CHAPTER IX
THE REVENGE
William was a scout. The fact was well known. There was no one withina five-mile radius of William's home who did not know it. Sensitiveold ladies had fled shuddering from their front windows when Williammarched down the street singing (the word is a euphemism) his scoutsongs in his strong young voice. Curious smells emanated from thedepth of the garden where William performed mysterious culinaryoperations. One old lady whose cat had disappeared looked at Williamwith dour suspicion in her eye whenever he passed. Even the return ofher cat a few weeks later did not remove the hostility from her gazewhenever it happened to rest upon William.
William's family had welcomed the suggestion of William's becoming ascout.
"It will keep him out of mischief," they had said.
They were notoriously optimistic where William was concerned.
William's elder brother only was doubtful.
"You know what William is," he said, and in that dark saying much wascontained.
Things went fairly smoothly for some time. He took the scouts' law ofa daily deed of kindness in its most literal sense. He was to do one(and one only) deed of kindness a day. There were times when he forcedcomplete strangers, much to their embarrassment, to be the unwillingrecipients of his deed of kindness. There were times when he answeredany demand for help with a cold: "No, I've done it to-day."
He received with saint-like patience the eloquence of his elder sisterwhen she found her silk scarf tied into innumerable knots.
"Well, they're jolly _good_ knots," was all he said.
He had been looking forward to the holidays for a long time. He was to"go under canvas" at the end of the first week.
The first day of the holidays began badly. William's father had beendisturbed by William, whose room was just above and who had spent mostof the night performing gymnastics as instructed by his scout-master.
"No, he didn't _say_ do it at nights, but he said do it. He said itwould make us grow up strong men. Don't you _want_ me to grow up astrong man? He's ever so strong an' _he_ did 'em. Why shun't I?"
His mother found a pan with the bottom burnt out and at once accusedWilliam of the crime. William could not deny it.
"Well, I was makin' sumthin', sumthin' he'd told us an' I forgot it.Well, I've _got_ to make things if I'm a scout. I didn't _mean_ toforget it. I won't forget it next time. It's a rotten pan, anyway, toburn itself into a hole jus' for that."
At this point William's father received a note from a neighbour whosegarden adjoined William's and whose life had been rendered intolerableby William's efforts upon his bugle.
The bugle was confiscated.
Darkness descended upon William's soul.
"Well," he muttered, "I'm goin' under canvas next week an' I'm jolly_glad_ I'm goin'. P'r'aps you'll be sorry when I'm gone."
He went out into the garden and stood gazing moodily into space, hishands in the pocket of his short scout trousers, for William dressedon any and every occasion in his official costume.
"Can't even have the bugle," he complained to the landscape. "Can'teven use their rotten ole pans. Can't tie knots in any of their olethings. Wot's the good of _bein'_ a scout?"
His indignation grew and with it a desire to be avenged upon hisfamily.
"I'd like to _do_ somethin'," he confided to a rose bush with aferocious scowl. "Somethin' jus' to show 'em."
Then his face brightened. He had an idea.
He'd get lost. He'd get really lost. They'd be sorry then alright.They'd p'r'aps think he was dead and they'd be sorry then alright. Heimagined their relief, their tearful apologies when at last hereturned to the bosom of his family. It was worth trying, anyway.
He set off cheerfully down the drive. He decided to stay away forlunch and tea and supper, and to return at dusk to a penitent,conscience-stricken family.
He first made his way to a neighbouring wood, where he arranged a pileof twigs for a fire, but they refused to light, even with the aid ofthe match that William found adhering to a piece of putty in therecess of one of his pockets.
Slightly dispirited, he turned his attention to his handkerchief andtied knots in it till it gave way under the strain. William'shandkerchiefs, being regularly used to perform the functions ofblotting paper among other duties not generally entrusted tohandkerchiefs, were always in the last stages of decrepitude.
He felt rather bored and began to wonder whether it was lunch-time ornot.
He then "scouted" the wood and by his wood lore traced three distinctsavage tribes' passage through the wood and found the tracks ofseveral elephants. He engaged in deadly warfare with abouthalf-a-dozen lions, then tired of the sport. It must be aboutlunch-time. He could imagine Ethel, his sister, hunting for him wildlyhigh and low with growing pangs of remorse. She'd wish she'd made lessfuss over that old scarf. His mother would recall the scene over thepan and her heart would fail her. His father would think with shameof his conduct in the matter of the bugle.
