William the Fourth (6 page)

William wandered out again into the Fête ground. He visited the ice-cream stall again, then wandered aimlessly around. The first person to accost him was Miss Drew.

‘Hello, William,’ she said, gazing at him anxiously ‘I’ve been looking for you. Would you like some icecream?’

William graciously condescended to be fed with icecream.

‘Would you like a box of chocolates?’ went on Miss Drew. ‘Do you feel all right, William, dear? You’ve been a bit pale lately’

William accepted from her a large box of chocolates and three donkey rides. He admitted that perhaps he hadn’t been feeling very strong lately. When she departed he found Robert and Ethel
looking for him. They treated him to a large and very satisfying tea and several more donkey rides. Both used an unusually tender tone of voice when addressing him. Ethel bought him a pineapple and
another box of chocolates, and Robert bought him a bottle of sweets and apologised for his unreasonable behaviour about the shoe polish. When they went home William walked between them and they
carried his chocolates and sweets and pineapple for him. Feeling that too much could not be made of the present state of affairs, he made Robert do his homework before he went to bed. Up in his
room he gave his famous imitation of a churchyard cough that he had made perfect by practice and which had proved a great asset to him on many occasions. Ethel crept softly upstairs. She held a
paper bag in her hand.

‘William, darling,’ she said, ‘I’ve brought this toffee for your throat. It might do it good.’

William added it to his store of presents.

‘Thank you,’ he said with an air of patient suffering.

‘And I’ll give you something to make your wigwam with tomorrow, dear,’ she went on.

‘Thank you,’ said William.

‘And if you want to practise your mouth-organ in the mornings it doesn’t matter a bit.’

‘Thank you,’ said William in a small, martyred voice.

The next evening William walked happily down the road. It had been a very pleasant day. Miss Drew had done most of his work for him at school. He had been treated at lunch by
his family with a consideration that was quite unusual. He had been entreated to have all that was left of the trifle while the rest of the family had stewed prunes.

In the garden of the little cottage was Miss Tabitha Croft and the tall, stooping man.

‘Oh, this is William,’ said Miss Tabitha. ‘William is a
great
friend of mine!’

‘I saw William yesterday,’ said the man. ‘William must certainly come to the wedding.’

‘William,’ said Miss Croft, ‘it was kind of you to take my place yesterday. Did you manage all right?’

‘Yes,’ said William, after a moment’s consideration, ‘I managed all right, thank you.’

CHAPTER 4

WILLIAM ALL THE TIME

W
illiam was walking down the road, his hands in his pockets, his mind wholly occupied with the Christmas pantomime. He was going to the Christmas
pantomime next week. His thoughts dwelt on rapturous memories of previous Christmas pantomimes – of
Puss in Boots,
of
Dick Whittington,
of
Red Riding Hood.
His mouth
curved into a blissful smile as he thought of the funny man – inimitable funny man with his red nose and enormous girth. How William had roared every time he appeared! With what joy he had
listened to his uproarious songs! But it was not the funny man to whom William had given his heart. It was to the animals. It was to the cat in
Puss in Boots,
the robins in
The Babes in
the Wood,
and the wolf in
Red Riding Hood.
He wanted to be an animal in a pantomime. He was quite willing to relinquish his beloved future career of pirate in favour of that of animal in
a pantomime. He wondered . . .

It was at this point that Fate, who often had a special eye on William, performed one of her lightning tricks.

A man in shirt-sleeves stepped out of the wood and looked anxiously up and down the road. Then he took out his watch and muttered to himself. William stood still and stared at him with frank
interest. Then the man began to stare at William, first as if he didn’t see him, and then as if he saw him.

‘Would you like to be a bear for a bit,’ he said.

William pinched himself. He seemed to be awake.

‘A b-b-bear?’ he queried, his eyes almost starting out of his head.

‘Yes,’ said the man irritably, ‘a bear. B.E.A.R. bear, Animal – Zoo. Never heard of a bear?’

William pinched himself again. He seemed to be still awake.

