William

by Richmal Crompton

  ‘Yes, father,’ agreed William. ‘That’s what I think.’

  ‘I’m very glad to hear it,’ said Mr Brown grimly, ‘very glad indeed.’

  ‘Yes, father,’ said William.

  It was Mr Brown, not William, who felt that the conversation had been vaguely unsatisfactory.

  At the same moment Henry’s father and Douglas’s father were holding similar conversations with their sons.

  ‘It’s a stupid, uncivilised habit,’ said Henry’s father. ‘It’s amazing to me that any intelligent boy can give a thought to it.’

  And Henry agreed.

  ‘When I was your age,’ said Douglas’s father, ‘my mind was too much taken up with my school work to have room for such foolishness as fireworks.’

  Douglas implied that his was, too.

  But it was Ginger’s father who produced the bombshell.

  ‘Your aunt has given you five shillings, as usual,’ he said, ‘but I am taking charge of it for you till after today. I’ll give it to you at the end of the week. I didn’t want you to be exposed to the temptation of spending it on fireworks.’

  Ginger, aghast, hastened to convey the news to his friends.

  ‘He’s got it an’ he’s not givin’ it me till the end of the week,’ he said.

  For a moment the Outlaws were speechless with horror. Then they ejected ‘Crumbs!’ in tones of helpless horror.

  ‘’S not my fault,’ said Ginger weakly; ‘I told him I wanted it today most particular, but he di’n’t take no notice. I told him I wanted it for a pore old man what might be dead tomorrow. That wasn’t a very big story ’cause I was thinkin’ of the guy. But, anyway, he di’n’t take no notice even of that. If it had been a reel old man I’d wanted it for,’ he went on with stern and righteous indignation, ‘an’ he’d starved to death today it’d serve him right if he’d got put in prison for murderin’ him.’

  ‘Yes, but what’re we goin’ to do?’ said William.

  Douglas’s suggestion of postponing the firework display till the next week was dismissed as unworthy of them. As William said:

  ‘You might as well put up holly an’ stuff for New Year’s Day or have pancakes on Ash Wednesday. There wouldn’t be any sense in it.’

  Henry’s suggestion of merely burning the guy without any accompaniment of fireworks was also dismissed contemptuously. ‘There wouldn’t be any sense in that either,’ said William.

  For several minutes the Outlaws contented themselves with a hymn of hate against Ginger’s father, in which Ginger joined wholeheartedly.

  ‘Mean. That’s what it is.’

  ‘Stealin’, I call it.’

  ‘People can get put in prison for takin’ other people’s money.’

  ‘Serve him right if we went to the police.’

  ‘An’ that poor ole man starvin’ to death,’ said Douglas vaguely.

  They felt a little better after a few minutes of this and turned to face the future more courageously.

  ‘Well, what’re we goin’ to do?’ said Ginger.

  ‘We’re goin’ to get some fireworks somehow,’ said William firmly.

  In the silence that followed their thoughts all turned in the same direction.

  ‘He keeps the shed locked, dun’t he?’ said Ginger thoughtfully.

  ‘Yes,’ said William, ‘windows and all.’

  ‘But he’s gone to London today,’ said Douglas. ‘I saw him goin’ down to the station. He’ll prob’ly not come back till jus’ before time to get his fireworks ready.’

  There was another long silence. Then Ginger said to William:

  ‘Didn’t you say she was nervous of ’em?’

  ‘Yes,’ said William.

  And the plan leapt like Aphrodite, full grown, into the brains of both William and Ginger, simultaneously. They never even quarrelled as to who had thought of it first because they knew that both of them had thought of it in the same second.

  Miss Masters moved restlessly from room to room. She’d be thankful when this terrible day was over. November the Fifth was always as long as a week to her. One read of such dreadful things in the paper. A knock at the front door startled her. She went to answer it. A small boy with his arm in a sling and his face bandaged stood there and asked her with exquisite politeness what the time was. She told him, gazing at him anxiously.

  ‘What have you done to yourself, my little man?’ she said kindly.

  ‘I was jus’ helpin’ my father get the fireworks ready for tonight an’ some of them went off,’ said her little man.

  ‘Poor child!’ said Miss Masters, deeply moved; ‘and was your father hurt?’

