‘I’m not grumblin’,’ said William distantly. ‘I’m only statin’ a fact. I’m only sayin’ that it’s a pity it can’t talk when it’s in a circus an’ not when it’s not.’
The parrot sniggered and murmured, ‘Oh, my hair! Stop it!’
‘I b’lieve,’ said Henry impressively, ‘that there’s a cellar. Well, if we put him in a cellar she prob’ly won’t hear him when he talks an’ she prob’ly won’t find him ’cause she prob’ly won’t go down into the cellar, so it’ll prob’ly be all right.’
This idea appealed to the Outlaws chiefly because of the opportunity it afforded of investigating the cellars. The Outlaws loved cellars.
‘All right,’ they said, ‘let’s go ’n’ see.’
On tiptoe, led by William, they crept into the hall. William held Jumble under his coat and the box containing Whitey under his arm. Henry held Monk under his coat. Ginger carried the still quiescent Rameses in his basket and wore his father’s hat on his head, and Douglas carried the cage containing the parrot and his mother’s dressing-gown over his other arm.
There was a door under the stairs. They opened it. There were steps. Yes, most certainly cellars. Very cautiously the little procession crept down. Glorious cellars, enormous cellars, heavenly vistas of cellars opening out of each other. They explored blissfully for some time for sheer love of exploration. Then William recalled them sternly to the business of the day.
‘Let’s find a nice dark corner for the parrot,’ he said, ‘so’s he’ll go to sleep an’ not start talkin’ all over the place.’
They found a nice dark corner. Douglas had brought a plentiful supply of parrot food in his pocket and he poured this into the parrot’s dish. The parrot gave a deep sigh and then burst into a peal of high-pitched ironic laughter. Douglas surveyed his mother’s wrap.
‘Might as well leave this here, too,’ he said, throwing it upon a derelict clothes horse that stood near. It hung down in graceful folds.
‘Looks almost ’s good ’s a ghost,’ said William, admiring the effect. ‘Put the hat on it too.’
But Ginger was enjoying wearing the hat and did not wish to give it up just yet. He rather fancied himself in it. He wished that he were to wear it instead of William.
‘No,’ he said firmly, ‘we don’t want to put too many things in one place. We want to have some things left if she starts nosing round down here. Let’s go an’ have a look round upstairs.’
Leaving the parrot, who was still laughing sardonically to himself, the Outlaws, considerably lightened of their burdens, crept up to the hall again. The caretaker’s wife’s mother’s snores still reverberated gently through the house.
‘Upstairs!’ hissed William. His eye gleamed with the light of the explorer. To William life was one long glorious Romance. Upstairs, however, proved, on the whole, disappointing. It seemed to consist solely of dormitories and mistresses’ bedrooms. The only excitement was half a dozen Italian stamps on the window-sill of one of the dormitories. They turned out, however, to be ‘pricked’ and useless for collections.
‘Well, anyway,’ said Henry, putting them on one side with disgust, ‘we can leave Monk here.’
‘Let’s see him walk,’ said Ginger with sudden interest.
William buttoned Jumble firmly up inside his coat (a proceeding to which Jumble objected, but to which he was quite accustomed), and Henry turned the key which wound up the works of Monk. To the Outlaws’ great delight Monk walked across the room till he came to a chair which barred his progress. He then perforce stopped, but was obviously willing and anxious to continue as soon as the chair was removed.
Henry was just going to remove it when Jumble, who had caught sight of his enemy through a buttonhole, made a spasmodic effort to escape, and bursting asunder William’s one remaining button, flung himself from William’s grasp. He was captured in the nick of time by Ginger and returned to William’s bosom barking furiously and making frenzied efforts to escape.
William, smothering Jumble’s outburst as best he could, took him from the room, followed by the other Outlaws, leaving Monk still embracing the obstructing chair. Jumble, who really knew quite well that they were uninvited guests in the house and that he ought to be silent, but had been temporarily overcome by his feelings, nuzzled his head apologetically under William’s shoulder. They leant over the balusters listening fearfully. No sound came from below but the faint ghostlike echoes of distant snores.