‘Yes,’ he agreed as though unwilling to commit himself entirely. ‘I’ve heard of a bear all right.’

‘Come on, then,’ said the man, looking once more at his watch, once more up the road, once more down the road, then turning on his heel and walking quickly into the wood.

William followed, both mouth and eyes wide open. The man did not speak as he walked down the path. Then suddenly down a bend in the path they came upon a strange sight. There was a hut in a
little clearing, and round the hut was clustered a group of curious people – a Father Christmas, holding his beard in one hand and a glass of ale in the other; a rather fat Goldilocks, in the
act of having yellow powder lavishly applied to her face, several fairies and elves, sucking large and redolent peppermints; a ferocious, but depressed-looking giant, rubbing his hands together and
complaining of the cold; and several other strange and incongruous figures. In front of the hut was a large species of camera with a handle, and behind stood a man smoking a pipe.

‘Kid turned up?’ he said.

William’s guide shook his head.

‘No,’ he said, ‘they’ve missed their train or lost their way, or evaporated, or got kidnapped or something, but this happened to be passing, and it looked the same size
pretty near. What do you think?’

The man took his pipe from his mouth in order the better to concentrate his whole attention on William. He looked at William from his muddy boots to his untidy head. Then he reversed the
operation, and looked from his untidy head to his muddy boots. Then he scratched his head.

‘Seems on the big side for the middle one,’ he said.

At this point a hullabaloo arose from behind the shed and a small bear appeared, howling loudly

‘He tooken my bit of toffee,’ yelled the bear in a very human voice.

‘Aw, shut up!’ said the man in his shirt-sleeves.

The small bear was followed by a large bear, protesting loudly.

‘I gave him half’n mine ’n’e promised to give me half’n his’ ’n’ then he tried to eat it all’n’—’

Aw, shut up!’ repeated the man. Then he turned to William.

All you gotter do,’ he said, ‘is to fix on the middle bear’s suit an’ do exactly what you’re told, an’ I’ll give you five shillings at the end.
See?’

‘These roural places are a butiful chinge,’ murmured Goldilocks’s mother, darkening her eyebrows as she spoke. ‘So calm and quart.’

‘These Christmas shows,’ grumbled the giant, flapping his arms vigorously, ‘are the very devil.’

Here William found his voice. ‘Crumbs!’ he ejaculated. Then, feeling the expletive to be altogether inadequate to the occasion, quickly added: ‘Gosh!’

‘Take the kid round, someone,’ said the shirt-sleeve man wearily, ‘and fix on his togs, and let’s get on with the show’

Here a Fairy Queen appeared from behind the hut.

‘I don’t see how I’m possibly to go through with this here performance,’ she said in a voice of plaintive suffering. ‘I had toothache all last
night—’

‘If you think,’ said the shirt-sleeve man, ‘that you can hold up this blessed show for a twopenny-halfpenny toothache—’

‘If you’re going to be insulting—’ said the Fairy Queen in shrill indignation.

‘Aw, shut up!’ said the shirt-sleeve man.

Here Father Christmas, who had finished his ale, led William into the hut. A bear’s suit lay on a chair.

‘The kid wot was to wear this not having turned up,’ he said by way of explanation, ‘and you by all accounts bein’ willin’ to oblige for a small consideration, we
shall have to see what can be done. I suppose,’ he added, ‘you have no objection?’

‘Me?’ said William, whose eyes and mouth had grown more and more circular every minute. ‘
Me
– objection? Golly! I should think
not.’

The little bear and the big bear surveyed him critically.

‘He’s too
big,’
said the little bear contemptuously.

‘His hair’s too long,’ contributed the big bear.

‘His face is too dirty’

‘His ears is too long.’

‘His nose is too flat.’

‘His head’s too big.’

‘His—’

William speedily and joyfully put an end to the duet and Father Christmas wearily disentangled the struggling mass.

‘It may be a bit on the small side,’ he conceded as he deposited the small bear upside down beneath the table, ‘but we’ll do what we can.’

Here the shirt-sleeve man appeared at the window.