  ‘Yes,’ said the child, ‘he was hurt very bad. They’ve took him to the hospital.’

  ‘Dear, dear!’ said Miss Masters anxiously. ‘I’ve always said they were nasty, dangerous things.’

  ‘Yes, they are,’ said the child wholeheartedly. ‘I feel I never want to see one of ’em again anyway. Eleven o’clock, did you say? Thank you very much indeed. I’m sorry to have troubled you. Good mornin’.’

  Still with exquisite politeness the child took his leave and Miss Masters watched him pitifully as he walked down the garden path.

  ‘Poor little chap!’ she murmured as she closed the door.

  Her restlessness increased. November the Fifth seemed a more terrible day than ever. The poor little chap. And his father in hospital. The fireworks going off as they were getting them ready. Nasty, dangerous things. She’d begged Alexander not to have them this year, but he was so obstinate. She had terrible visions of Alexander with his face bandaged up and his arm in a sling like this poor boy, or being carried off to hospital like this poor boy’s father. Just went off as they were getting them ready . . . Terrible. There came another knock at the front door. She went to answer it. Another small boy stood there. He leaned heavily upon two sticks and his face was bandaged. He too spoke with exquisite politeness.

  ‘I hope you’ll kin’ly excuse me for troublin’ you,’ he said, ‘but would you kin’ly tell me the way to the doctor’s?’

  ‘Good gracious!’ gasped Miss Masters.

  ‘It’s not for me,’ said the boy, ‘it’s for my pore uncle. We were jus’ gettin’ the fireworks ready this mornin’ an’ they went off. My uncle’s in bed, hurt very bad indeed. Doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to walk again.’

  ‘Good heavens!’ gasped Miss Masters, ‘how terrible, how very terrible!’

  ‘I’m only hurt a bit, of course,’ said the boy modestly; ‘the doctor says that I’ll be able to walk without sticks quite all right in about three months, but my uncle’s hurt very bad indeed. I’m goin’ to the doctor’s now for some more medicine for him. But I don’t live here. I’m only stayin’ with him. So that’s why I don’t know the way to the doctor’s, so I came to ask you very kin’ly to tell me.’

  In a faint voice Miss Masters directed him to the doctor’s, received his exquisitely-polite thanks and watched him hobble slowly and painfully down the drive. He hobbled beautifully till he had turned the corner of the road and then, like the other boy, he began to leap and run and tear off his bandages. An observer would have supposed that that corner of the road possessed miraculous healing powers. Miss Masters, of course, did not see this miraculous cure. She watched the hobbling form with tears of pity in her eyes and then turned to pace her drawing-room, distracted. She had visions of Alexander hobbling like that with both his arms in slings and his face covered with bandages. It was terrible . . . terrible. She must do something. She must do something at once. It was no use pleading with Alexander. She’d pleaded with him already. He was deaf and obdurate. Wringing her hands, she went down the garden path to the shed where the fireworks were kept. She unlocked the door and stood gazing at them in horror. Suddenly she saw an eye looking down at her from the top of the wall. It was only an eye. Bandages completely concealed the face and head it belonged to. The bandaged head reposed on the wall like a pudding in a cloth, except for the eye that gleamed
through a slight aperture. William, who did nothing on a mean scale, had used half a dozen bandages (‘borrowed’ from Douglas’s mother’s bandage box) on himself. He had even taken off his collar and tie and bandaged his neck till it was almost as large as his head.

  Miss Masters gazed with helpless horror at this apparition. It looked like something out of a nightmare. After fixing her with its eye for some moments in silence, it proceeded to address her in a muffled, indistinct voice.

  ‘I jus’ happened to be passin’,’ it said, ‘an’ I jus’ happened to see all them fireworks in the shed, an’ I got up here to see if I could see anyone to speak to about it.’

  So bewildered and horrified was Miss Masters that she did not stop to wonder how this boy, who happened to be passing, had happened to see the fireworks in the shed through a high brick wall.

  ‘H-have you had an accident, boy?’ she said faintly.

