William the Good

by Richmal Crompton

  ‘What do you want?’ she snapped.

  William, pulled up in this pleasant chat with the pretty housemaid, remembered what he wanted and said gloomily: ‘I want to speak to the man what’s staying with the headmaster.’

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘William Brown.’

  ‘Well, stay there, and I’ll ask him.’

  ‘All right,’ said William preparing to enter.

  She pushed him back.

  ‘I’m not having them boots in my hall,’ she said with passionate indignation, and went in, closing the door upon him.

  William looked down at his boots with a puzzled frown and then called anxiously to his friends over the gate:

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with my boots, is there?’

  They looked at William’s boots, large, familiar, mud-encrusted.

  ‘No,’ they said, ‘they’re quite all right.’

  ‘What’s she talkin’ about, then?’ said William.

  ‘P’raps she means they’re muddy’ suggested Douglas tentatively.

  ‘Well, that’s what boots are for, i’n’t it?’ said William sternly.

  Just then the housemaid returned and opened the door.

  ‘He says if you’re the boy who’s just shot a catapult at him, certainly not.’

  It was quite obvious from William’s expression that he was the boy.

  ‘Well, what I wanted to say was that—’

  Slowly but very firmly she was closing the door upon him. William planted one of his boots in the track of the closing door.

  ‘Look here!’ he said desperately. ‘Tell him he can shoot a catapult at me. I don’t mind. Look here. Tell him I’ll put an apple on my head, an’ he can—’

  Again the housemaid indignantly pushed him back.

  ‘Look at my step!’ she said fiercely as she closed the door. ‘You and your boots!’

  The door was quite closed now.

  William opened the flap of the letter-box with his hand and said hoarsely:

  ‘Tell him that it was all because of his hat. Say that—’

  But she’d disappeared and it was obvious that she didn’t intend to return.

  He rejoined his friends at the gate.

  ‘’S no good,’ he said dejectedly. ‘She won’t even listen to me. Jus’ keeps on talkin’ about my boots. They’re jus’ the same as anyone else’s boots, as far as I can see. Anyway, what’re we goin’ to do now?’

  ‘Let’s find out what he’s doin’ tonight,’ said Ginger. ‘If he’s goin’ anywhere you might meet him on the way an’ see if he’ll listen to you.’

  ‘Yes,’ said William, ‘that’s a jolly good idea, but – how’re we goin’ to find out what he’s doin’ tonight?’

  ‘It’s after tea-time,’ announced Henry rather pathetically. (Henry hated missing his meals.) ‘I votes we go home to tea now and then come back an’ talk it over some more’

  WILLIAM PLANTED HIS FOOT IN THE TRACK OF THE CLOSING DOOR. ‘LOOK HERE!’ HE SAID DESPERATELY. ‘TELL HIM HE CAN SHOOT A CATAPULT AT ME. I DON’T MIND!’

  ‘I shouldn’t be surprised if it’s goin’ to be rather hard,’ said William still dejectedly, ‘findin’ out what he’s goin’ to do tonight.’

  But it turned out to be quite simple.

  While Douglas was having tea he heard his father say to his mother that he’d heard that the headmaster’s cousin was going to dine with the Carroways, as the headmaster had gone to London on business and wasn’t coming back till the last train.

  Douglas joyfully took this news back to the meeting of the Outlaws.

  They gave him a hearty cheer and William began to look as if the whole thing was now settled.

  ‘That’s all right,’ he said. ‘Now I’ll go ’n’ stay by the front gate of the Carroway house till he comes along and then I’ll plead with him.’

  They looked at him rather doubtfully. Somehow they couldn’t visualise William pleading. William defying, William commanding, were familiar figures, but they had never yet seen William pleading.

  ‘We’ll come along with you,’ said Ginger, ‘an’ help you.’

  ‘All right,’ said William cheerfully. ‘We’ll all plead. It oughter melt him all right, four people pleadin’. What time ought we to be there?’

  ‘I ’spect they have dinner at half-past seven,’ said Ginger.

  ‘Let’s be there at quarter past six so’s to be quite sure not to miss him.’

