More William

by Richmal Crompton

  CHAPTER V

  WILLIAM'S HOBBY

  Uncle George was William's godfather, and he was intensely interestedin William's upbringing. It was an interest with which William wouldgladly have dispensed. Uncle George's annual visit was to William apurgatory only to be endured by a resolutely philosophic attitude ofmind and the knowledge that sooner or later it must come to an end.Uncle George had an ideal of what a boy should be, and it was acontinual grief to him that William fell so short of this ideal. Buthe never relinquished his efforts to make William conform to it.

  His ideal was a gentle boy of exquisite courtesy and of intellectualpursuits. Such a boy he could have loved. It was hard that fate hadendowed him with a godson like William. William was neither quiet norgentle, nor courteous nor intellectual--but William was intenselyhuman.

  The length of Uncle George's visit this year was beginning to reachthe limits of William's patience. He was beginning to feel that sooneror later something must happen. For five weeks now he had(reluctantly) accompanied Uncle George upon his morning walk, he had(generally unsuccessfully) tried to maintain that state of absolutequiet that Uncle George's afternoon rest required, he had in theevening listened wearily to Uncle George's stories of his youth. Hisusual feeling of mild contempt for Uncle George was beginning to giveway to one which was much stronger.

  "Now, William," said Uncle George at breakfast, "I'm afraid it's goingto rain to-day, so we'll do a little work together this morning, shallwe? Nothing like work, is there? Your Arithmetic's a bit shaky, isn'tit? We'll rub that up. We _love_ our work, don't we?"

  William eyed him coldly.

  "I don't think I'd better get muddlin' up my school work," he said. "Ishouldn't like to be more on than the other boys next term. Itwouldn't be fair to them."

  Uncle George rubbed his hands.

  "That feeling does you credit, my boy," he said, "but if we go oversome of the old work, no harm can be done. History, now. There'snothing like History, is there?"

  William agreed quite heartily that there wasn't.

  "We'll do some History, then," said Uncle George briskly. "The livesof the great. Most inspiring. Better than those terrible things youused to waste your time on, eh?"

  The "terrible things" had included a trumpet, a beloved motor hooter,and an ingenious instrument very dear to William's soul thatreproduced most realistically the sound of two cats fighting. These,at Uncle George's request, had been confiscated by William's father.Uncle George had not considered them educational. They also disturbedhis afternoon's rest.

  Uncle George settled himself and William down for a nice quiet morningin the library. William, looking round for escape, found none. Theoutside world was wholly uninviting. The rain came down in torrents.Moreover, the five preceding weeks had broken William's spirits. Herealised the impossibility of evading Uncle George. His own familywere not sympathetic. They suffered from him considerably during therest of the year and were not sorry to see him absorbed completely byUncle George's conscientious zeal.

  So Uncle George seated himself slowly and ponderously in an arm-chairby the fire.

  "When I was a boy, William," he began, leaning back and joining thetips of his fingers together, "I loved my studies. I'm sure you loveyour studies, don't you? Which do you love most?"

  "Me?" said William. "I like shootin' and playin' Red Injuns."

  "Yes, yes," said Uncle George impatiently, "but those aren't_studies_, William. You must aim at being _gentle_."

  "It's not much good bein' _gentle_ when you're playin' Red Injuns,"said William stoutly. "A _gentle_ Red Injun wun't get much done."

  "Ah, but why play Red Indians?" said Uncle George. "A nasty roughgame. No, we'll talk about History. You must mould your character uponthat of the great heroes, William. You must be a Clive, a Napoleon, aWolfe."

  "I've often been a wolf," said William. "That game's nearly as good asRed Injuns. An' Bears is a good game too. We might have Bears here,"he went on brightening. "Jus' you an' me. Would you sooner be bear orhunter? I'd sooner be hunter," he hinted gently.

  "You misunderstand," said Uncle George. "I mean Wolfe the man, Wolfethe hero."

  William, who had little patience with heroes who came within theschool curriculum, relapsed into gloom.

  "What lessons do we learn from such names, my boy?" went on UncleGeorge.

  William was on the floor behind Uncle George's chair endeavouring toturn a somersault in a very restricted space.

  "History lessons an' dates an' things," he said shortly. "An' thethings they 'spect you to remember----!" he added with disgust.

  "No, no," said Uncle George, but the fire was hot and his chair wascomfortable and his educational zeal was dying away, "to endure thebuffets of fate with equanimity, to smile at misfortune, to endurewhatever comes, and so on----"

  He stopped suddenly.

  William had managed the somersault, but it had somehow brought hisfeet into collision with Uncle George's neck. Uncle George sleepilyshifted his position.

  WILLIAM WAS ON THE FLOOR BEHIND UNCLE GEORGE'S CHAIRENDEAVOURING TO TURN A SOMERSAULT IN A VERY RESTRICTED SPACE.]

  "Boisterous! Boisterous!" he murmured disapprovingly. "You shouldcombine the gentleness of a Moore with the courage of a Wellington,William."

  William now perceived that Uncle George's eyelids were droopingslowly and William's sudden statuesque calm would have surprised manyof his instructors.

  The silence and the warmth of the room had their effect. In less thanthree minutes Uncle George was dead to the world around him.

