‘Luky,’ said William in a hoarse persuasive whisper.
The large black cat rose purring and came down the walk to William.
‘Luky,’ said William again.
The large black cat rubbed itself fondly against William’s boots.
A woman came out of the cottage smiling.
‘You admirin’ my pussy, little boy?’
In ordinary circumstances, William would have resented most bitterly this mode of address and would have passed on with a silent glance of contempt. But from William’s heart the load of murder had been lifted. He almost smiled.
‘Umph!’ he said.
‘He is a nice pussy, isn’t he?’ went on Luky’s new owner. ‘I bought him at Gorton’s, three days ago. He was just what I wanted – a nice full-grown cat. Kittens are so destructive. He’s called Twinkie. Twinkie, Twinkie, Twinkie,’ she murmured fondly bending down to stroke him, her voice rising affectionately in the scale at each repetition of his name.
Luky rubbed himself purring against her boots.
‘There!’ she said proudly, ‘don’t the dear dumb creature know its new mistress . . . There then, darling. You come in an’ see the beauty lap up its milk some time, little boy, and I’ll give you a gingerbread. I like little boys to be fond of animals – especially cats. Some nasty boys throw sticks and things at them, but I’m quite sure you wouldn’t, would you?’
William muttered something inaudible and set off down the road, his heart torn between relief at knowing himself guiltless of the crime of murder and indignant shame at being accused of an affection for cats – cats! But he was horrified at the duplicity of Mr Gorton, and decided to confront him with it at once. He hastened to the cage-hung shop and, spending only ten minutes in front of a box of grass snakes, entered the cool, dark depths where Mr Gorton, in his shirt-sleeves, was chewing tobacco.
Mr Gorton was a large, burly man with a fat, good-natured-looking face, and a gentle manner. But Mr Gorton obeyed the Scriptures in combining with his dovelike gentleness a serpent-like cunning.
‘Now look ’ere, young gent,’ he said, when William had laid his accusation before him. ‘You say I sold that there hanimal. Now wot you wanted was to be rid of that hanimal, didn’t you? Well, you’re rid of it, haren’t you? So wot’ve you got to grumble at? See? ’As that there hanimal come back to trouble you? No. I’m as good a judge of a cat’s character, I am, as hanyone. I knowed that there cat soon’s I seed ’im. I says, ‘There’s a hanimal as will curl up anywheres you like ter put ’im an’ so long’s ’e’s got ’is cushion an’ ’is saucer o’ milk regular, ’e won’t ’anker after nuffin’ else. ’E won’t go no long torchurous road journeys tryin’ to find old ’omes. Not ’e. ’E’ll rub ’isself against hanyone wot’ll say, “Puss, puss”. ’Sides which it’s agin’ my feelings as a ’umane man to put to death a young an’ ’ealthy hanimal.’
William stared at him.
‘Now, the second one, you brought, well, ’e was ripe fer death, all right, an’ it’s a pleasure an’ kindness to do it in those circs. ’Sides which,’ Mr Gorton went on as another argument occurred to him, ‘wot proof ’ave you that this ’ere hanimal of Miss Cliff’s is the same hanimal wot you brought to me Saturday? They’re both black cats – no marks on ’em. Well, there must be ’undreds of black cats same as that – thahsands – millions – just think of ’em – all hover the world. Well, jus’ you prove that these two hanimals is identical.’
William, having for once in his life met his match in eloquence, moved away despondently.
‘All right,’ he said, ‘I only asked.’ He went to the parrot who was still there, and who greeted him with an ironical laugh and a cry of: ‘My word – what a nut! Oh, my word!’
William’s spirits rose.
‘How much is the parrot?’ he said.
‘Five pounds,’ said Mr Gorton.
William’s spirits sank again.
‘Snakes one and six – and – and, see here, I’ll give you a baby tortoise jus’ to stop you worrying about that hanimal.’
William walked home proudly carrying his baby tortoise in both hands.
Miss Amelia Blake was in the drawing-room. She was speaking tearfully to his mother. ‘And I leave his saucer of milk out every night and I call him every night, my poor Luky. I can hardly sleep with thinking of my darling, perhaps hungry and needing me . . . William, if you see any traces of my Luky you’ll let me know, won’t you?’
