William the Good

by Richmal Crompton

Robert ground his teeth.

  ‘I don’t see anything at all specially attractive about the view of the rose garden from this particular spot,’ went on Uncle Frederick. ‘However – we each have our own standard of beauty, and what appeals to one does not appeal to all. I know quite a lot of people, for instance, who judge stamps entirely by their artistic appearance, quite irrespective of their value. Did I ever tell you of the lady who—?’

  ‘Yes,’ interrupted Robert viciously. Uncle Frederick looked at him coldly.

  ‘I don’t think I did,’ he said. ‘You must be thinking of some other story I told you. This lady was forming a stamp collection and I told her that she could choose any stamp she liked on a certain page of my album (not one containing my most valuable stamps, of course) to form the nucleus of her collection, and she chose one of no value at all just because she liked the picture on it.’

  Robert leaned over to Flavia again.

  ‘Would you care to come and see the greenhouse,’ he said, ‘and look at the – er – carnations?’

  ‘Certainly,’ said Flavia pleasantly, rising.

  ‘We’ll be back with you in a minute, Uncle,’ said Robert hastily, seeing that Uncle Frederick was rising, too.

  ‘Oh, I’ll come and look at the carnations,’ said Uncle Frederick. ‘I’m very much interested in carnations. And very unusual, too, for them to be out this time of the year.’

  The three of them went on to the greenhouse and stood there, Uncle Frederick in the middle, Robert and Flavia on either side. Uncle Frederick looked about him.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘where are the carnations? I don’t see any carnations.’

  ‘I didn’t mean carnations,’ said Robert desperately, ‘I meant,’ he swept his arm wildly round the greenhouse, ‘I meant these.’

  ‘These.’ Uncle Frederick adjusted his spectacles and began to look around. ‘I see . . . Begonias. Very nice, very nice. I’m glad you thought of showing us these, Robert. I’m very fond of begonias, aren’t you, Flavia?’

  Robert, standing behind his uncle, bared his lips in a silent and impotent snarl of fury. It was at that moment that he espied William’s feather-encircled head gazing through one of the glass panes with a smile of quiet enjoyment. He turned the snarl of fury on to William. William promptly disappeared. Uncle Frederick turned abruptly and caught the tail-end of the snarl of fury. He looked startled and concerned.

  ‘Are you in pain, my poor boy?’ he said.

  ‘No,’ said Robert, ‘I mean yes. I mean, not much.’

  ‘I’m afraid you’ve been overdoing it,’ he said. ‘Flavia, we’ve tired out our young friend, I’m afraid. The walk was too much for him. I suspect that he indulges in too much physical exercise and too little mental recreation. You should collect stamps, my boy. There’s nothing like it. Have I ever told you how I came to collect stamps?’

  ‘No,’ said Robert. ‘I mean yes. Yes, you have.’

  At that minute the first lunch gong sounded.

  ‘I’ll tell you about the origin of my stamp collection afterwards. Let us now follow yon welcome sound.’

  Groaning inwardly, Robert followed it. He stalked angrily into the dining-room and flung himself into the nearest chair. It was unfortunate that William had been into the room a minute before and had carelessly flung down his Red Indian head-dress upon that very chair, and that at the end of the head-dress was the unguarded pin that had secured it around William’s head. Robert leapt into the air with a high-pitched cry of agony, which swiftly changed to a growl of fury when he saw the cause of his involuntary ascent. The sight of the head-dress reminded him, too, of the unholy grin on William’s face as it peered in at the greenhouse, rejoicing in his discomfiture. With a gesture of rage he flung the whole thing into the fire. That to a small extent – a very small extent – relieved his feelings, so that when William entered a few minutes later, still wearing his frilled khaki trousers and looked around with a stern, ‘Where’s my feather thing?’ Robert could answer with great dignity and nonchalance: ‘In the fire.’

  ‘Who put it there?’ said William.

  ‘I did,’ said Robert.

  William’s face grew stern and lowering, but he said nothing.

  ‘You shouldn’t leave it about all over the place,’ said Robert.

  ‘Did you sit on the pin?’ said William with sudden hope.

  But Robert refused to allow him even that gleam of comfort.

  ‘Course I didn’t,’ he said.

