William_the Dictator

by Richmal Crompton

  The rule that came over and over again was: “Hold up your Head and Look the World in the Face.” Then followed a lot of little sentences that you had to say to yourself as you Looked the World in the Face, such as: “There is nothing I cannot do.” (Robert, who was an essentially truthful boy, shrank somewhat from this palpable untruth, but determined to go the whole hog and say it with the rest.) “I can if I will, not I will if I can.” “Nothing and no one can withstand me.” “Inexhaustible power surges within me.” “Health and happiness are mine,” and several others of like trend. Robert conscientiously committed these slogans to memory and sallied forth the next morning to Look the World in the Face.

  He was amazed by the instant success of the system. (It happened to be the day that the news of his legacy had spread through the village.) Everyone he spoke to (saying the little slogans to himself the while) gave him a new and respectful attention. People he didn’t speak to came and spoke to him with a friendliness, an obvious admiration, that no one had ever accorded him before.

  The extent to which his secret powers of magnetism and attraction were being liberated, amazed him. The rules of “How to be Popular” worked like magic. What a pity he hadn’t bought it years ago! How strange that everyone didn’t buy it! (It occurred to him to wonder what would happen if they did, though, because if everyone was dominating and attractive there’d be no one left to be dominated and attracted, and a most awkward situation would arise.)

  Still, there was no doubt that he possessed, as the book had told him he did, an irresistible personality. Certainly, now that it was liberated no one seemed able to resist it. Peggy came down to the gate to meet him as he approached her house and, with a sweetness that made her almost unrecognisable, suggested a walk in the woods. During the walk she discoursed upon her utter indifference to wealth and luxury, and told him at least eleven times that she always liked people for themselves alone—a choice of subjects that Robert would have found rather strange if he had not been so busy saying his little slogans to himself that he hardly listened. And it wasn’t only Peggy. Clarinda Bellew, Dolly Claris, Emmeline Moston, Cornelia Gerrard, Dorita Merton—girls who’d had no use for him at all for years—suddenly seemed to fall under the spell of his liberated powers of attraction, his new dynamic personality. There was no doubt at all that he was Born to Succeed, as the little book had said he was. And it wasn’t only young people. Older people in the village, too, seemed suddenly to succumb to his fatal magnetism. Miss Milton, for one, waylaid him as he was passing her gate and accosted him with tender enquiries about his health.

  “I’m quite well, thank you,” said Robert somewhat absent-mindedly, as he silently repeated: “I can if I will, not I will if I can.”

  Miss Milton looked at him fondly. “Your health is very precious, dear boy.”

  Robert smiled sheepishly, and told himself that there was Nothing he Couldn’t Do.

  “You know, dear boy,” continued Miss Milton, sinking her voice confidentially, “the possession of wealth is a great responsibility.”

  Robert agreed absently and assured himself that Inexhaustible Power Surged within him.

  “It’s so important,” said Miss Milton, “that it should be used for the public good and not for private pleasure.”

  Robert agreed, remembering suddenly to Hold up his Head and Look the World in the Face. Miss Milton, a little startled by the sudden glare he turned on her, continued: “My little Society for Providing Comforts for Sick Pets is sadly in need of funds. You won’t forget that, will you?”

  Robert said vaguely that he wouldn’t, and went on assuring himself once again that there was Nothing he Couldn’t Do.

  It occurred to him that most people who spoke to him nowadays seemed to want to discuss the possibilities and responsibilities of wealth with him. The Vicar had stopped him one day and talked to him at length about the choir’s crying need of new surplices. A friend of his father’s, who had never spoken to him before, had accosted him and held forth about a mine in South America that only wanted a little capital to secure at least fifty per cent for its shareholders. Peggy Barlow, though repeating at regular intervals that money meant nothing to her, kept telling him how much she had always longed for a diamond brooch, a real pearl necklace and a high-powered motor car.

  The only explanation he could think of was that, now that his dynamic personality was released, people naturally wished to discuss more serious subjects with him than the weather and football results. He was quite willing to let people choose their own subjects of discussion, because the silent repetition of his little slogans, which had proved so astoundingly successful, took most of his attention.

  Meantime, William had been somewhat disconcerted by the result of his disclosure of the fortune teller’s prophecy. He still believed implicitly in the actual legacy, but he was aware that he had added to the bare fact a little more embroidery than was strictly justified. Moreover, he continued to add it. Though scrupulous not to mention the subject to Robert, people bombarded William with questions, and William, who never liked to admit himself at a loss, answered them all. He described in detail the incident of the old man’s being found by Robert, wandering lost in the fog. He described the old man’s home, his appearance, his family, his disposition. He said that he lived near the aunt whom Robert had been to visit in the summer, and that the incident had occurred during his visit. That made the fog a little puzzling, but when someone suggested a sea mist William eagerly accepted the explanation. He said that the old man had quarrelled with all his family because they made such a fuss about him keeping white rats and minnows in his bedroom—a reason which seemed to William a perfectly convincing one, but which his interlocutors found somewhat puzzling. The whole story, indeed, as told by William, had a somewhat exotic air, but it never occurred to anyone to doubt it. William’s accounts of things were always confused, but he was not likely to have invented the main fact of the legacy. They continued to regard Robert with excited interest. And so Robert, delighted but just a little bewildered, was swept along by the full, strong stream of popularity. His popularity, indeed, was almost embarrassing. The young man in the advertisement was ostracised in comparison. People asked his advice about all sorts of things. He had so many engagements that he had to buy a little book and put them down. And he continued to Hold up his Head and Look the World in the Face and repeat the little slogans to which he thought he owed everything.