  They reached the Carroways’ at a quarter past six and took up their posts by the gate. So far, so good. All would, in fact, have gone splendidly had not a circus happened to be in the act of unloading itself in the field next to the Carroways’ house. The Outlaws caught a glimpse of tents, vans, cages. They heard the sound of a muffled roar, they distinctly saw an elephant. It was more than flesh and blood could stand.

  ‘Well,’ said William carelessly, ‘we’ve got here too early an’ it’s no good wastin’ time hangin’ about. Let’s jus’ go’n wait in the field jus’ for five minutes or so. That can’t do any harm.’

  Douglas, who was of a cautious disposition, demurred, but his protests were half-hearted and already the others were through the hedge and making their way to the little crowd that surrounded the caravans and cages. It was beyond their wildest dreams. There was a lion. There was a tiger. There was an elephant. There was a bear. There were several monkeys. They saw a monkey bite a piece out of someone’s trousers. William laughed at this so much that they thought he was going to be sick. The bear sat on its hind legs and flapped its arms. The lion roared. The elephant took someone’s hat off. The whole thing was beyond description.

  The Outlaws wandered about, getting in everyone’s way, putting their noses through the bars of every cage, miraculously escaping sudden death at every turn. It was when William thought that they must have been there nearly five minutes that they asked the time and found that it was twenty past seven. They had been there over an hour.

  ‘Crumbs!’ they ejaculated in dismay, and William said slowly:

  ‘Seems impossible to me. P’raps,’ with sudden hope, ‘their clocks are wrong.’

  But their clocks weren’t wrong. They asked four or five other men and were impatiently given the same reply.

  Aghast, they wandered back to the gate where they had meant to accost the Great Man, but they realised that it was no use waiting there now. He would certainly have arrived by now.

  ‘Let’s go up the drive,’ said Ginger, ‘an’ see if we c’n see him.’

  They crept up the drive. Dusk was falling quickly and the downstairs rooms were lit up. The drawing-room curtains were not drawn and the Outlaws were rewarded by the sight of the Great Man standing on the hearthrug talking to Mr and Mrs Carroway.

  They stared at him forlornly from the bushes.

  ‘Well!’ moaned William, ‘of all the rotten luck!’

  Then they discussed the crisis in hoarse whispers. It would be impossible, of course, to wait till he came home and by tomorrow he would have seen and reported matters to the headmaster. Anyone less determined than the Outlaws would have abandoned the project and gone home. But not the Outlaws.

  ‘Let’s go round to the other side of the house,’ said William, ‘an’ have a look at the dining-room. We might get a chance to whisper to him through the window or somethin’.’

  This was felt to be unduly optimistic, but the suggestion appealed to the Outlaws’ spirit of adventure and they followed William round to the side of the house.

  The dining-room window was open but the curtains were drawn. The curtains, however, did not quite meet at the top and William said that by climbing on to the roof of the summer-house he thought he could see into the room.

  Using Ginger and Douglas as a stepladder, he hoisted himself up on to the roof of the summer-house. It was now so dark that he could not see the Outlaws down among the bushes.

  ‘I can’t see into the room yet,’ he whispered, ‘but,’ he added optimistically, ‘I bet if
I stand on tiptoe—’

  At this point the Outlaws became conscious of some sort of a commotion, of the sound of many excited voices. Then a man with a lighted lantern began to make what was obviously a tour of inspection of the garden.

  William crouched down upon his summer-house and the others crouched down among the bushes.

  The man with the lighted lantern passed, muttering to himself.

  The Great Man stood in the drawing-room talking to Mr and Mrs Carroway and to Mrs Carroway’s companion, Miss Seed.

  It was, of course, unfortunate that Mrs Carroway’s companion was called Miss Seed, and had there been any other suitable applicant for the post Mrs Carroway would certainly not have chosen Miss Seed. However, there hadn’t been, so both of them made the best of the situation and had brought to a fine art the capacity of looking quite unconscious when their names were pronounced together.