  William's form relaxed, then he crept up to look closely at the faceof his enemy. He decided that he disliked it intensely. Something mustbe done at once. He looked round the room. There were not many weaponshandy. Only his mother's work-box stood on a chair by the window, andon it a pile of socks belonging to Robert, William's elder brother.Beneath either arm of his chair one of Uncle George's coat-tailsprotruded. William soon departed on his way rejoicing, while on to oneof Uncle George's coat-tails was firmly stitched a bright blue sockand on to the other a brilliant orange one. Robert's taste in sockswas decidedly loud. William felt almost happy. The rain had stoppedand he spent the morning with some of his friends whom he met in theroad. They went bear-hunting in the wood; and though no bears werefound, still their disappointment was considerably allayed by the factthat one of them saw a mouse and another one distinctly smelt arabbit. William returned to lunch whistling to himself and had theintense satisfaction of seeing Uncle George enter the dining-room,obviously roused from his slumbers by the luncheon bell, and obviouslyquite unaware of the blue and orange socks that still adorned hisperson.

  "Curious!" he ejaculated, as Ethel, William's grown-up sister, pointedout the blue sock to him. "Most curious!"

  William departed discreetly muttering something about "better tidy upa bit," which drew from his sister expressions of surprise andsolicitous questions as to his state of health.

  "Most curious!" again said Uncle George, who had now discovered theorange sock.

  When William returned, all excitement was over and Uncle George wasconsuming roast beef with energy.

  "Ah, William," he said, "we must complete the History lesson soon.Nothing like History. Nothing like History. Nothing like History.Teaches us to endure the buffets of fate with equanimity and to smileat misfortune. Then we must do some Geography." William groaned. "Mostfascinating study. Rivers, mountains, cities, etc. Most improving. Themorning should be devoted to intellectual work at your age, William,and the afternoon to the quiet pursuit of--some improving hobby. Youwould then find the true joy of life."

  To judge from William's countenance he did not wholly agree, but hemade no objection. He had learnt that objection was useless, andagainst Uncle George's eloquence silence was his only weapon.

  After lunch Uncle George followed his usual custom and retired torest. William went to the shed in the back garden and continued theerection of a rabbit hutch that he had begun a few days before. Hehoped
that if he made a hutch, Providence would supply a rabbit. Hewhistled blithely as he knocked nails in at random.

  "William, you mustn't do that now."

  He turned a stern gaze upon his mother.

  "Why not?" he said.

  "Uncle George is resting."

  With a crushing glance at her he strolled away from the shed. Someonehad left the lawn mower in the middle of the lawn. With one of hisrare impulses of pure virtue he determined to be useful. Also, herather liked mowing the grass.

  "William, don't do that now," called his sister from the window."Uncle George is resting."

  He deliberately drove the mowing machine into the middle of a gardenbed and left it there. He was beginning to feel desperate. Then:

  "What _can_ I do?" he said bitterly to Ethel, who was still at thewindow.

  "You'd better find some quiet, improving hobby," she said unkindly asshe went away.

  It is a proof of the utterly broken state of William's spirit that hedid actually begin to think of hobbies, but none of those thatoccurred to him interested him. Stamp-collecting, pressed flowers,crest-collecting--Ugh!

  He set off down the road, his hands in his pockets and his brows drawninto a stern frown. He amused himself by imagining Uncle George invarious predicaments, lost on a desert island, captured by pirates,or carried off by an eagle. Then something in the window of a house hepassed caught his eye and he stopped suddenly. It was a stuffed birdunder a glass case. Now that was something _like_ a hobby, stuffingdead animals! He wouldn't mind having that for a hobby. And it wasquite quiet. He could do it while Uncle George was resting. And itmust be quite easy. The first thing to do of course was to find a deadanimal. Any old thing would do to begin on. A dead cat or dog. Hewould do bigger ones like bears and lions later on. He spent nearly anhour in a fruitless search for a dead cat or dog. He searched theditches on both sides of the road and several gardens. He began tohave a distinct sense of grievance against the race of cats and dogsin general for not dying in his vicinity. At the end of the hour hefound a small dead frog. It was very dry and shrivelled, but it wascertainly a _dead_ frog and would do to begin on. He took it home inhis pocket. He wondered what they did first in stuffing dead animals.He'd heard something about "tannin'" them. But what was "tannin'," andhow did one get it? Then he remembered suddenly having heard Etheltalk about the "tannin'" in tea. So _that_ was all right. The firstthing to do was to get some tea. He went to the drawing-room. It wasempty, but upon the table near the fire was a tea-tray and two cups.Evidently his mother and sister had just had tea there. He put thefrog at the bottom of a cup and carefully filled the cup with teafrom the teapot. Then he left it to soak and went out into the garden.

  IN FROZEN SILENCE UNCLE GEORGE PUT A SPOON INTO HIS CUPAND INVESTIGATED THE CONTENTS. IN STILL MORE FROZEN SILENCE MRS. BROWNAND WILLIAM WATCHED.]

  A few minutes later William's mother entered the drawing-room.

  Uncle George had finished resting and was standing by themantel-piece with a cup in his hand.

  "I see you poured out my tea for me," he said. "But rather a curioustaste. Doubtless you boil the milk now. Safer, of course. Much safer.But it imparts a curious flavour."

  He took another sip.

  "But--I didn't pour out your tea----" began Mrs. Brown.

  Here William entered. He looked quickly at the table.

  "Who's meddlin' with my frog?" he said angrily. "It's my hobby, an'I'm stuffin' frogs an' someone's been an' took my frog. I left it onthe table."

  "On the table?" said his mother.

  "Yes. In a cup of tea. Gettin' tannin.' You know. For stuffin'. I wasputtin' him in tannin' first. I----"

  Uncle George grew pale. In frozen silence he put a spoon into his cupand investigated the contents. In still more frozen silence Mrs. Brownand William watched. That moment held all the cumulative horror of aGreek tragedy. Then Uncle George put down his cup and went silentlyfrom the room. On his face was the expression of one who is going tolook up the first train home. Fate had sent him a buffet he could notendure with equanimity, a misfortune at which he could not smile, andFate had avenged William for much.