‘That’s right,’ he said kindly. ‘Take all day about it. Don’t hurry! We all enjoy hanging about and waiting for you.’

Father Christmas offered to retire from his post in favour of the shirt-sleeve man, and the shirt-sleeve man hastily retreated.

Then came the task of fitting William into the skin. It was not an easy task.

‘You’re bigger,’ said Father Christmas, ‘than what you look in the distance. Considerable.’

William could not stand quite upright in the skin, but by stooping slightly he could see and speak through the open mouth of the head. In an ecstasy of joy he pummelled the big bear, the little
bear gladly joined in the fray and a furry ball of three struggling bears rolled out of the door of the hut.

The shirt-sleeve man rang a bell.

‘After this somewhat lengthy interlude,’ he said. ‘By the way, may I inquire the name of our new friend?’

William proudly shouted his name through the aperture in the bear’s head.

‘Well, Billiam,’ he said jocularly, ‘do just what I tell you and you’ll be all right. Now all clear off a minute, please. We’ve only a few scenes to do
here.’

‘Location,’ he read from a paper in his hand, ‘hut in wood. Enter fairies with Fairy Queen. Dance.’

‘How I am expected to dance,’ said the Fairy Queen bitterly, ‘tortured by toothache, I can’t think.’

‘You don’t dance with your teeth,’ said the shirt-sleeve man unsympathetically ‘Let’s go through it once before we turn on the machine. You’ve rehearsed it
often enough. Now, come on.’

They danced a dance that made William gape in surprise and admiration, so dainty and airy was it.

‘Enter Father Christmas,’ went on the shirt-sleeve man.

‘What I can’t think,’ said Father Christmas, fastening on his beard, ‘is what a Father Christmas’s doing in this effect.’

‘Nor a giant,’ said the giant sadly.

‘It’s for a Christmas show,’ said the shirt-sleeve man. ‘You’ve gotter have a Father Christmas in a Christmas show, or else how’d people know it’s a
Christmas show? And you’ve gotter have a giant in a fairy tale whether there is one in it or not.’

Father Christmas joined the dance – gave presents to all the fairies, then retired behind the hut to his private store of refreshment.

‘Enter Goldilocks,’ said the shirt-sleeve man. ‘Now, where the dickens is that kid?’

Goldilocks, fat, fairy and rosy, appeared from behind a tree where she had been eating bananas.

She peered down the middle bear’s mouth.

‘It’s a new one,’ she said.

‘The other hasn’t turned up,’ said the man. ‘This is Billiam, who is taking on the middle one for the small consideration of five shillings.’

‘He’s put out his tongue at me,’ she screamed in shrill indignation.

At this the big bear, whose adoration of Goldilocks was very obvious, closed with William, and Goldilocks’s mother screamed shrilly.

The giant separated the two bears and Goldilocks came to the hut with an expression of patient suffering meant to represent intense physical weariness. She gave a start of joy at the sight of
the hut, which apparently she did not see till she had almost passed it. She entered. She gave a second start of joy at the sight of three porridge plates. She tasted the first two and consumed the
third. She wandered into the other room. She gave a third start of joy at the sight of three beds. She tried them all and went to sleep beautifully and realistically on the smallest. William was
lost in admiration.

‘Come on, bears,’ said the man in shirt-sleeves. ‘Bil-liam, walk between them. Don’t jump.
Walk.
In at the door. That’s right. Now, Billiam, look at your
plate, then shake your head at the big bear.’

Trembling with joy, William obeyed. The big bear, in the privacy of the open mouth, put out his tongue at William with a hostile grimace. William returned it.

‘Now to the little one,’ said the man in shirt-sleeves. But William was still absorbed in the big one. Enraged by a particularly brilliant feat in the grimacing line which he felt he
could not outshine, he put out a paw and tripped up the big bear’s chair. The big bear promptly picked up a porridge plate and broke it on William’s head. The little bear hurled himself
ecstatically into the conflict. Father Christmas wearily returned to his work of separating them.