William The Outlaw

by Richmal Crompton

  Douglas was persisting with great indignation that William had broken his neck and Henry was accusing Ginger of having completely altered the shape of his head by sitting on it violently on the asphalt. They abused each other with gusto and great impartiality.

  ‘Sayin’ you could jump three an’ then bangin’ down upon us like that . . . I tell you my neck’s completely broke. I can feel it.’

  ‘You couldn’t go on livin’ if your neck was broke.’

  ‘Well, I prob’ly won’t go on livin’. I feel almost as if I was dyin’ now.’

  ‘Well, you must’ve stretched out after I started – all of you. You didn’t look as stretched out as all that before I started . . . and look at my nose . . . your neck can’t be so bad ’cause it’s not even bleedin’.’

  ‘You don’t know what it feels like havin’ someone sittin’ on your head. It’s absolutely squashed up my ears somethin’ terrible.’

  ‘Jolly good thing. They stuck out enough before.’

  Above the fracas came again Bertie’s sweet and patient and gentlemanly little voice.

  ‘I’m going to be Queen Elizabeth’s page. I’m going to be the only boy in the pageant.’

  ‘I’ll try again,’ said William, still holding his handkerchief to his bleeding nose. ‘I bet I do it this time. I din’ go back far enough that time before I started an’ I bet if I go far enough back and you keep more squashed up together I can do all three of you.’

  ‘No, thanks,’ said Ginger holding his neck in both hands. ‘I’m not goin’ to be jumped on again with a broken neck.’

  ‘Nor me,’ said Henry tenderly caressing his ears, ‘with squashed ears.’

  A crowd of boys had gathered round.

  Bertie again upraised his clear young voice.

  ‘Don’t you wish it was you going to be in the pageant instead of me, William?’ he said.

  William, his hair dishevelled, his collar burst open, his nose still bleeding, turned and surveyed him with slow scorn.

  ‘Huh!’ he said, ‘you think you’re goin’ to be in the pageant, do you? Huh? Well, let me tell you, you’re not. An’ you think I’m not goin’ to be, do you? Well, let me tell you, I am.’

  It was a momentous announcement. There was a dead silence. Everybody gazed at William with surprise. Then Bertie giggled.

  ‘You needn’t be so mad at me, William,’ he said. ‘I didn’t tell uncle that you put the mouse in the drawing class.’

  At that moment the bell rang.

  No one had been more surprised by William’s announcement than William himself. He had as a matter of fact felt a certain secret soreness at Bertie’s inclusion in the pageant. Had William been asked to be a page in the pageant in the first instance his indignation and scorn would have known no bounds. But the fact that children were expressly excluded had filled him with as great an indignation as the enforced inclusion of him in any capacity would have caused him. And the further news that the ban had been raised in favour of Bertie – and Bertie alone – was regarded by William as an insult.

  But until William saw the faces of his schoolmates, impressed despite themselves by his solemn prophecy, he had hardly realised what he had said. He had meant merely to reply crushingly to the obnoxious Bertie. He found that he had issued a challenge which he must justify or lose his prestige for ever. He spent the next two lessons (Geography and History) biting his pencil frowningly and wondering how on earth he could eject Bertie from the pageant and insert himself. He had a dark suspicion that even were he successful in ejecting Bertie he would be the last boy in the village to be chosen as page in his stead. He was so quiet during those lessons that the Geography and History masters, comparing notes afterwards, thought (without any great regret) that perhaps he was sickening for something.

  On the way home with Ginger, Douglas and Henry he was still thoughtful. After a desultory conversation on the state of William’s nose and Ginger’s neck and Henry’s ears and the question whether William could or could not have cleared them if he’d had a longer run and they’d been closer together, and a brief commentation on the dullness of the Geography and History lessons (William’s failure to provide the usual diversions had been much resented by his class-mates), Henry suddenly said:

  ‘I say, William, what you said, ’bout him not bein’ in the pageant, you din’ mean it, did you?’

  Nothing on earth would ever induce William to retire from a position he had once taken up.

  ‘’Course I did!’ said William.

  ‘Well, how c’n you make him not be in it an’ you in it?’ challenged Douglas incredulously.

  William took refuge in a ‘Huh!’ dark with meaning and hidden triumph, and added, yet more darkly and mysteriously, ‘Jus’ you wait an’ see.’

