon the Hubert Laneites over a table full of food (however disappointing in quality) provided by Hubert’s mother
would be a proceeding lacking in seemliness. And the Hubert Laneites, seeing their predicament, grew more bold and insulting every minute.

‘Yah, Baby.’ ‘Where’s his milk bottle?’

The Outlaws looked to William for guidance and even as they looked there flickered over William’s heated, mud-speckled countenance that light which betokened to those who knew him that
inspiration had visited him once again. It passed almost at once, leaving it sombre and inscrutable as ever. He took Monk from Henry, and holding it up addressed the Hubert Laneites.

‘If you
knew
what this was,’ he said very slowly, ‘you’d be
jolly
careful how you carried on talkin’ about it.’

Despite themselves the Hubert Laneites were impressed. William’s tone, William’s eyes, William’s scowl, impressed them. William, they knew, was not a boy to be taken
lightly.

‘Well, what
is
it?’ said Bertie Franks, jeeringly.

‘It’s magic,’ said William, in a deep voice, ignoring Bertie Franks and addressing the others. They tried to jeer again, but the fixity of William’s eye and the
earnestness of William’s voice had its effect upon them. Although outwardly they scoffed at magic, still they were not far removed from the age when the idea of magic was as natural to them
as nursery fairy tales could make it, and not a few of them still believed in it secretly. William uttered a short, mirthless laugh.

‘If only you
knew
—’ he said, and then was silent, as if afraid of betraying secrets.

‘All right,’ challenged Hubert Lane, ‘if it’s magic let it
do
some magic then.’

‘Cert’nly,’ said William. He addressed the others. ‘You see that ole packing-case standin’ by the wall there?’

All eyes turned towards the packing-case.

‘That’s jus’ an ole empty packing-case, isn’t it, Hubert?’ said William.

Hubert paled slightly and blinked his small eyes.

‘Er – yes,’ he stammered. ‘Yes – ’course it is.’

William made Monk describe a circle with its arm. They all watched with interest, eyes staring, mouths still mechanically masticating bun.

‘Well,’ said William, ‘now Monk’s bewitched it so’s it’s full of lovely cakes. Jus’ you look and see.’

There was a rush to the packing-case. There were screams of surprise and excitement as the treasure-trove was discovered. There was a general scrimmage for the cakes. Someone rescued them from
the general scrimmage and carried them to the table where they were handed round.

Hubert Lane and Bertie Franks watched in silence, their mouths hanging open in dismay, their eyes almost dropping out with surprise and horror. Gradually the clamour subsided. Everyone looked at
William and at Monk with deep though mystified respect.

‘I
say
,’ said a small boy as distinctly as he could through a large mouthful of cream bun. ‘I say, can it do anythin’ else?’

‘’Course it can,’ said William. ‘Look at that other packing-case over there.’

In silence they all turned to look at the other packing-case. There was a thrill of tense expectancy about them. The only movement was the movement of lips and the mechanical journeys of laden
hands to mouths, for not once did the late combatants cease in their hearty consumption of the newly discovered treasure. The plates of buns stood scorned and neglected. One had even been knocked
on to the floor and no one had troubled to pick them up.

WILLIAM MADE MONK DESCRIBE A CIRCLE WITH ITS ARM. ‘NOW,’ SAID WILLIAM, ‘MONK’S BEWITCHED THAT CASE SO’S IT’S FULL OF LOVELY CAKES.’

‘That’s jus’ an’ ole empty box, isn’t it, Hubert?’ said William.

Hubert gulped.

‘Y-y-y-y-y-yes,’ he spluttered. William made Monk wave his other arm.

‘Well,’ he announced, ‘now he’s bewitched it so’s it’s full of lovely bottles of ginger-beer.’

There was a rush to the box and cries of excitement as the guests discovered the secret hoard. They cheered loudly. They grabbed at the bottles. They drank from them without troubling to fetch
their glasses. There were bottles for all and to spare. They wallowed gloriously in heavenly ginger-beer. Hubert and Bertie watched in silence. They had turned rather yellow and their eyes were
still starting out of their heads. They didn’t know what to make of it all.

THEY ALL WATCHED WITH INTEREST, EYES STARING, MOUTHS STILL MECHANICALLY EATING BUN.

Again the clamour gradually subsided and everyone looked at William and Monk.

They were replete with sugar cakes and lemonade. They were gloriously happy. They were eager for more.

‘What else can he do, William?’ they said.

‘He can do
anythin
’ I tell him to,’ said William.

‘Tell him to do somethin’ else.’

‘All right,’ said William obligingly. ‘Who’d like a nice new penknife?’

‘
I
would,’ yelled a dozen voices excitedly.

‘Well, you’ve not got one in your pocket to give to anybody, have you, Hubert?’ said William.

Hubert went from yellow to green.

‘No, I’ve
not
,’ he spat out viciously.

‘No,’ said William to the others, ‘he’s not got one in his pocket. Now, who’d like a nice new magnifying glass?’

‘I would,’ screamed the entire company.

‘Bertie hasn’t got one in his pocket now, have you, Bertie?’

‘N-n-n-no,’ said Bertie, glaring round at them all fiercely, ‘I tell you I
haven’t.
’

William made Monk describe circles in the air with both his arms.

‘He says,’ said William solemnly, ‘that though they haven’t got them in their pockets
now –
if you take them and dip their heads three times in the rain tub
– Hubert’s and Bertie’s – you’ll find ’em in their pockets when you’ve finished – a penknife in Hubert’s and a magnifying glass in
Bertie’s, but you mustn’t look first, and you
must
duck ’em three times, or you won’t find them.’

With a yell of terror Hubert turned and ran from the shed. He was followed closely by Bertie, who was followed closely by a yelling, excited crowd consisting of both Hubert Laneites and Outlaw
supporters who had forgotten even the remains of the cakes and ginger-beer in their frenzied thirst for penknives and magnifying glasses.