  The Great Man was talking. The Great Man was, as a matter of fact, never completely happy unless he was talking, and he had been pleased to find that he was the only guest because he so often found that other guests liked to talk as well, and that completely spoilt the evening for him. He was, however, rather annoyed when Mrs Carroway was called out to someone at the front door in the middle of his very brilliant summary of the political situation. He cleared his throat in an annoyed fashion, frowned, and stood in silence watching the door for her return. He didn’t consider Mr Carroway alone worth addressing, and Miss Seed had gone out to see to the dinner, because Mrs Carroway was, as usual, without maids and one of the reasons why Mrs Carroway had chosen Miss Seed as a companion, despite her name, was that she did not mind seeing to dinners in the intervals of companioning Mrs Carroway. After a few minutes Mrs Carroway returned.

  ‘When I say that this Government has missed some of its finest opportunities,’ he began at once, ‘I refer of course—’

  But Mrs Carroway didn’t wait to hear to what he referred. She didn’t care at all what opportunities the Government had missed.

  ‘What shall we do?’ she burst out hysterically. ‘Here’s a man to say that a lion has escaped from the circus and they think it may be in our back garden, because there’s only a fence between our back garden and the field where the circus is. Oh, what shall we do? We shall all be eaten alive.’

  The Great Man cleared his throat and took command of the situation.

  ‘Send the man round the garden to search,’ he said, ‘and we will meantime remain perfectly calm and lock up all the doors and windows. Be brave, Mrs Carroway, and trust yourself to my protection. I will see that all the doors and windows are securely fastened. Courage! Remember we are English men and, ahem, English women, and must show no fear. Lock and bolt the front door at once and shout through the letter-box to the man to make a thorough search of the garden.’

  This was done. The man seemed slightly peeved and went off alone muttering.

  The Great Man then made a tour of the house, closing every door and window firmly. Finally, he collected Mr and Mrs Carroway and Miss Seed into the drawing-room where he locked the shutters and moved the grand piano across the door.

  ‘Let courage and fortitude be our motto,’ he said. ‘Let us now meet danger calmly.’

  No one listened to him. Miss Seed was tending Mrs Carroway who was in hysterics and was hoping that she’d soon be sufficiently recovered to allow her to have them in her turn, and Mr Carroway was trying to get under the sofa.

  The Great Man, therefore, had no one to address but his own reflection in the full-length mirror. So he addressed it spiritedly.

  ‘England expects—’ he began. At this moment there came a loud rat-tat-tat at the knocker. Mrs Carroway, who was just coming out of hysterics, went into them again, and Mr Carroway put his head out of the sofa to say reassuringly: ‘Don’t be alarmed, dearest. It can’t be the lion. The lion couldn’t reach up to the knocker.’

  Then someone pushed open the letter-box and the voice of the man with the lantern called: ‘He ain’t in your garden, mister. I’ve been all over your garden,’ and added sarcastically: ‘You can come out from hunder the sofa. ’E won’t ’urt you.’

  ‘What a very impertinent man,’ said Mr Carroway. ‘I shall report him to the manager of his firm.’

  The Great Man began to unbarricade the door.

  ‘We may all justly pride ourselves,’ he said, ‘upon the dauntless courage we have displayed in the face of this crisis.’

  ‘I’m so hungry,’ said Miss Seed pathetically.

  ‘Hungry?’ said Mrs Carroway. ‘I’m past hunger. I shall never, never, never be able to describe to you what I’ve suffered during these last few minutes.’

  Mr Carroway looked rather relieved at the information.

  They went into the dining-room and took their seats. Miss Seed brought in the dinner, and the Great Man returned to the opportunities the Government had missed.

  MR CARROWAY CRAWLED OUT FROM UNDER THE SOFA. ‘A NICE THING!’ HE SAID. ‘A NICE THING, THIS!’

  ‘I still feel faint,’ said Mrs Carroway, unwilling to share the limelight with the Government or anyone else. ‘I still feel most faint. I always do after any nervous shock.’

  THE GREAT MAN BEGAN TO UNBARRICADE THE DOOR. ‘WE MAY ALL JUST PRIDE OUTSELVES,’ HE SAID, ‘UPON OUR DAUNTLESS COURAGE!’

  Her husband went to the window and drew back the curtains and opened the window.

  ‘I – I don’t know that I’d do that,’ said Mrs Carroway, gazing fearfully out into the dark garden. ‘One can’t be quite sure – I mean—’

  At that moment came the sound of a heavy body crashing through the undergrowth. With a wild scream Mrs Carroway rose and fled from the room.