And William, oppressed by the weight of his guilty secret, muttered something inaudible and went to watch the effect of his new pet upon Jumble.
That night the plaintive cry arose again to his room.
‘Luky, Luky, Luky, Luky, Luk-ee-ee-ee! Luky, Luky. Where are you, darling? Luky, Luky, Luky, Luky, Lukee-ee-ee-ee.’
William’s conscience, though absolved of the crime of murder, felt heavy as Miss Amelia Blake called her lost pet mournfully night after night.
Now William’s conscience was a curious organ. It needed a great deal to rouse it. When roused it demanded immediate action. He took one of his white rats round to Miss Amelia Blake, and Miss Amelia Blake screamed and got on to the table. He even rose to supreme heights of self-denial, and offered her his baby tortoise, but she refused it.
‘No, William dear, it’s very kind of you, but what I need is something I can stroke – and I don’t want anything but my Luky – and I – I don’t like its expression – it looks as if it might bite. I couldn’t stroke that!’
Greatly relieved, William took it back.
That afternoon, perched on the garden fence, his elbows on his knees, his chin in his hands, he watched the antics of Jumble round the baby tortoise. Though William had had the tortoise for three days now, Jumble still barked at it with unabated fury, and William watched the two with unabated interest. But William’s thoughts were still occupied with the Twinkie-Luky problem. The ethics of the case were difficult. It belonged to Miss Blake, but Miss Cliff had paid for it. Then suddenly the solution occurred to him – a week each. They should have it a week each – that would be quite easy to manage. His heart lightened. He jumped down, put his tortoise into his pocket, called ‘Hi, Jumble!’ took a stick, jumped (almost) over the bed in the middle of the lawn, and went whistling down the road followed by Jumble.
The covered basket was very old and very shabby, and it did not need much persuasion on William’s part to induce Mrs Brown to give it to him.
‘Jus’ to keep my things in an’ carry ’em about in, mother,’ he said plaintively, ‘so as I won’t be so untidy. I shan’t be half as untidy if I have a basket like that to keep my things in an’ carry ’em about in.’
‘All right, dear,’ said Mrs Brown, much pleased.
She was eternally optimistic about William.
William spent an entire Saturday morning stalking Luky in the neighbourhood of Miss Cliff’s garden (Miss Cliff went into the town to do her shopping on Saturday mornings). Finally he caught him, put him in the basket, and secretly deposited Luky in Miss Amelia Blake’s garden. Miss Blake was overjoyed.
‘He’s come back, Mrs Brown! Mrs Brown, he’s come back. William, he’s come back – Luky’s come back.’
Miss Cliff was distraught.
‘Little boy, you haven’t seen my Twinkie anywhere, have you? My darling Twinkie, he’s gone. Twinkie! Twinkie! Twinkie! Twinkie! Twinkie-ee-ee!’
The next four Saturdays he successfully changed Twinkie-Luky’s place of abode. On arrival at Miss Cliff’s Twinkie made immediately for his favourite cushion and went to sleep. On arrival at Miss Amelia Blake’s Luky did the same. The owners became almost accustomed to the week’s mysterious absence.
‘He’s gone away again, Mrs Brown,’ Miss Blake would call over the fence. ‘I only hope he’ll come back as he did last time. You haven’t seen him, have you? Luky, Luky, Luky, Luky, Lukee-ee-ee-ee-ee!’
Then William became bored. At first the glorious consciousness of duty done and the salving of his sense of
guilt had upheld him, but he began to feel that this could not go on for ever. When all is said and done, Saturday is Saturday – a golden holiday in a drab procession of schooldays. William began to think that if he had to spend every Saturday of his life stalking Twinkie-Luky and conveying him secretly from one end of the village to the other, he might just as well not have been born—
He had put Twinky-Luky in the basket and was setting off with it down the road. It was very hot and Twinkie-Luky was very heavy and William was very cross. He had just come to the conclusion that some other solution must be found to the Twinkie-Luky problem when he heard the sound of the bus that made its slow and noisy progress from the neighbouring country town to the village in which William lived.
