William the Fourth

by Richmal Crompton

  In this he was entirely deceived. He looked merely what he was – a snub-nosed, freckled, rough-haired boy hanging up an old empty frame in the hatch and then crouching on the hatch and glaring morosely through the frame.

  William’s uncle opened the meeting:

  ‘. . . and we must emphasise the consequent drop in the price of bread. Don’t you think that point is very important, Mr Moffat?’

  Mr Moffat, a thin, pale youth with a large nose and a naturally startled expression, answered as in a trance, his mouth open, his strained eyes fixed upon William.

  ‘Er – very important.’

  ‘Very – we can’t over-emphasise it,’ said William’s uncle.

  Mr Moffat put up a trembling hand as if to loosen his collar. He wondered if the others saw it too.

  ‘Over-emphasise it,’ he repeated, in a trembling voice.

  Then he met William’s stony stare and looked away hastily, drawing his handkerchief across his brow.

  ‘I think we can safely say,’ said William’s uncle, ‘that if the Government we desire is returned the average loaf will be three-halfpence cheaper.’

  MR MOFFATT MET WILLIAM’S STONY STARE. THE OTHER HELPERS WERE STARING BLANKLY AT THE WALL.

  He looked round at his helpers. Not one was taking notes. Not one was making a suggestion. All were staring blankly at the wall behind him.

  Extraordinary what stupid fellows seemed to take up this work – that chap with the large nose looked nothing more or less than tipsy!

  ‘DON’T YOU THINK THAT POINT IS VERY IMPORTANT?’ ASKED WILLIAM’S UNCLE.

  ‘Here are some pamphlets that we should take round with us . . .’

  He spread them out on the table. William was interested. He could not see them properly from where he was. He leant forward through his frame. He could just see the words, ‘Peace and Prosperity . . .’ He leant forward further. He leant forward too far. Accidentally attaching his frame round his neck on his way he descended heavily from the hatch. There was only one thing to do to soften his fall. He did it. He clutched at his uncle’s neck as he descended. A confused medley consisting of William, his uncle, the frame and his uncle’s chair rolled to the floor where they continued to struggle wildly.

  ‘Oh, my goodness,’ squealed the young man with the large nose hysterically.

  Somehow in the melee that ensued, William managed to preserve his frame. He arrived home breathless and dishevelled but still carrying his frame. He was beginning to experience a feeling almost akin to affection for this companion in adversity

  ‘What’s the matter?’ said William’s father sternly ‘What have you been doing?’

  ‘Me?’ said William in a voice of astonishment. ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes, you,’ said his father. ‘You come in here like a tornado, half dressed, with your hair like a neglected lawn—’

  William hastily smoothed back his halo of stubby hair and fastened his collar.

  ‘Oh, that,’ he said lightly. ‘I’ve only jus’ been out – walking an’ things.’

  Mrs Brown looked up from her darning.

  ‘I think you’d better go and brush your hair and wash your face and put on a clean collar, William,’ she suggested mildly

  ‘Yes, Mother,’ agreed William without enthusiasm. ‘Father, did you know that the Lib’rals are goin’ to make bread an’ everything cheaper an’ – an’ prosperity an’ all that?’

  ‘I did not,’ said Mr Brown dryly from behind his paper.

  ‘I’d give it a good brushing,’ said his wife.

  ‘If there weren’t no ole rackshunary Conservy here,’ said William, ‘I s’pose there wouldn’t be no reason why the Lib’ral shouldn’t get in?’

  ‘As far as I can disentangle your negatives,’ said Mr Brown, ‘your supposition is correct.’

  ‘I simply can’t think why it always stands up so straight,’ said Mrs Brown plaintively

  ‘Well, then, why don’t they stop ’em?’ said William indignantly. ‘Why do they let the old Conservies come in an’ spoil things an’ keep bread up – why don’t they stop ’em – why—’

  Mr Brown uttered a hollow groan.

  ‘William,’ he said grimly. ‘Go – and – brush – your – hair.’

  ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’m jus’ goin’.’

  Mr Cheytor, the Conservative candidate, had addressed a crowded meeting and was returning wearily to his home.