"Poor William! How cruel we were! How different we shall be if only hecomes home ...!"
He could almost hear the words. Perhaps his mother was weeping now.His father--wild-eyed and white-lipped--was pacing his study, waitingfor news, eager to atone for his unkindness to his missing son.Perhaps he had the bugle on the table ready to give back to him.Perhaps he'd even bought him a new one.
He imagined the scene of his return. He would be nobly forgiving. Hewould accept the gift of the new bugle without a word of reproach. Hisheart thrilled at the thought of it.
He was getting jolly hungry. It must be after lunch-time. But it wouldspoil it all to go home too early.
Here he caught sight of a minute figure regarding him with a steadygaze and holding a paper bag in one hand.
William stared down at him.
"Wot you dressed up like that for?" said the apparition, with a touchof scorn in his voice.
William looked down at his sacred uniform and scowled. "I'm a scout,"he said loftily.
"'Cout?" repeated the apparition, with an air of polite boredom."Wot's your name?"
"William."
"Mine's Thomas. Will you catch me a wopse? Look at my wopses!"
He opened the bag slightly and William caught sight of a crowd ofwasps buzzing about inside the bag.
"Want more," demanded the infant. "Want lots more. Look. Snells!"
He brought out a handful of snails from a miniature pocket, and putthem on the ground.
"Watch 'em put their horns out! Watch 'em walk. Look! They're_walkin'_. They're _walkin'_."
His voice was a scream of ecstasy. He took them up and returned themto their pocket. From another he drew out a wriggling mass.
"Wood-lice!" he explained, casually. "Got worms in 'nother pocket."
He returned the wood-lice to his pocket except one, which he heldbetween a finger and thumb laid thoughtfully against his lip. "Wantwopses now. You get 'em for me."
William roused himself from his bewilderment.
"How--how do you catch 'em?" he said.
"Wings," replied Thomas. "Get hold of their wings an' they don'tsting. Sometimes they do, though," he added casually. "Then your handsgo big."
A wasp settled near him, and very neatly the young naturalist pickedhim up and put him in his paper prison.
"Now you get one," he ordered William.
William determined not to be outshone by this minute but dauntlessstranger. As a wasp obligingly settled on a flower near him, he putout his hand, only to withdraw it with a yell of pain and apply it tohis mouth.
"Oo--ou!" he said. "Crumbs!"
Thomas emitted a peal of laughter.
"You stung?" he said. "Did it sting you? _Funny_!"
William's expression of rage and pain was exquisite to him.
"Come on, boy!" he ordered at last. "Let's go somewhere else."
William's bewildered dignity made a last stand.
"_You_ can go," he said. "I'm playin' by myself."
"All right!" a
greed Thomas. "You play by you'self an' me play bymyself, an' we'll be together--playin' by ourselves."
He set off down a path, and meekly William followed.
It must be jolly late--almost tea-time.
"I'm hungry," said Thomas suddenly. "Give me some brekfust."
"I haven't got any," said William irritably.
"Well, find some," persisted the infant.
"I can't. There isn't any to find."
"Well, buy some!"
"I haven't any money."
"Well, buy some money."
Goaded, William turned on him.
"Go away!" he bellowed.
Thomas's blue eyes, beneath a mop of curls, met his coldly.
"Don't talk so loud," he said sternly. "There's some blackberriesthere. You can get me some blackberries."
William began to walk away, but Thomas trotted by his side.
"There!" he persisted. "Jus' where I'm pointing. Lovely great big sugeones. Get 'em for my brekfust."
Reluctantly the scout turned to perform his deed of kindness.
Thomas consumed blackberries faster than William could gather them.
"Up there," he commanded. "No, the one right up there I want. I wantit _kick_. I've etten all the others."
William was scratched and breathless, and his shirt was torn when atlast the rapacious Thomas was satisfied. Then he partook of a littlerefreshment himself, while Thomas turned out his pockets.
"I'll let 'em go now," he said.
One of his wood-lice, however, stayed motionless where he put it.
"Wot's the matter with it?" said William, curiously.
"I 'speck me's the matter wif it," said Thomas succinctly. "Now, getme some lickle fishes, an' tadpoles an' water sings," he went oncheerfully.
William turned round from his blackberry-bush.
"Well, I won't," he said decidedly. "I've had enough!"