  ‘Yes,’ said the apparition in its muffled voice, ‘a norful accident. I was jus’ gettin’ our fireworks ready for tonight.’ Miss Masters groaned. ‘An’ a lot of ’em went off sudden, without any warnin’ at all. Our doctor says there’s been a norful lot of accidents today ’cause of that. He says that ever so many people’ve had orful accidents with them. He says that he thinks there’s somethin’ wrong with the gunpowder people’ve made the fireworks out of this year, an’ that other people oughter be warned about it. That’s what he says. I look somethin’ orful under this bandage. You’ve no idea. All blown up.’ Miss Masters shuddered and closed her eyes. ‘Somethin’ orful,’ went on William, pleased and encouraged by her expression. ‘Well, I was jus’ passin’, like what I told you, an’ I saw your shed with the fireworks in an’ I thought that I’d better warn the person they belonged to, to save her bein’ blown up like what I was. I thought that I’d better warn the person they belonged to that there was somethin’ wrong with the gunpowder what was bein’ put in fireworks this year. Do they belong to you?’ ended the muffled voice innocently.

  ‘No,’ said Miss Masters wildly, ‘they don’t. They belong to my brother. I know that what you said is true because I have already seen two other victims of the terrible accidents you describe. My poor boy. Does it hurt much?’

  ‘Somethin’ terrible,’ said the muffled voice, ‘worse than toothache. But I don’t care about myself. I wanted to save other people from sufferin’ agony like what I’m sufferin’. You’d better ask your brother not to let off his fireworks else he’ll have an orful accident same as me an’ the others.’

  ‘But I’ve begged him not to,’ wailed Miss Masters. ‘He won’t listen to me . . . Oh, what shall I do?’

  ‘Tell you what,’ said the muffled voice suddenly; ‘I’ve jus’ thought of somethin’. Let me take ’em away from you an’ throw ’em into the stream so that no one’ll be able to let ’em off. I’ll do that for you. Jus’ to save anyone else going through the orful agony what I’m sufferin’. I feel as if I don’t ever want to see ’em or touch ’em again, but jus’ to save your brother from sufferin’ the orful agony I’m sufferin’, I’ll do that for you. I’ll take ’em all down to the stream an’ throw ’em in so that they can’t go off sudden an’ make anyone else suffer the orful agony what I’m sufferin’. Jus’ to help you save your brother from orful agony, I’ll do that, though I feel I never want to see ’em or touch ’em again.’

  The whole eye gazed expectantly at Miss Masters through the aperture in the mass of bandages.

  ‘But I daren’t,’ moaned Miss Masters. ‘I really daren’t. He’d be so angry. No, I daren’t do that. It would be wrong.’

  The eye gazed at her speculatively for a minute, as if in deep thought, then brightened.

  ‘Tell you what,’ said the muffled voice, ‘there wouldn’t be any harm jus’ unlocking the shed door an’ chancin’ ’em gettin’ stole, would there? That wouldn’t be the same as givin’ ’em away to someone, would it? Well, that’s what I’d do if I was you. I’d leave the shed door open an’ chance ’em gettin’ stole. Mind you, maybe no one’ll steal ’em with all these accidents about. They’ll all know about the wrong sort of gunpowder bein’ used in ’em this year. Still, p’raps some tramp’ll take ’em. Anyway, that’s what I’d do. I wun’t give ’em away to someone to put in the stream either. I don’t think that’s right. But I think that leavin’ the shed door unlocked and chancin’ ’em gettin’ stole’s quite different. I’d do that all right. I wun’t do the other either, but I would do that. I don’t think there’d be anything wrong in that. Well, I wun’t s’gest it if I thought it was wrong,’ the muffled voice ended anxiously.

  Miss Masters wrung her hands again. ‘It doesn’t seem – it doesn’t seem quite right,’ she said, ‘but I think I will . . . it seems the only thing to do, short of throwing or giving them away, which I daren’t. Yes, I’ll do that. I’ll leave the shed door unlocked for just half an hour and if they haven’t been stolen by then, I’ll know that fate doesn’t mean them to be. Thank you, dear boy, for—’

  But the eye was already disappearing down the other side of the wall.

  Miss Masters wrung her hands again and moaned. ‘But how awful . . . how terrible!’ Then she went to the shed door, unlocked it, and returned to the house to lie down for half an hour. She felt that she needed rest. She returned to the shed at the end of half an hour. The fireworks were no longer there. Miss Masters inferred that fate had meant them to be stolen.