  He opened the door with his latchkey and put out the hall light. The maids had gone to bed. Then he went upstairs to his bedroom. He opened the door. From behind the door rushed a small whirlwind. A rough bulletlike head charged him in the region of his abdomen. Mr Cheytor sat down suddenly. A strange figure dressed in pyjamas, and over those a dressing-gown, and over that an overcoat, stood sternly in front of him.

  ‘You’ve gotter stop it,’ said an indignant voice. ‘You’ve gotter stop it an’ let the Lib’rals get in – you’ve gotter stop—’

  Mr Cheytor stood up and squared at William. William, who fancied himself as a boxer, flew to the attack. The Conservative candidate was evidently a boxer of no mean ability, but he lowered his form to suit William’s. He parried William’s wild onsets, he occasionally got a very gentle one in on William. They moved rapidly about the room, in a silence broken only by William’s snortings. Finally Mr Cheytor fell over the hearthrug and William fell over Mr Cheytor. They sat up on the floor in front of the fire and looked at each other.

  ‘Now,’ said Mr Cheytor soothingly. ‘Let’s talk about it. What’s it all about?’

  ‘They’re goin’ to make bread cheaper – the Lib’rals are,’ panted William, ‘an’ you’re tryin’ to stoppem an’ you—’

  ‘Ah,’ said Mr Cheytor, ‘but we’re going to make it cheaper, too.’

  William gasped.

  ‘You?’ he said. ‘The Rackshunaries? But – if you’re both tryin’ to make bread cheaper why’re you fightin’ each other?’

  ‘You know,’ said Mr Cheytor, ‘I wouldn’t bother about politics if I were you. They’re very confusing mentally. Suppose you tell me how you got here.’

  ‘I got out of my window and climbed along our wall to the road,’ said William simply, ‘and then I got on to your wall and climbed along it into your window’

  ‘Now you’re here,’ said Mr Cheytor, ‘we may as well celebrate. Do you like roasted chestnuts?’

  ‘Um-m-m-m-m-m,’ said William.

  ‘Well, I’ve got a bag of chestnuts downstairs – we can roast them at the fire. I’ll get them. By the way, suppose your people find you’ve gone?’

  ‘My uncle may’ve come to see my father by now, so I don’t mind not being at home jus’ now’

  Mr Cheytor accepted this explanation.

  ‘I’ll go down for the chestnuts then,’ he said.

  Fortune was kind to William. His uncle was very busy and thought he would put off the laying of his complaint before William’s father till the next week. The next week he was still more busy. Encountering William unexpectedly in the street he was struck by William’s (hastily assumed) expression of wistful sadness, and decided that the whole thing may have been a misunderstanding. So the complaint was never laid.

  Moreover, no one had discovered William’s absence from his bedroom. William came down to breakfast the next day with a distinct feeling of fear, but one glance at his preoccupied family relieved him. He sat down at his place with that air of meekness which in him always betrayed an uneasy conscience. His father looked up.

  ‘Good morning, William,’ he said. ‘Care to see the paper this morning? I suppose with your new zeal for politics—’

  ‘Oh, politics!’ said William contemptuously. ‘I’ve given ’em up. They’re so – so,’ frowning he searched in his memory for the phrase, ‘They’re so – confusing ment’ly’

  His father looked at him.

  ‘Your vocabulary is improving,’ he said.

  ‘You mean my hair?’ said William with a gloomy smile. ‘Mother’s
been scrubbin’ it back with water same as what she said.’

  William walked along the village street with Ginger. Their progress was slow. They stopped in front of each shop window and subjected the contents to a long and careful scrutiny.

  ‘There’s nothin’ there I’d buy ’f I’d got a thousand pounds.’

  ‘Oh, isn’t there? Well, I jus’ wonder. How much ’ve you got, anyway?’

  ‘Nothin’. How much have you?’

  ‘Nothin’.’

  ‘Well,’ said William, continuing a discussion which their inspection of the General Stores had interrupted, ‘I’d rather be a Pirate than a Red Indian – sailin’ the seas an’ finding hidden treasure—’

  ‘I don’t quite see,’ said Ginger with heavy sarcasm, ‘what’s to prevent a Red Indian finding hidden treasure if there’s any to find.’