  The fact that, at the end of the week, he won three pounds in a football pool, seemed to him only a natural part of this triumphant career. To William it was the fulfilment of the prophecy. Three pounds was, to him, untold wealth. Thousands and millions were vague terms used to express three pounds or thereabouts. And the word “legacy” too was probably a loose term, used to express money coming unexpectedly from any quarter. Anyway, he was glad that it had come at last. He was sick of being asked questions about it and having to make up answers. He was relieved to be freed from the necessity of reconciling conflicting statements and trying to remember what he had last said about the old man’s habits, appearance, and family. He walked through the village wearing an air of importance.

  “Robert’s got that money I told you about,” he told everyone. “It came this morning.”

  Hie news spread like wildfire. Robert’s legacy had arrived. They recalled William’s wilder statements, though the more cautious prudently discounted them. “I hardly think it’s actually millions, but it’s probably thousands.”

  Robert, going into the village for some cigarettes, was amazed at his reception—or, at least, he would have been amazed if his new popularity hadn’t accustomed him to that sort of reception. People accosted him on all sides, and wrung him by the hand.

  “Congratulations, old boy. Heartiest congratulations.”

  Some of them hailed him facetiously as “Lord Nuffield”. He supposed that William had told everyone about his three pounds. Trust that little beggar to spread any news there was to spread! Sti
ll, Robert was not sorry that everyone should know of his success. It marked him out as the sort of person who couldn’t fail at anything, even at a football pool. When they asked him what he was going to do with it, and he said he was going to buy new tyres for his motor-cycle, they thought he was being funny and roared with laughter. On the other band, when they asked him for donations to the Cricket Club, the Football Club, the Village Hall Fund, and the Choir Treat, he thought they were being funny and roared with laughter in his turn.

  A few of the more honest ones said that he was behaving very queerly about his fortune. Others said it was all part of his charm—that charm that he had so recently acquired.

  By evening, Robert had completely disposed of the three pounds. He had bought a pair of quite good tyres for his motor-cycle, given a shilling to William, and spent the remaining five shillings on a present for Peggy. It was, he considered, an extremely handsome present—a large, paste brooch in the shape of a motor-car. The shopman had said they were a special line and could never be repeated at that price. The Mercers were giving a fancy-dress party that night, and he meant to present it to her then. He looked forward with pleasant anticipation to her gratitude. She was grateful for anything and nothing nowadays. Strange to remember how aloof and disdainful she had been only a short time ago. His liberated dynamic personality had made a completely different person of her.

  He was wearing his “School for Scandal” costume and had taken a good deal of trouble burnishing it up and trying to take out the stain where someone had spilt claret-cup on it the last time he’d worn it. His efforts had only spread the stain, but he wasn’t worrying because his new popularity would carry off any amount of claret-cup stains. William was going in his Red Indian suit. The two set out together, Robert silent and aloof. He had not thought it worth while to book many dances beforehand, as every girl he knew had hinted that she was keeping every dance free for him. “I can if I will,” he murmured to himself as he went along. “Nothing and no one can withstand me.” “Inexhaustible power surges within me.” William, on his side, was feeling at peace with himself and all the world. There would be jellies, blancmanges and trifles, and no one to restrain him, for Robert would be busy with his own affairs. Moreover, Robert had come into his money and so that episode was satisfactorily closed. People would have to stop asking him questions about it. He was sick to death of that old man in the fog. Robert had given him a shilling and he still had sixpence left. Life therefore, was very rosy for William, and he was grateful to the fortune teller, who, he felt, was the originator of this state of things.

  Peggy Barlow was waiting for Robert just inside the dance-room. Clarinda Bellew, Dolly Clavis, Emmeline Moston, Dorita Merton and Cornelia Gerrard were waiting for him, too, but Peggy got in first. Robert took her to an alcove and pressed the little packet into her hands.

  “Just a small present,” he explained modestly.

  Peggy opened it and drew a deep breath of delight.

  “Oh, Robert!” she gasped. “Diamonds?’

  Robert laughed.

  “Well, hardly diamonds exactly,” he said, “but they do get them up awfully well, nowadays, don’t they?”

  Peggy stared at him.

  “Do you mean they aren’t real?” she said indignantly.

  Robert’s mouth dropped open.

  “How on earth do you think I could buy real diamonds?” he gasped.

  “You got your money this morning, didn’t you?"

  “Yes,” said Robert, “but—”

  She interrupted him angrily.

  “And you bring me a cheap thing like this!”

  “Hang it all!” expostulated Robert. “It cost five shillings. I don’t call that cheap.”