‘Better not go back to that room,’ whispered Henry, ‘we’ll leave Monk there. I bet it’s quite a good hiding place. I bet she won’t go lookin’ there. What’s that room?’
Ginger opened the door cautiously.
‘It’s a box-room,’ he said. ‘I’ll leave this ole hat here. It’s a good hiding place for it.’
Douglas had followed him. William and Henry were investigating a room at the other end of the landing.
Douglas looked round the room critically. His gaze wandered round floor and wall and ceiling, and rested finally on the top of the door. He chuckled.
‘I bet I could do a trick there,’ he said. ‘You go out a minute and don’t look and come in when I tell you.’
Ginger went out.
‘Come on!’ said Douglas in a hoarse whisper after a few minutes. Ginger returned to the door. It was open a few inches. He opened it further. The top hat dropped upon him from above, appearing to extinguish him. Douglas gave an exultant chuckle at the result of his trick.
‘It balances jus’ above the door,’ he explained, ‘let’s do it on ole William.’
He climbed on to a box, balanced the hat again, then, managing to squeeze himself through the narrow aperture, went with Ginger to look for William.
William was in a linen cupboard making perilous experiments with a lift that evidently descended to the kitchen regions. In the excitement of this Douglas and Ginger forgot the hat. It was only fear of waking the sleeping woman below that prevented William from essaying the descent into the nether regions in person. Instead, they sent Rameses and Whitey in their respective receptacles half-way up and down the lift till sudden movements in Rameses’ basket showed that he had awakened again to a sense of his grievances.
‘P’raps we’d better be goin’,’ said William reluctantly, and they took box and basket under their arms again and crept downstairs. They went into a large study at the bottom of the stairs. The walls were lined with books. William looked around him without enthusiasm.
‘Dull-looking place,’ he commented. Then his eye fell upon a large wooden box upon the desk in the window. He opened it. It contained a few papers.
‘It’s a nice place for Whitey,’ he said, ‘plenty of room an’ a nice big keyhole for air. We’ll make it nice an’ comfy for him an’ he’ll be all right till tomorrow.’
He spread his handkerchief at the bottom in an attempt to ensure Whitey’s comfort in his place of confinement. The other Outlaws added theirs. Finally Whitey was laid on the top of this, and after biting William’s finger during the process, settled down to an ungrateful but wholesale destruction of his bedding. They could hear the muffled tearing of handkerchiefs as they shut the box.
‘Well, that’s a nice way to carry on,’ said Ginger indignantly, ‘when we were jus’ tryin’ to make him comfortable.’
‘He prob’ly thought we meant him to eat ’em,’ explained William, ever loyal to his pets. ‘I think it’s jolly clever of him.’
‘Well, there’s only Rameses left,’ said Douglas.
Rameses was quite awake by now. He was quietly swearing and tearing at his basket-work.
‘He’ll have to go back home,’ said Ginger, ‘they’d miss him an’ he’d have the whole place down before morning ’f we kept him here – I say, I believe I heard someone moving—’
They listened. Someone was moving. Someone was opening the kitchen door and coming down the hall.
Like lightning the Outlaws streaked out of the window, and, still carrying Rameses in his basket, disappear
ed in the distance.
It was the next morning. Joan had returned – more adorable than ever. The Outlaws had assembled at her back gate in a little sheepish crowd to wait till she came out. They had intended to pay her a state call and ring boldly at the front-door bell, but their courage had failed them, their swagger had dropped from them, and instead they hung sheepishly about her back gate, casting furtive glances at her window and pretending a sudden violent interest in the hedge and the ditch at that point of the road. But Joan saw them and ran out to them at once with no pretence of indifference, with none of that quality known to the Outlaws and their contemporaries as ‘swank.’
‘Oh!’ she exclaimed with shining eyes, ‘how lovely to see you all again!’
William swallowed and blinked. He had always suspected Joan of being the supreme product of her sex and now he was sure of it.
‘What you doin’ this afternoon?’ he said, with an attempt at his old superior nonchalance.
‘I’m going out to tea,’ said Joan. ‘Oh, but it is so nice to see you all again.’