A ride in the bus would save him a long, hot walk with the heavy basket, and by some miraculous chance he had the requisite penny in his pocket. And anyhow, he was sick of the whole thing. He hailed the bus by swinging the basket round and putting out his tongue at the driver. The driver put his out in return, and the bus stopped. William, holding the basket, entered. The bus was very full, but there was one empty seat. William had taken this seat before he realised with horror that on one side of him sat Miss Amelia Blake and on the other Miss Cliff.
The bus had started again, and it was too late to get out. He went rather pale, pretended not to see them, stared in front of him with a set, stern expression on his face, and clasped the basket containing Twinkie-Luky tightly to his bosom. Miss Amelia Blake and Miss Cliff did not ‘know’ each other. But they both knew William.
‘Good morning, little boy,’ said Miss Cliff.
‘Mornin’,’ muttered William, still staring straight in front of him.
‘Good morning, William,’ said Miss Blake.
‘Mornin’,’ muttered William.
‘Have you been doing some shopping for your mother?’ said Miss Blake brightly.
‘Uumph!’ said William, his eyes still fixed desperately on the opposite window, the basket still clutched tightly to his breast.
‘You must call and see my pussy again soon, little boy,’ said Miss Cliff.
A shadow passed over Miss Amelia Blake’s face.
‘You haven’t seen Luky have you, William? He’s been away all this week.’
William felt a spasmodic movement in the basket at the sound of the name. He moistened his lips and shook his head.
Miss Amelia Blake was looking with interest at his basket. It happened that she wanted a new shopping basket, and had called at the basket-shop about one that morning.
‘May I look at your basket, William?’ she said kindly. ‘I like these covered baskets for shopping. The things can’t tumble out. On the other hand, of course, you can’t get so many things in. Are the fastenings firm?’
Her hand was outstretched innocently towards the fastenings. A cold perspiration broke out over William. He put his hands desperately over his fastenings.
‘I wun’t – I wun’t touch ’em,’ he said hoarsely. ‘It’s – it’s a bit full. I wun’t like all the things to come tumblin’ out here.’
Miss Amelia Blake smiled agreement and Miss Cliff beamed on him from the other side. William was wishing that the earth would open and swallow up Miss Amelia Blake and Miss Cliff and Twinkie-Luky and himself.
At last the bus stopped at the cross-roads and they all got out. William’s relief was indescribable. That was over. And it was the last time he’d ever change their ole cats for ’em. He turned to go down the road, but Miss Amelia Blake put her hand on his arm.
‘I’ll hold it very carefully, William,’ she pleaded. ‘I won’t let anything tumble out, but I do want to see if the fastenings of these baskets are secure.’
Miss Cliff stood by smiling with interested curiosity William mutely abandoned himself to Fate. Miss Amelia Blake opened one fastening, the flap turned back, and a black-whiskered head arose and looked around with a purr.
‘Luky!’
‘Twinkie!’
‘He’s mine.’
‘I bought him at Mr Gorton’s.’
‘How can you say he’s yours?’
‘He’s mine,’ cried Miss Cliff.
‘He isn’t,’ retorted Miss Blake.
‘He knows me – Twinkie!’
‘Luky!’
Both made a grab at Twinkie-Luky but Twinkie-Luky escaped both and flew like a dart down the road in the direction of Mr Gorton’s. Like all real gentlemen, Twinkie-Luky preferred death to a scene. William was no coward, but even a braver man than William would have fled. William’s fleeing figure was already half-way down the road in which his home lay.
At the cross-roads Miss Amelia Blake and Miss Cliff clung to each other hysterically and sent forth shrill, discordant cries after the fleeing Twinkie-Luky.
‘Twinkie, Twinkie, Twinkie, Twinkie, Twink-ee-ee-ee-ee-ee!’
‘LUKY!’ CRIED MISS BLAKE.
‘TWINKIE!’ EXCLAIMED MISS CLIFF.
‘HE’S MINE!’
‘HE ISN’T!’
A BLACK HEAD AROSE FROM THE BASKET AND PURRED.
‘Luky, Luky, Luky, Luky, Lukee-ee-ee-ee-ee!’
And William ran as if all the cats in the world were at his heels.