  ‘Well,’ said William heatedly, ‘you show me a single tale where a Red Indian finds a hidden treasure. That’s all I ask you to do. Jus’ show me a single tale where a—’

  ‘We’re not talkin’ about tales. There’s things that happen outside tales. I suppose everything in the world that can happen isn’t in tales. ’Sides, think of the war-whoops. A Pirate’s not got a war-whoop.’

  ‘Well, if you think—’

  They stopped to examine the contents of the next shop window. It was a second-hand shop. In the window was a medley of old iron, old books, broken photograph frames and dirty china.

  ‘An’ there’s nothin’ there I’d wanter buy if I’d got a thousand pounds,’ said William sternly. ‘It makes me almost glad I’ve got no money. It mus’ be mad’ning to have a lot of money an’ never see anything in a shop window you’d want to buy’

  Suddenly Ginger pointed excitedly to a small card propped up in a corner of the window, ‘Objects purchased for Cash.’

  ‘William,’ gasped Ginger. ‘The frame!’

  A look of set purpose came into William’s freckled face. ‘You stay here,’ he whispered quickly, ‘an’ see they don’t take that card out of the window, an’ I’ll fetch the frame.’

  Panting, he reappeared with the frame a few minutes later. Ginger’s presence had evidently prevented the disappearance of the card. An old man with a bald head and two pairs of spectacles examined the frame in silence, and in silence handed William half a crown. William and Ginger staggered out of the shop.

  ‘Half a crown!’ gasped William excitedly. ‘Crumbs!’

  ‘I hope,’ said Ginger, ‘you’ll remember who suggested you buying that frame.’

  ‘An’ I hope,’ said William, ‘that you’ll remember whose sixpence bought it.’

  This verbal fencing was merely a form. It was a matter of course that William should share his half a crown with Ginger. The next shop was a pastry-cook’s. It was the type of pastry-cook’s that William’s mother would have designated as ‘common’. On a large dish in the middle of the window was a pile of sickly-looking yellow pastries full of sickly-looking yellow butter cream. William pressed his nose against the glass and his eyes widened.

  ‘I say’ he said, ‘only a penny each. Come on in.’

  They sat at a small marble-topped table, between them a heaped plate of the nightmare pastries, and ate in silent enjoyment. The plate slowly emptied. William ordered more. As he finished his sixth he looked up. His uncle was passing the window talking excitedly to Mr Morrisse’s agent. Across the street a man was pasting up a poster, ‘Vote for Cheytor’. William regarded both with equal contempt. He took up his seventh penny horror and bit it rapturously.

  ‘Fancy’ he said scornfully ‘fancy people worryin’ about what bread costs.’

  CHAPTER 13

  WILLIAM MAKES A NIGHT OF IT

  William had disliked Mr Bennison from the moment he appeared, although Mr Bennison treated him with most conscientious kindness. William disliked the way Mr Bennison’s hair grew and the way his teeth grew and the way his ears grew, and he disliked most of all his agreeable manner to William himself. He was not used to agreeable manners from adults, and he distrusted them.

  Mr Bennison was a bachelor and wrote books on the training of children. He believed that children should be led, not driven, that their little hearts should be won by kindness, that their innocent curiosity should always be promptly satisfied. He believed that children trailed clouds of glory. He knew very few. He certainly did not know William.

  Mr Bennison had met Ethel, William’s sister, while she was staying with an aunt. Ethel possessed blue eyes and a riot of auburn hair of which William was ashamed. He considered that red hair was quite inconsistent with beauty. He found that most young men who met Ethel did not share that opinion.

  Although Mr Bennison had reached the mature age of forty without having found any passion to supersede his passion for educational theories, he experienced a distinct quickening of his middle-aged heart at the sight of Ethel with her forget-me-not eyes and copper locks. William never could understand what men ‘saw in’ Ethel. William considered her interfering and bad-tempered and stingy, and everything that an ideal sister should not be. Yet there was no doubt that adult males ‘saw something’ in her.

  And William had the wisdom to make capital out of this distorted idea of beauty whenever he could.