‘We’d got a sort of show for you, that’s all,’ said William indifferently, ‘but’s all right if you’re goin’ out to tea.’
Joan clasped her hands. ‘Oh, of course I’ll come, William. Of course I’ll come. I won’t go out to tea. I jus’ simply won’t. And how nice of you to do it. And how nice of you to come round here to see me.’
William slashed carelessly at the grass around him with his ash switch (William always carried an ash switch for the purpose of slashing at the grass and fences and hedges around him).
‘Oh, we jus’ happened to be passing,’ he said with elaborate unconcern. ‘You – you’ll come then?’
‘Oh, yes, William – what time?’
‘’Bout three. We’ll fetch you.’
‘HOW LOVELY TO SEE YOU ALL AGAIN!’ EXCLAIMED JOAN.
‘Oh, William, how lovely.’
So that was all right.
The Outlaws approached Rose Mount School stealthily in single file. They wanted to spy out first the movements and position of their enemy, the caretaker, and to make sure that the properties and artistes were as they had left them. They peeped cautiously through the kitchen window. The kitchen was empty. So far, so good. They went round to the other side of the house. And there they received their first shock. The drawing-room, so gloriously empty last night, was full now of females standing about and talking excitedly in groups. One of them caught sight of the Outlaws, flung up the window and called:
‘Go away, boys, at once! Do you hear? Shoo! Go away at once or I’ll send for the police.’
The Outlaws, speechless with astonishment and dismay, faded into the bushes.
‘Well!’ said Ginger eloquently.
‘Crumbs!’ said William.
‘My eye!’ said Douglas.
‘Where’ve they come from?’ said Henry.
‘Let’s try the other side,’ said William recovering from his stupor of astonishment.
They tried the other side. The Library also seemed bewilderingly full of females. Ginger, venturing incautiously near the window, his eyes agog with amazement and horror, was spied by one of them. She strode to the window and flung it open.
‘Go away at once, you naughty little boys,’ she said. ‘Don’t you know that this is private property? Go away at once, I say!’
Again the Outlaws faded into the bushes.
‘Well,’ said Douglas, ‘what we goin’ to do now—’
‘An’ my father’s hat’s there,’ said Ginger.
‘An’ my sister’s monkey’s there,’ said Henry.
‘An’ what we goin’ to do for this afternoon?’
‘An’ who are they?’
‘Well, we’ve gotta do somethin’,’ said William firmly.
‘All right. S’pose you go an’ ring at the front door an’ ask for our things,’ said Ginger.
‘Yes, an’ s’pose you do,’ said William.
‘Well, I’m not afraid.’
‘An’ I’m not afraid.’
‘All right, go then.’
‘All right, I will,’ said William. ‘I’ll go now. I’m not afraid. I’m not afraid of anyone in the whole world.’
Determined to justify this summary of his character, the intrepid hero emerged from the bushes and walked up to the front door. He rang the bell with unnecessary violence in order to demonstrate to all within that he wasn’t afraid of anyone in the whole world. A small fat female in horn-rimmed spectacles came to the door.
‘What do you want, boy?’ she said severely.
‘Please,’ said William hoarsely, with a mixture of defiance and humility in his bearing (defiance to prove that he feared no foe in horn-rimmed spectacles or anything else, and humility to propitiate the severity which shone from the lady’s every feature). ‘Please can we jus’ come in an’ fetch a few things—’
‘Go away at once,’ said the lady angrily. ‘You’re the little boys I saw hanging round here a few minutes ago. And if you don’t go away at once, I’ll send for the police.’
‘Please,’ said William, dropping his defiance and becoming abjectly humble, ‘please, there’s jus’ a few of our things here—’
‘There are none of your things here, you naughty little boy! How dare you tell such stories. I’ll ring up for the police this instant if you don’t—’
William faded again into the bushes.
‘’S no good,’ he said despondently to his companions, ‘they won’t let us in.’
‘Yes, an’ what about my aunt’s parrot,’ said Douglas indignantly, ‘starvin’ to death in the cellar. An’ I specks they’ve found out he’s gone now at my aunt’s an’ they’ll be makin’ no end of a fuss. An’ there he’ll be for months an’ months starvin’ to death.’