  ‘I bet you did,’ said William, ‘an’ let me tell you. There’s not many people’d dare to throw away a Red Indian head thing. At least,’ he ended darkly, ‘not without knowin’ somethin’d happen to them.’

  With this sinister threat he withdrew, to put his head round the door a few minutes later, having thought of something else to say.

  ‘You needn’t be so mad at me,’ he said. ‘I’ve not been goin’ round with you all mornin’ talkin’ about my stamp collection. Why don’ you throw one of his hats in the fire?’

  And withdrew before Robert could get hold of anything to throw at him.

  They met in the barn. William, Ginger, Douglas and Joan. They all wore their Red Indian dresses. Joan – the only female Outlaw – had a squaw-dress which she had made herself and which made up in ornamentation what it lacked in cut and unobtrusiveness of stitching. Its ornamentation was little short of reckless. She had sewn the entire contents of twelve penny boxes of beads on to it. All of them – Joan openly, the Outlaws secretly – were intensely proud of it. All except William wore feathered head-dresses. Briefly William told the story of its disappearance.

  ‘He oughter know it’s a serious thing,’ he said, ‘throwin’ Red Indian chiefs feathers into the fire. It’s a ninsult. He’s lucky I’m not a real Red Indian or he’d be scalped. That’s what he deserves. He deserves to be scalped – throwin’ Red Indian chiefs head things into the fire.’

  They set out for the wood where they had agreed to ‘scout’ each other, but William’s gloomy sense of outraged honour threw a shadow over all of them. In vain for Ginger, Douglas, Henry and Joan to comment brightly on the fine day or the prospect of a good scouting expedition. In vain for each of them to offer to lend him his own head-dress. In reply William muttered, ‘He’s jolly lucky not to be scalped, that’s what he is. I bet if any real Red Indian knew he’d done it, he’d come over an’ scalp him.’

  They began to walk over the field that led to the wood where their scouting expedition was to take place. Suddenly Joan stopped. ‘Look!’ she said. ‘A fairy ring!’ William snorted scornfully and strode on. ‘Oh, but it is,’ said Joan, ‘do come and look at it.’

  They stopped to look at a little circle of toadstools in the green grass.

  ‘Well, what of it?’ said William, determined not to be impressed.

  ‘What is it?’ said Ginger.

  ‘It’s a fairy ring,’ said Joan, ‘if you stand in the middle and wish, your wish comes true.’

  William emitted again his famous snort of contempt and derision.

  ‘It does,’ persisted Joan. ‘Honestly. The last time I came across one I stood in the middle and wished there’d be trifle for dinner and there was.’

  The Outlaws were despite themselves impressed by this. William, however, merely said:

  ‘Oh, yes, we’ve had enough of your fairy stuff. Do you remember the ole donkey what—’

  ‘But, William,’ said Joan. ‘It couldn’t do any harm just to wish something.’

  ‘All right,’ said William.

  He stepped into the fairy ring.

  ‘I wish a real Indian Chief’d come alone an’ scalp Robert for burnin’ my head thing,’ he said.

  Then they all proceeded except Ginger, who stepped hastily into the ring and silently wished that there might be roast turkey, strawberries and cream and trifle and ice cream for supper. He was aware that this was very unlikely, but he was optimistic and thought it worth trying.

  William had almost forgotten
his grievance when he returned home for tea. His mother was out, but Uncle Frederick was having tea with Robert and Flavia.

  ‘Apart from its historical and geographical interest it’s such a wonderful investment,’ Uncle Frederick was saying. ‘I know of a stamp which sold for four pounds in 1898 and which sells for over fifteen pounds today.’

  Robert cleared his throat. He had long ago relinquished subtle methods in trying to oust Uncle Frederick’s stamps from the conversation and introduce his own topics.

  ‘I made a wireless set last month,’ he said.

  ‘Great Britain 1840,’ said Uncle Frederick.

  ‘Seven valves,’ said Robert.

  ‘Black V. R.,’ said Uncle Frederick.

  ‘I can get Germany,’ said Robert.

  Flavia merely sat by as usual serenely conscious of her beauty.

  Uncle Frederick despite himself yielded to Robert’s determined egotism.

  ‘A what?’ he said. ‘A wireless set?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Robert, glancing at Flavia to make sure that she was listening. ‘I made it myself. Seven valves. I can get anywhere with it.’