  Rather to William’s consternation his prophecy spread round the school and opinion on the subject became sharply divided. William’s followers supported William and Bertie’s followers supported Bertie. For Bertie had a following and quite a large one. Any boy who lived as Bertie lived in close proximity to the headmaster and suffered from such a beautiful conscience as Bertie’s would have had a large following among a certain kind of boy. Though only, as I said, boys of a certain kind, they were very enthusiastic and admiring followers. They delighted in jeering at William from behind hedges and from the safe protection of their garden walls.

  ‘Yah! Who thinks he’s goin’ to be in the pageant? Yah! Who thinks he’s goin’ to be a page? YAH!’

  On these occasions William, passing below, assumed his famous expressionless expression and was apparently deaf, dumb and blind so that the pleasure of jeering at him was small indeed. William possessed the art of retaining an utterly impassive, almost imbecile, cast of features in face of all provocation. It had always been one of his most potent weapons. Whenever the jeerers ventured into open country it was quite different. William then allowed his natural expressions and actions free play. William’s followers supported him loyally. Their faith in him was unbounded.

  ‘’Course he’s goin’ to be in the pageant,’ they said. ‘Jus’ you wait an’ see.’

  It was a common sight during that time to see a follower of William’s engaged in personal combat with a follower of Bertie as the only means in their power of deciding whether or no William would be in the pageant in Bertie’s place.

  William’s immediate circle – the Outlaws – though their official attitude was that there was no doubt at all that William would be in the pageant, and that Bertie would not, were in private apprehensive.

  ‘I don’ see how you’re goin’ to get into the ole pageant,’ said Ginger despondently.

  William, even before his Outlaws, preserved the attitude of the hero who trusts in his star.

  ‘’Course I am,’ he said with his inimitable swagger, ‘jus’ you wait an’ see.’

  But in his heart William too felt apprehensive. The day of the pageant grew nearer. Bertie was attending rehearsals and behaving as beautifully as ever and there seemed no likelihood at all of his being ejected. For a few days William made frenzied efforts to establish himself in general public opinion as the sort of boy who would make a suitable page, but he soon gave them up. He himself found the process too wearing and no one else seemed to notice it. Wild plans of imprisoning Bertie and stealing his costume were dismissed as impossible. The day of the pageant drew nearer and nearer. William looked forward to it now solely as a day of humiliation. He regretted bitterly his rash prophecy, though in public he continued doggedly to support it with innumerable ‘Huhs’ and ‘’Course I ams’. The personal humiliation William minded less than the humiliation to his loyal followers who were fighting so many battles on his behalf.

  The day of the pageant had arrived. The pageant was to pass along the village street and the boys of William’s school, including William, were to be massed outside the school to cheer it on its way. The only member of the school who would not be present was Bertie who would be in the pageant as Queen Elizabeth�
�s page. Bertie had gone home for the weekend to visit his parents and to fetch the page’s suit which his mother had made for him. Bertie was enjoying his triumph over William. To make it yet more enjoyable he had told his uncle just before he went away that it was William who had uprooted the daffodils in his garden bed by night and planted rows of brussels sprouts in their stead, and William had had a painful interview with the Head on the subject that very morning. As it happened to be one of the few crimes committed in the neighbourhood for which in reality William was not responsible, he felt perhaps unduly bitter about it, forgetting, as one is apt to do on such occasions, how many crimes he had perpetrated successfully and without retribution.

  He walked slowly along the road with Ginger and Henry and Douglas.

  ‘Well,’ commented Ginger with a deep sigh. There was no need to ask what he meant. The day had come and William’s public downfall seemed imminent and inevitable.

  ‘Yes,’ said Douglas bitterly. ‘I dunno why you kept sayin’ all the time that you was goin’ to be in it.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Henry with spirit, ‘why ever did you go an’ say a silly thing like that for?’

  ‘Oh, shut up!’ groaned William, relinquishing his heroic pose and abandoning himself to his depression.

  And just then they saw the figure of Bertie coming jauntily down the road towards them with a suitcase in one hand. He approached them with his beautiful smile.

  ‘Hello!’ he said. ‘I’ve been home for the weekend. Got my page’s clothes with me in the case. I’ll have to be quick and change or I shan’t be ready in time. You goin’ to watch, I suppose?’

  His meaning smile flickered at William as he spoke. William had assumed again his expressionless expression.

  ‘S’pose we’ll have to,’ said Ginger with an air of boredom.