‘Yes, an’ what about my father’s hat?’ said Ginger, ‘an’ he’s goin’ to a wedding next week.’
‘And what about Monk?’ said Henry, ‘she’d forgot him jus’ at first, but she was lookin’ round for some-thin’ when I came out an’ I bet it was Monk. Well, an’ if he has to stay here for months an’ months there’ll be a nice fuss.’
‘Let’s try the kitchen window,’ said Douglas. ‘There wasn’t anyone in the kitchen when we came in an’ I bet we can get down into the cellar from the kitchen.’
This suggestion was considered and approved of, and Douglas, as the author of it, was entrusted with the delicate mission of scouting in the region of the kitchen to make sure that the coast was clear. He departed with an ostentatious elaboration of secrecy that would have done credit to a cinema villain.
He returned looking crestfallen.
‘I say,’ he said in an awed whisper, ‘the kitchen’s full of ’em now. They’re messin’ about with eggs an’ cookery books an’ things.’
Blank dejection descended upon the Outlaws.
‘Well,’ said Douglas pathetically, ‘jus’ think of my poor ole parrot starvin’ to death in a dark cellar.’
‘Oh, do shut up about your ole parrot. It’d got enough stuff to keep it alive for years an’ years. What about my father’s hat an’ Henry’s sister’s Monk? I bet we’ll catch it hotter from our fathers than you will from an ole aunt.’
This suggestion of inferiority of retribution touched Douglas’s honour to the quick.
‘I bet you won’t, then,’ he said indignantly, ‘’cause she’ll tell my father an’ I bet I’ll get it’s hot as anyone.’
‘I say – look!’ said Ginger excitedly.
He was peering over the bushes towards a little rose garden that lay secluded in the grounds of Rose Mount School. In it stood a lady of uncertain years, leaning against a sundial, obviously engaged in trying to decipher the inscription.
‘I say,’ whispered William, ‘she looks – she looks sort of soft. I vote someone goes an’ talks to her an’ tries to find out how long they’ll all be here.’
It was decided that Ginger should do this. Ginger, though of villainous appeara
nce, was supposed by his contemporaries to have a winning way with members of the fair sex.
So Ginger, assuming an ingratiating smile and watched closely by his friends through the bushes, approached the lady by the sundial.
‘G’mornin’,’ he said, raising his cap with a flourish.
It was easier to raise his hat with a flourish than to replace it with a flourish. As a result of innumerable wettings his cap had shrunk to about half the size of the lining and so sat unevenly upon his bullet head.
‘Good morning,’ said the lady quite pleasantly.
Ginger’s spirits rose. Evidently life had not yet inspired her with that dislike of small boys with which it seemed to have inspired the majority of her sex.
‘Please,’ continued Ginger with nauseating but well-meaning politeness, ‘could you tell me, tell me – er – what all these people’s doin’ here?’
‘It’s a retreat, little boy,’ said the lady kindly.
Ginger brightened.
‘A retreat?’ he said. ‘Why, is there a war goin’ on somewhere?’
‘No, dear,’ explained the lady still kindly. ‘We’re the Society for the Study of Psychical Philosophy.’
‘Oh,’ said Ginger.
‘And we’re meeting here for a course of lectures and discussions. We’re going to do everything ourselves. We’ve sent the caretaker home because the spirits have told us that it is degrading to ask any other human being to perform personal service for another. Tolstoy, of course, held the same tenets, did he not?’
‘Uh,’ said Ginger blankly. Then, after a slight pause, ‘You goin’ to be here long?’
‘For some weeks, we hope. You learn Latin, little boy, do you not? I wonder if you can translate this motto for me.’
But Ginger had disappeared. He was returning with his gloomy tidings to his friends.
‘Weeks!’ gasped Douglas. ‘An’ the poor ole parrot down there in the cellar starvin’ to death.’
‘An’ my father goin’ to a wedding next week,’ groaned Ginger.
‘An’ they’ll be sure to blame me for Monk,’ said Henry. ‘They blame me for everything.’
William in Trouble Page 10