  ‘Strange as it may seem,’ said Uncle Frederick, ‘I have never listened to one of those instruments – “listened in” is, I believe, the correct expression. As it happens I do not possess one myself, nor do any of my friends. Nor have I ever wished to purchase one. As an entertainment I do not consider that it even approaches stamp collecting. But still – I see that it might be interesting. The news, for instance – the weather forecast – that is given every night, I believe.’

  William, considering that he had been left out of the conversation long enough and seeing an opportunity of entering into it, swallowed half a bun unmasticated and burst out:

  ‘Yes, it’s giv’n every night, but it’s nothin’ to go by. The weather forecast, I mean. If it says it’s goin’ to rain it gen’rally doesn’t, and if it says it isn’t, it gen’rally does.’ He caught Robert’s eye fixed on him sternly, with an expression that could only mean that he was going to eject him mercilessly from the conversation at the first opportunity, and returning the gaze defiantly continued in a loud voice: ‘The weather forecast comes first an’ then the S.O.S.’s. and then—’

  ‘S.O.S.?’ said Uncle Frederick. ‘And what is that?’

  ‘Oh, it’s telling people away from home when they’re wanted at home,’ said William vaguely. ‘Tellin’ ’em you know when something gone wrong an’ they’ve gotter go home at once.’

  Uncle Frederick seemed much impressed.

  ‘I see,’ he said, ‘an excellent idea. A means of getting into touch at once with anyone who is absent. An excellent idea. I see. Then—’

  ‘Seven valves,’ said Robert at last, forcing his way back into the conversation, talking to Uncle Frederick and gazing at the serene and beautiful Flavia, ‘seven valves – a much larger number than most sets are made with. It took me a very long time to make it. I—’

  William, realising that all further attempts on his part at getting back into the conversation would be firmly thwarted by Robert, put one bun into his mouth, slipped another into his pocket and quietly departed.

  The indignity of having had his Indian head-dress destroyed still rankled in William’s breast, but it was growing dimmer with the passage of time. He made his way to a neighbouring farm and there made a collection of hens’ feathers to form a new and yet more splendid head-band. He then took them to a wood near by to count and he was engaged thus when to his amazement and dismay he beheld a Red Indian Chief in full panoply approaching him through the wood. He rubbed his eyes to make sure that it was true and not a vision. It was true. A tall man with a red, hawk-nosed face, an enormous head-dress of feathers, wearing magnificent Red Indian panoply, was stalking past him through the wood in the direction of the road that led to William’s house. It was amazing. But there it was. It was true. And suddenly he remembered his wish in the fairy ring – that a real Red Indian Chief should come and scalp Robert. His heart sank down to his shoes. Crumbs! This was more than he’d bargained for! Crumbs! He’d no idea – He gazed at the vision with awe and astonishment and growing horror. He could not, of course, know that the vision was an acquaintance of Robert’s who had arranged to call for Robert on his way to a small fancy dress party to which they were both going. Robert had as a matter of fact carefully hidden from William his intention of going to the fancy dress party, on the general principle that the less William knew of his movements the better. William roused himself from his paralysis and rose trembling to intercept the stranger.

  ‘Where you goin’?’ he demanded tremulously.

  ‘To the Hollies,’ said the stranger.

  William’s heart sank yet deeper. The Hollies was the name of William’s house.

  ‘Who – who you goin’ there for?’ he faltered.

  ‘For Robert Brown,’ said the stranger.

  It was true. William moistened his lips.

  ‘What you goin’ to do to Robert?’ he said faintly.

  The stranger looked down. He liked making fun of small boys.

  ‘Scalp him,’ he answered with a dramatic snarl, and began again to stride through the wood. William hurried along trying to keep pace with him.

  ‘Look here,’ he said breathlessly. ‘I didn’t mean it. Honest, I didn’t. I didn’t know there was anythin’ in it. Honest, I didn’t. I don’ want you to do it, really. I mean, I c’n make a new one an’ I don’ really mind now. P’raps he sat on the pin an’ then threw it into the fire without thinkin’ what he was doin’. Look here, if you go back where you came from –’

  ‘What on earth do you mean?’ demanded the stranger striding onwards.