CHAPTER 10
WILLIAM THE SHOWMAN
William and his friends, known to themselves as the Outlaws, were in their usual state of insolvency. All entreaties had failed to melt the heart of Mr Beezum, the keeper of the general store in the village, who sold marbles, along with such goods as hams and shoes and vegetables.
William and his friends wanted marbles – simply a few dozen of ordinary glass marbles which could be bought for a few pence. But Mr Beezum refused to overlook the small matter of the few pence. He refused to give the Outlaws credit.
‘My terms to you, young gents, is cash down, an’ well you know it,’ he said firmly.
‘If you,’ said William generously, ‘let us have the marbles now we’ll give you a halfpenny extra Saturday.’
‘You said that once before, young gent, if I remember right,’ said Mr Beezum, adjusting his capacious apron and turning up his shirt-sleeves preparatory to sweeping out his shop.
William was indignant at the suggestion.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘well – you talk ’s if that was my fault – ’s if I knew my people was going to decide sudden not to give me any money that week simply because one of their cucumber frames got broke by my ball. An’ I brought back the things wot you’d let me have. I brought the trumpet back an ’ the rock—’
‘Yes – the trumpet all broke an’ the rock all bits,’ said Mr Beezum. ‘No – cash down is my terms, an’ I sticks to ’em – if you please, young gents.’
He began his sweeping operations with great energy, and the Outlaws found themselves precipitated into the street by the end of his long broom.
‘Mean,’ commented William, rising again to the perpendicular. ‘Jus’ mean! I’ve a good mind not to buy ’em there at all.’
‘He’s the only shop that sells ’em,’ remarked Ginger.
‘An’ we’ve got no money to buy ’em anywhere, anyway,’ said Henry.
‘S’pose we couldn’t wait for ’em till Saturday?’ suggested Douglas tentatively.
He was promptly crushed by the Outlaws.
‘Wait!’ said Ginger. ‘Wait! Wot’s the use of waitin’? We may be doing something else on Saturday. We mayn’t want to play with marbles – all that long time off.’
‘ ’F only you’d save your money,’ said William severely, ‘ ’stead of spendin’ it the day you get it we shun’t be like this – no marbles, an’ swep’ out of his shop an’ nothin’ to play at.’
This was felt to be unfair.
‘Well, I like that – I like that,’ said Ginger. ‘And wot about you – wot about you?
‘Well, if I was the only one, you could have lent me money an’ we could get marbles with it – if you’d not spent all your money we could be buyin’ marbles now ’stead of standin’ swep’ out of
his shop.’
Ginger thought over this, aware that there was usually some fallacy in William’s arguments if only one could lay one’s hands on it.
Henry turned away
‘Oh, come along,’ he said impatiently. ‘It’s no good staring in at his ole butter an’ cheese. Let’s think of something else to do.’
‘Anyway it’s nasty cheese,’ said Douglas comfortingly. ‘My mother said it was – so p’raps it’s a good thing we’ve been saved buyin’ his marbles.’
‘Something else to do?’ said William. ‘We want to play marbles, don’t we? Wot’s the good of thinkin’ of other things when we want to play marbles?’
‘ ’S all very well to talk like that,’ said Ginger with sudden inspiration, ‘an’ we might jus’ as well say that ’f you’d not spent your money you could have lent us some, an’ that’s just as much sense as you saying if we—’
‘Oh, do shut up talkin’ stuff no one can understand,’ said William, ‘let’s get some money’
‘How?’ said Ginger, who was nettled. ‘All right. Get some, an’ we’ll watch you. You goin’ to steal some or make some. ’F you’re clever enough to steal some or make some I’ll be very glad to join with it.’
‘Yes, well, if I stealed some or made some you just wouldn’t join with it,’ said William crushingly
‘Let’s sell something,’ said Henry
‘We’ve got nothing anyone’d buy,’ said Ginger.
‘Let’s sell Jumble.’
‘Jumble’s mine. You can jus’ sell your own dogs,’ said William, sternly.
‘We’ve not got any’
‘Well, then, sell ’em.’
‘That’s sense, isn’t it?’ said Ginger. ‘Jus’ kindly tell us how to sell dogs we’ve not got—Jus’—’
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