  The Outlaws never discovered who betrayed them, but they suspected their old enemy, Hubert Lane. It happened that the fathers of Ginger, William and Douglas and Henry were walking up from the station together, when they learnt that despite the parental ban the Outlaws were holding – or rather were just bout to hold – a firework display in the field behind the old barn. Aflame with righteous indignation, the four fathers left the high road and proceeded over the field to the scene of the crime.

  The display was just on the point of beginning when they arrived. The guy stood in the middle – an impressive figure with his grey bowler, brown overcoat and upturned military moustache. Around, affixed to trees, were Catherine wheels of every size, and William already held a rocket in his hand. The four fathers had walked to the scene, prepared to exact summary retribution, but the minute they arrived on the scene something happened. They had been boys together.

  ‘Catherine wheels,’ said Ginger’s father. ‘I say – they’re about twice the size of the ones we used to have.’

  ‘And the fools have got them fixed up all wrong,’ said William’s father, proceeding to fix them up all right.

  ‘And look at the way this idiot’s holding the rocket,’ said Douglas’s father, taking it from William and proceeding to hold it the right way, absently applying a light to it as he did so.

  William’s father had set off one of the Catherine wheels, Ginger’s father was setting off the rockets, Henry’s father was just preparing a Roman candle, and Douglas’s father was opening another box of rockets.

  ‘I say,’ Douglas’s father was saying, ‘do you remember that Fifth when you—?’

  And Ginger’s father was saying at the same time, ‘Do you remember that Fifth when we—?’

  They seemed suddenly to notice the presence of the Outlaws. ‘Clear off, you kids,’ they said shortly, ‘what are you hanging about for? Clear off!’

  Dumbfounded and aghast at the turn events had taken, the Outlaws cleared off.

  They walked slowly down the road away from the field. From behind came the voices of their parents raised excitedly, ‘I say, I remember letting one like this off that year that—’ came bangs and fiery sparks.

  ‘Well! ’ said William bitterly, ‘think of that. Jus’ think of it . . . an’ after all the trouble we took to get ’em. I still feel choked with all those things round my neck and it’s a wonder I’m not dead having no place to breathe through. An’ to think of sufferin’ all that orful agony jus’ for them to let ’em off—’

  ‘I wun’t have minded if they’d’ve jus�
�� been mad an’ thrown ’em away. I wun’ve minded what they’d’ve done to us,’ said Ginger. ‘But to go an’ do them themselves – well, it seems too mean to be true.’

  They walked drearily, silently, despondently. Life simply didn’t seem to be worth living.

  Then suddenly at a bend in the road they met Colonel Masters. He carried a stick and was purple with fury.

  ‘Here, you!’ he bellowed, ‘have you seen anyone about here with any fireworks? Fireworks in green boxes. I’ve had all mine stolen and I’ll’ – he choked with passion and then continued – ‘I’ll show ’em. I tell you I’ll show ’em. I’ll find the thieves if I have to walk all night an’ I’ll – I’ll show ’em.’

  ‘I SAY,’ DOUGLAS’S FATHER WAS SAYING, ‘DO YOU REMEMBER THAT FIFTH WHEN YOU—?’

  THE OUTLAWS WATCHED, DUMBFOUNDED AND AGHAST.

  The Outlaws brightened.

  ‘There’s four men havin’ a firework show over there,’ said William with his blankest expression; ‘we’ve jus’ been watchin’ ’em. They’ve got fireworks out of green boxes with “Tanks, London”, on them.’

  ‘They’re mine, then,’ yelled the Colonel, dancing about with mingled excitement and fury; ‘they’re mine. I’ll show ’em. Where are they?’

  ‘They’ve got a guy jus’ ready to burn,’ went on Ginger with an expression that in blank innocence almost rivalled William’s. ‘It’s got a grey hat jus’ like yours an’ a brown overcoat and moustache that turns up an’ – now I come to think of it – it is you – it mus’ be you they’ve got for their guy.’

  ‘WHAT?’ yelled the warrior, his purple deepening to a rich plum shade. ‘WHERE are they?’

  ‘Over there,’ said the Outlaws, pointing in the direction of the old barn. Bangs could still be heard and sparks be seen.

  Roaring with fury the Colonel began to hasten in its direction.

  The Outlaws followed. They walked brightly, expectantly, joyfully. Life was worth living, after all.