  ‘You – you can’t go to Robert,’ said William desperately. ‘’S’no use goin’ for him. You won’t find him. He’s not at home.’

  ‘Where is he?’ demanded the stranger.

  William was silent for a moment, searching in his mind for some place whither a Red Indian, lusting for vengeance, could not follow.

  At last:

  ‘He’s gone up in an aeroplane,’ he said, ‘an’ none of us know when he’s comin’ down, so it’s no use you waitin’ for him.’

  A RED INDIAN CHIEF IN FULL PANOPLY WAS APPROACHING WILLIAM THROUGH THE WOOD.

  At this moment Robert, dressed, in a Harlequin costume, issued from a side gate and hailed his friend.

  ‘Hallo,’ he said, ‘you’re in jolly good time, and, by Jove, you do look fine!’

  WILLIAM GAZED AT THE VISION WITH ASTONISHMENT AND HORROR. CRUMBS! THIS WAS MORE THAN HE’D BARGAINED FOR!

  William, with a snort of disgust, turned on his heel.

  Robert’s friend watched his retreating figure.

  ‘Who’s that?’ he said.

  ‘My brother,’ said Robert.

  ‘Is he potty?’ said the friend. ‘He just said you’d gone up in an aeroplane.’

  ‘Oh, yes, he’s as potty as they make ’em,’ said Robert carelessly.

  Robert had been uncertain whether to go to the fancy dress party or not. Had there been any chance of spending the evening alone with Flavia, he would, of course, not have gone, but Uncle Frederick had announced his intention of reading aloud to Flavia and him a little pamphlet he had just bought called ‘The Romance of Stamp Collecting’. So in disgust Robert went with his friend to the fancy dress party. And the next morning he carelessly threw to William the most magnificent feathered head-dress William had ever seen.

  ‘That chap who went with me last night gave me that,’ he said; ‘he’d got two and didn’t want this one, so he gave it to me. You can have it.’

  It is probable that very mixed motives had prompted Robert’s gift. It is possible that he felt some compunction of heart at his impulsive destruction of William’s treasured head-dress. It is more than possible that he felt apprehensive as to the results. He knew that people did not as a rule insult William with impunity. He had been as a matter of fact nervously awaiting some counte
r-move on William’s part ever since he committed the outrage.

  It was such a very magnificent head-dress that William felt an overpowering sensation of gratitude. It tied his hands. It poisoned his peace of mind. It made him feel obliged to be polite and subservient to Robert, and William hated feeling obliged to be polite and subservient to anyone. He liked to feel free, and untrammelled to carry on that perpetual guerrilla warfare with Robert that lent life some of its necessary zest. The only way of escaping this nauseating sense of obligation was, of course, to bestow upon Robert some magnificent benefit in return – some benefit, in short, commensurate with the feathered head-dress.

  William sat in his bedroom gazing at the stupendous gift, torn between ecstasy at its possession, and a hopeless realisation of the impossibility of conferring upon Robert any comparable benefit. He rose, put on his Red Indian suit, tied on the wonderful feather head-band, and, drunk with pride and rapture, swaggered to and fro before his looking-glass. Then he sat down on the floor, and chin in hand, brows drawn into a fierce frown, he thought and thought and thought and thought. What could he give to Robert, what could he do for Robert, to win back his independence of spirit? No light broke in upon the problem. He rose and went to the window. There below him in the garden walked Uncle Frederick with Robert and Flavia upon either side. Uncle Frederick looked very happy. He was gesticulating forcibly as he talked. He was talking about his set of 1923 Esthonia Triangular, overprinted and surcharged. Scarce.

  Robert walked dejectedly, casting alternate glances of fury at Uncle Frederick and languishment at Flavia. Flavia walked with eyes demurely downcast, occasionally returning Robert’s gaze. Emboldened by this, Robert suggested that Uncle Frederick should sit down and rest upon the garden seat and that he and Flavia should have a little game of tennis on the hard court. Uncle Frederick said that he’d love a little game of tennis and that he’d take them both on and beat them both hollow. He went in to change his shoes and dejectedly they followed.

  William returned to his seat on the floor and again contorted his freckled countenance into an expression indicative of deep thought. Then suddenly a light shone through it. He rose to his feet and, still wearing his headdress, performed a dance of victory, snatching up a toothbrush to wave in lieu of a spear.