  ‘Quick,’ she panted, ‘out of the front door and across to the Vicarage for refuge. The creature is gathering for a spring. This house is unsafe—’

  She was halfway down the front drive by this time, followed closely by the others. The Great Man, being far from nimble on his feet, panted along at the end, gasping, ‘Courage, friends . . . let courage be our motto.’

  The house was left empty and silent.

  The sound of the heavy crashing through the undergrowth had of course been William leaping down from the roof of the summer-house to join his companions below, losing his balance just as he leapt, and falling among the laurel bushes.

  He sat up, rubbing his head and ejecting laurel leaves from his mouth. Then: ‘I say, what’s all the fuss about?’ he whispered. ‘I thought I heard someone scream.’

  ‘So’d I,’ said the Outlaws mystified.

  ‘What was that man goin’ round with a lantern for?’ whispered William.

  ‘I d’no,’ said the Outlaws, still more mystified.

  ‘Well,’ said William, abandoning the mystery for the moment, ‘let’s go an’ see if we can see what they’re doing’ now. Someone’s drawn the curtains.’

  They crept up through the bushes to the open dining-room window. To their amazement they saw a brightly lit room, a table laid for four, steaming dishes upon it, and chairs drawn up in position – all completely empty.

  ‘Crumbs,’ said William in amazement, ‘that’s queer.’

  The Outlaws gazed in silence at the astounding sight till Ginger said weakly:

  ‘Where’ve they all gone to?’

  ‘P’raps they’re in the other room,’ suggested Douglas.

  They crept round to the drawing-room window. The drawing-room was empty.

  ‘P’raps – p’raps,’ said Henry without conviction, ‘they’re all in the kitchen.’

  They crept round to the kitchen. The kitchen was empty. They looked at the upstairs windows. They were all in darkness.

  William scratched his head and frowned.

  ‘’S very mysterious,’ he commented.

  Then they returned to the dining-room. It was still empty. The steaming dishes were still upon the table. An odour was wafted out to the waiting Outlaws – an odour so succulent that it was impossible to resist it. It
was William who first swung himself over the low window sill of the open window into the room. The others followed. They stood in silence and gazed at the steaming dishes on the table, the four places, the four chairs.

  ‘Seems,’ said Ginger dreamily, ‘seems sort of like a fairy-tale – like a sort of Arabian Nights story.’

  ‘Well,’ said William slowly, ‘it cert’nly seems sort of meant.’

  ‘I read a tale once like this,’ said Douglas, ‘and they sat down at the table and invisible hands waited on them.’

  ‘Let’s try,’ said William suddenly, taking his seat at the head of the table, ‘let’s try if invisible hands’ll wait on us.’

  They needed no encouragement. They all took their seats with alacrity. In fairness to whatever invisible hands might have waited upon the Outlaws, it must be admitted that they did not get much chance. The Outlaws began immediately to wait upon themselves with visible and very grimy hands. Each had a suspicion that at any minute the feast might be interrupted. None of them really had much faith in the Arabian Nights idea. Under the cover in front of William was a roast chicken. The dishes contained bread sauce, gravy, potatoes and cauliflower. William dismembered the chicken ruthlessly and with a fine disregard for anatomy, and they helped themselves from the various dishes. It was a glorious meal. There was in the room complete silence, broken only by the sounds of the Outlaws endeavouring to put away as much of this gorgeous repast as they could before the dream should fade into reality, and some grown-up confront them, demanding explanation. They did not draw breath till every dish was bare and then, flushed and panting, they sat back and William said meditatively: ‘Wonder what they were goin’ to have after this?’

  Douglas suggested giving the invisible hands a chance, but the suggestion was not popular and Henry, catching sight of a hatch in the wall, went to investigate. The hatch slid up and on the ledge just inside was waiting a magnificent cream edifice and a little pile of four plates. Four gasps of ecstasy went up. Again there was silence, broken only by the sounds of the Outlaws working hard against time. At last that dish, too, was empty. There was a barrel of biscuits and a pile of fruit on the sideboard, but the capacity even of the Outlaws was exhausted.