  ‘I’ve had a jolly good time at home for the weekend,’ went on Bertie who was evidently longing to confide in someone.

  ‘An uncle took me to a sort of show,’ he went on excitedly, ‘an’ I saw a hypnotiser – you know, a man what hypnotised people an’ they did whatever he told them.’

  ‘How’d he do it?’ said William.

  ‘He jus’ looked at ’em an’ moved his hands about an’ then told them they were cats or dogs or rabbits till he told ’em to stop an’ when they came to they didn’t remember anythin’ about it.’

  William was silent for a minute then he said slowly: ‘Bet you couldn’t do it on me.’

  ‘I bet I could if I tried,’ said Bertie.

  ‘All right,’ said William. ‘Go on, try.’

  Bertie, after a moment’s hesitation, put down his suitcase and made several passes with his hands before William’s face.

  ‘Now you’re a cat,’ he said without much conviction.

  To the surprise of both Bertie and the watching Outlaws William promptly dropped on hands and knees and began to miaow loudly. Bertie’s face beamed with pleasure.

  ‘Now you’re a dog,’ he said.

  William began to bark.

  ‘Now you’re a rabbit,’ said Bertie almost drunk with delight and pride. William, not quite knowing what else to do, wrinkled his nose up and down.

  ‘Now you can come unhypnotised.’

  William stood up slowly and blinked. ‘I don’t remember doin’ anythin’,’ he said. ‘I bet I din’ do anythin’.’

  ‘But you did,’ squeaked Bertie excitedly, ‘you did. You acted like a cat and a dog and a rabbit.’ He appealed to Henry, Douglas and Ginger, ‘didn’t he?’

  Henry and Douglas and Ginger, who were not quite sure yet what William wanted of them but were prepared blindly to support him in anything, merely nodded.

  ‘There!’ said Bertie triumphantly.

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ said William, ‘anyway, try again . . . try something harder – cats and dogs and rabbits are easy, I expect – try making me do somethin’ I can’t do ordin’ry. I can’t turn cartwheels ordin’ry.’

  The Outlaws gasped at this amazing untruth. But Bertie believed it. He was ready to believe anything. He was drunk with his success as a hypnotist. Again he made passes before William’s face and again William assumed the languishing expression which he believed suitable to one hypnotised. ‘Turn cartwheels,’ ordered Bertie. William turned six perfect cartwheels one after the other.

  ‘Now come unhypnotised,’ said Bertie quickly, anxious to prove his success.

  ‘You did turn cartwheels, didn’t he?’ to Douglas, Ginger and Henry.

  Again Douglas, Ginger and Henry nodded non-committally.

  ‘’Course I didn’t,’ said William aggressively. ‘I don’ believe you. I can’t turn cartwheels.’

  ‘But you can when you’re hypnotised,’ said Bertie, ‘you can do things when you’re hypnotised that you can’t do when you’re not hypnotised. You can do anything you’re told to when you’re hypnotised. I’m a hypnotiser, I am,’ he swaggered about, ‘I can make anyone do anythin’ I like, I can.’

  ‘I remember readin’ about hypnotism in a book once,’ said William slowly, ‘it said that anyone could hypnotise people standin’ jus’ near them, but that only a very good hypnotiser could make someone do somethin’ where he couldn’t see them.’

  ‘I could,’ boasted Bertie, ‘I bet I could. I’m a good hypnotiser, I am.’

  ‘I don’t b’lieve you did me at all,’ said William calmly. ‘I don’ remember anythin’.’

  ‘But you don’t remember when you’re hypnotised,’ explained Bertie impatiently, ‘that’s all the point of it . . . you don’t remember.’

  ‘Then how’m I to know you did hypnotise me?’ said William simply.

  ‘They saw,’ said Bertie, pointing to his witnesses. ‘I did hypnotise him, didn’t I?’

  The witnesses, still not quite sure what their leader’s tactics were, again nodded non-committally.

  ‘I don’t b’lieve you, any of you,’ said William defiantly, ‘you’re pullin’ my leg – all of you. He din’t hypnotise me. I din’t carry on like a rabbit, or any of those things he said.’

  Bertie stamped, almost in tears.

  ‘You did . . . you did.’

  It was evident that more than anything in the world at that moment he longed to convince William of his hypnotic powers.