  William was in that state of bankruptcy which occurred regularly in the middle of each week. He was never given enough pocket money to last from Saturday to Saturday. That was one of his great grievances against life. And just now there were some pressing calls on his purse.

  It was Ginger, William’s boon companion, who had seen the tops in the shop window and realised suddenly that the top season was upon them once more. The next day, almost the whole school was equipped with tops.

  Only William and Ginger seemed topless. To William, a born leader, the position was intolerable. It was Wednesday. The thought of waiting till Saturday was not for one moment to be entertained. Money must somehow or other be raised in the interval.

  Tops of a kind could be bought for sixpence, but the really superior tops – the tops which befitted the age and dignity of William and Ginger – cost one shilling, and William and Ginger, never daunted by difficulties, determined to raise the sum by the next day. ‘We mus’ get a shilling each,’ said William, with his expression of grim and fixed determination, ‘an’ we’ll buy ’em tomorrow.’

  ‘Well, you know what my folks are like,’ said Ginger despondently. ‘You know what it’s like tryin’ to get money out of ’em. “Save your pocket money,” they say. If they’d give me enough I’d be able to save. What’s sixpence? Could anyone save sixpence? It’s gone in a day – sixpence is. An’ they say “save”,’ he ended bitterly. ‘Well,’ said William, ‘all I can say is that no one’s folks can be stingier than mine, and that if I can get a shilling—’

  ‘Yes, but you’ve not got it yet, have you?’ taunted Ginger. ‘No,’ said William confidently, ‘but you wait till tomorrow!’

  William had spoken confidently, but he felt far from confident. He knew by experience the difficulty of extorting money from his family. He had tried pathos, resentment, indignation, pleading, and all had failed on every occasion. He was generally obliged to have recourse to finesse. He only hoped that on this occasion Fate would provide circumstances on which he could exercise his finesse.

  He entered the drawing-room, and it was then that he first saw Mr Bennison. It was then that he took a violent and definite dislike to Mr Bennison, yet he had a wild hope that he might be a profitable source of tips. With a mental vision of the tops before his eyes he assumed an expression of virtue and innocence.

  ‘So this,’ said Mr Bennison, with a genial smile, ‘is the little brother.’

  William’s expression of virtue melted into a scowl. William was eleven years old. He objected to being called a ‘little’ anything.

  ‘I heard there was a little brother,’ went on the visitor, perpetrating the supreme mistake of laying his hand upon William’s tousled head. ‘“Will” is
the name, is it not? “Willie” for short, I presume? Ha! Ha!’

  Mrs Brown, noting fearfully the expression upon her son’s face, interposed.

  ‘We call him William,’ she said rather hastily.

  ‘I’ll call him “Willie” – for short,’ smiled Mr Bennison, patting William’s unruly locks.

  Mr Bennison laboured under the delusion that he ‘got on with’ children. It was well for his peace of mind that William’s face was at that moment hidden from him. It was only the thoughts of the top which might be the outcome of all that made William endure the indignity.

  ‘And I have brought a present for Willie-for-short,’ went on Mr Bennison humorously

  William’s heart rose. It might be a top. It might be something he could exchange for a top. Best of all, it might be money.

  But Mr Bennison took a book out of his pocket and handed it to William.

  The book was called ‘A Child’s Encyclopædia of Knowledge.’

  Mrs Brown, who could see William’s face, went rather pale.

  ‘Say “Thank you”, William dear,’ she said nervously, then, hastily covering William’s murmured thanks, ‘How very kind of you, Mr Bennison. How very kind. He’ll be most interested. I’m sure he will, won’t you, William, dear? Er – I’m sure he will.’

  William freed himself from Mr Bennison’s hand, and went towards the door.

  ‘You will remember,’ went on Mr Bennison pleasantly, ‘that in my “Early Training of the Young” I lay down the rule that every present given to a child should tend to his or her mental development. I do not believe in giving a child presents of money before he or she is sixteen. No really wise faculty of choice is developed before then. I expect you remember that in my “Parents’ Help”, I said—’

  William crept quietly from the room.

  He went first of all to Ethel’s bedroom.