  “Five shillings!” echoed Peggy hysterically. “Five shillings! You got all that money this morning, and you spend five shillings on me.”

  “It was a jolly sight more than I could afford, too,” said Robert resentfully.

  “You’re going to be very careful of it, aren’t you?” sneered Peggy.

  “I don’t know what you call careful,” said Robert. “I’ve spent it all, anyway.”

  She stared at him in incredulous horror.

  “Spent all that?” she said. “You must be mad.”

  “It was only three pounds,” said Robert.

  “Three—?” Words failed her.

  “Yes. Three pounds from one of those football pools. I’ve been trying for months.”

  “But what about your legacy?” she said.

  “Legacy?” said Robert wildly. “What legacy?”

  “The legacy from the old man in the fog.”

  “The—?” Robert’s head reeled. “The what?”

  “The old man in the fog. The one you found lost and showed the way to, and who left you his fortune.” Robert’s face was a mask of bewilderment.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “You must be thinking of someone else.”

  Peggy stamped angrily.

  “Of course I’m not thinking of anyone else. You spread this story just to get me to take some notice of you—though, as I said all along,” she interpolated hastily, “money means less than nothing to me—and then you have the nerve to stand there and tell me that it was all a lie. A deliberate lie!”

  Robert felt that he must be dreaming.

  “Listen!” he pleaded. “I never told you about any old man in a fog . . .”

  “No,” agreed Peggy contemptuously, “you were too much of a skunk even to do that. You got someone else to do your dirty work. You spread the story through an innocent child. Oh!” She gave an exaggerated shudder of disgust. “I didn’t think that such a worm could exist. I shall never speak to you again as long as I live, and neither will any other decent girl.”

  With that she turned on her heel and left him. He stared after her, more bewildered than ever. He’d never heard such rubbish in his life. She’d gone mad. She must have gone mad. Well, he didn’t care. And he’d just show her, too. Clarinda Bellew, Dolly Clavis, Emmeline Moston, Dorita Merton and Cornelia Gerrard had been pestering him for dances all the week. He approached Clarinda and asked her condescendingly for a dance. But already the report was flying round the room. Robert Brown hadn’t got any legacy, after all. He’d only won three pounds in a football pool and, what was more, already spent it. Immediately Robert became the ordinary, rather stupid youth he had been before the legend of his wealth had invested him with glamour. Clarinda looked at him disdainfully and said that her programme was full, without even trying to hide from him the fact that it wasn’t. Dazedly, he passed on to Dolly Clavis. Dolly Clavis didn’t even bother to speak to him. She merely looked him up and down, then turned on her heel and left him.

  Robert struggled to collect his forces. This was a crisis. He’d forgotten to say the little slogans since he entered the dance hall and this was the result. He stood quite still and said them over to himself, then grimly controlled and self-possessed, approached Honoria Mercer.

  “Have you a dance for me, Honoria?” (I can if I will. I can if I will. Nothing and no one can withstand me. Inexhaustible power surges within me. Inexhaustible power surges within me.)

  Honoria gave a nasty, sarcastic laugh and, copying Dolly Clavis, turned on her heel and left him. (She flattered herself that she had a much better heel-turn than Dolly’s.)

  Then Robert faced final failure. The slogans had ceased to work. It wasn’t any use repeating them any more because they seemed now to have the opposite effect to the one they had had at first. They were turning people definitely against him. Evidently they only acted for a certain time, and then the liberated personality returned to prison, and the magnetism ceased to function. There was certainly nothing dynamic about him now. He sat staring gloomily in front of him, while people passed him haughtily, contemptuously, with averted faces, or stood in clusters, obviously discussing him, referring to his Looking the World in the Face as an “imbecile stare”. There was no getting away fro
m the fact that the slogans had failed. But, surely, there was more than that to it. What had Peggy said about an old man in a fog? What had she said about an innocent child? He’d taken them for meaningless ravings, but it occurred to him suddenly that then must be something behind them, and that he must get to the bottom of things. William was generally at the bottom of things, but he couldn’t be at the bottom of this, because he didn’t come into it at all. Or did he? There was something ominous in the phrase “innocent child”. The more he thought of it the more certain he was that William was at the bottom of it. He’d go to him at once and drag the truth out of him.

  He looked round the room. William was nowhere to be seen, but Robert knew where he’d be. With firm and measured tread, with the light of vengeance gleaming in his eye, he set off in the direction of the supper-room . . .

  THE END

  Credits and Information

  With the releasing of this book, four books in the William series, that might have been lost to the ages, have been preserved, at least temporarily, and given new lives as ebooks for both new and old fans alike to cherish and enjoy. For that, I feel that all the time I have spent on this project has been worth it, and I’m hoping everyone else feels the same.

  Once again, a huge thank you goes out to golux, who proofread all the chapters of this book, thoroughly and meticulously, and even helped my out with the cover (finding and photoshopping one together because mine was damaged.

  I hope to continue on this series, and digitise as many books as I can. If all goes well, look forward to many more! Unfortunately, due to my being caught up with some work, the next book will only be released around July, skipping the months of April, May, and June.