"You've had 'nuff brekfust," said Thomas sternly. "I've found alickle tin for the sings, so be _kick_. Oo, here's a fly! A green fly!It's sittin' on my finger. Does it like me 'cause it's sittin' on myfinger?"
"No," said William, turning a purple-stained countenance roundscornfully.
It must be nearly night. He didn't want to be too hard on them, tomake his mother ill or anything. He wanted to be as kind as possible.He'd forgive them at once when he got home. He'd ask for one or twothings he wanted, as well as the new bugle. A new penknife, and anengine with a real boiler.
"Waffor does it not like me?" persisted Thomas.
William was silent. Question and questioner were beneath contempt.
"Waffor does it not like me?" he shouted stridently.
"Flies don't like people, silly."
"Waffor not?" retorted Thomas.
"They don't know anything about them."
"Well, I'll _tell_ it about me. My name's Thomas," he said to the flypolitely. "Now does it like me?"
William groaned. But the fly had now vanished, and Thomas once moregrew impatient.
"Come _on_!" he said. "Come on an' find sings for me."
William's manly spirit was by this time so far broken that he followedhis new acquaintance to a neighbouring pond, growling threateninglybut impotently.
"Now," commanded his small tyrant, "take off your boots an' stockingsan' go an' find things for me."
"Take off yours," growled William, "an' find things for yourself."
"No," said Thomas, "crockerdiles might be there an' bite my toes. Anpittanopotamuses might be there. If you don't go in, I'll scream an'scream an' _scream_."
William went in.
He walked gingerly about the muddy pond. Thomas watched him criticallyfrom the bank.
"I don't like your _hair_," he said confidingly.
William growled.
He caught various small swimming objects in the tin, and brought themto the bank for inspection.
"I want more'n that," said Thomas calmly.
"Well, you won't _get_ it," retorted William.
He began to put on his boots and stockings, wondering desperately howto rid himself of his unwanted companion. But Fate solved the problem.With a loud cry a woman came running down the path.
"Tommy," she said. "My little darling Tommy. I thought you were lost!"She turned furiously to William. "You ought to be ashamed ofyourself," she said. "A great boy of your age leading a little childlike this into mischief! If his father was here, he'd show you. Youought to know better! And you a scout."
William gasped.
SHE TURNED FURIOUSLY TO WILLIAM. "YOU OUGHT TO BEASHAMED OF YOURSELF," SHE SAID.]
"Well!" he said. "An' I've bin doin' deeds of kindness on him allmorning. I've----"
She turned away indignantly, holding Thomas's hand.
"You're never to go with that nasty rough boy again, darling," shesaid.
"Got lots of wopses an' some fishes," murmured Thomas contentedly.
They disappeared down the path. With a feeling of depression anddisillusionment William turned to go home.
Then his spirits rose. After all, he'd got rid of Thomas, and he wasgoing home to a contrite family. It must be about supper-time. Itwould be getting dark soon. But it still stayed light a long time now.It wouldn't matter if he just got in for supper. It would have giventhem time to think things over. He could see his father speakingunsteadily, and holding out his hand.
"My boy ... let bygones be bygones ... if there is anything youwant...."
His father had never said anything of this sort to him yet, but, by aviolent stretch of imagination, he could just conceive it.
His mother, of course, would cry over him, and so would Ethel.
"Dear William ... do forgive us ... we have been so miserable sinceyou went away ... we will never treat you so again."
This again was unlike the Ethel he knew, but sorrow has a refiningeffect on all characters.
He entered the gate self-consciously. Ethel was at the front-door. Shelooked at his torn shirt and mud-caked knees.
"You'd better hurry if you're going to be ready for lunch," she saidcoldly.
"Lunch?" faltered William. "What time is it?"
"Ten to one. Father's in, so I warn you," she added unpleasantly.
He entered the house in a dazed fashion. His mother was in the hall.
"_William!_" she said impatiently. "Another shirt torn! You really arecareless. You'll have to stop being a scout if that's the way youtreat your clothes. And _look_ at your knees!"
Pale and speechless, he went towards the stairs. His father was comingout of the library smoking a pipe. He looked at his son grimly.
"If you aren't downstairs _cleaned_ by the time the lunch-bell goes,my son," he said, "you won't see that bugle of yours this side ofChristmas."
William swallowed.
"Yes, father," he said meekly.
He went slowly upstairs to the bathroom.
Life was a rotten show.
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