  ‘In this book I read,’ went on William, ‘it said that only very good hypnotisers could make anyone do anything with a suitcase. It said that those two were the hardest things that only very good hypnotisers could do – makin’ anyone do something when they can’t see ’em doin’ it, an’ makin’ anyone do somethin’ with a suitcase. . . . But we’ve not got a suitcase here,’ he glanced contemptuously at the case that contained Bertie’s page’s costume. ‘That’s too small to be a suitcase. It wun’t do.’

  ‘It is a suitcase and it would do,’ said Bertie, ‘it would do and I bet I could make you do something with it.’

  ‘I bet you couldn’t,’ said William. ‘I don’t believe you’re a hypnotiser at all. Tell you what,’ slowly, ‘I’ll believe you if—’

  ‘Yes?’ said Bertie eagerly.

  ‘If you c’n make me do the two hardest things – make me do somethin’ with this suitcase an’ make me do somethin’ where you can’t see me doin’ it. . . . Tell you what—’ as though a sudden idea had just struck him.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’ll b’lieve you if you can make me take this suitcase down the road, an’ in at our gate an’ round to the back of our house an’ back again here – an’ tell me to do somethin’ – any thin’ – to prove to me that I’ve done it.’

  ‘’Course I can do that,’ said Bertie boastingly. ‘I can do that easy ’s easy.’

  ‘Well, do it then,’ challenged William.

  Bertie again made passes before his face and William composed his features again to that utter imbecility that was meant to imply the hypnotised state.

  ‘Take the suitcase,’ ordered Bertie, ‘and take it down the road and round your house an’ back again her
e an’ do somethin’ – anythin’ – to show yourself that you’ve been hypnotised.’

  Still wearing his expression of imbecility, William picked up the suitcase and walked down the road. The watchers saw him go down his drive and disappear behind his house. After a short interval he reappeared, still with the suitcase and still with his imbecile expression, though, a close observer might have noticed, rather breathless, came again along the drive up the road and joined the four watchers. He held something in his clasped hand. Bertie’s face was a proud beam of triumph.

  ‘There, you’ve done it,’ he shouted gleefully. ‘Now, come unhypnotised.’

  William assumed his normal expression and blinked.

  ‘I didn’t do it,’ he said. ‘I told you, you couldn’t make me do it.’

  ‘But you did it,’ screamed Bertie.

  William slowly unclasped his hand and looked down at something he held in his palm.

  ‘Crumbs!’ he ejaculated as though deeply impressed, ‘here’s Jumble’s ball what he was playing with this mornin’ in the garden. I knew it was in the garden. So I must’ve jus’ been there.’

  ‘So you know I’m a hypnotiser now,’ said Bertie with a swagger.

  ‘Yes, I do,’ said William, ‘I know that you’re a hypnotiser now.’

  But at that moment the church clock struck two and Bertie suddenly remembered that as well as being a hypnotiser he was Queen Elizabeth’s page.

  STILL WEARING HIS EXPRESSION OF IMBECILITY, WILLIAM PICKED UP THE SUITCASE AND WALKED DOWN THE ROAD.

  ‘Crumbs!’ he said seizing his suitcase, ‘I must go and change or I’ll be late.’ He smiled maliciously at William. ‘Hope you’ll enjoy watchin’ the procession,’ he said as he ran off.

  William, Ginger and Douglas and Henry stood and watched him.

  Then William turned and, followed by the others, went quickly homewards.

  Bertie stood in his bedroom surveying the contents of his suitcase. He found them amazing. They seemed to comprise not a page’s costume but a much worn and tattered Red Indian costume. Still – he knew that his mother had made the costume in accordance with Mrs Bertram’s directions. Perhaps Elizabeth’s page wore this curious costume. Perhaps he didn’t dress like other pages. Anyway his mother and Mrs Bertram ought to know. They’d arranged it between them. And there didn’t seem to be anything else in the case. He turned it upside down. No . . . only this. This must be right. Anyway, the only thing to do was to put it on. It must be all right really. He put it on . . . fringed trousers and coat of a sort of khaki and a feathered head dress. He looked at it doubtfully in the mirror. Yes, it did look funny, but he supposed it must be all right . . . really he supposed that they must have made it from pictures of the real thing . . . it must be the sort of dress that Elizabeth’s page really wore. . . . Funny . . . very funny . . . he’d never looked at it before and his mother had made it without trying it on, but if he hadn’t known that it was a page’s costume made by his mother according to directions sent to her by Mrs Bertram, he’d have thought it was a Red Indian costume. It was just like a Red Indian costume. But he was late already. He hurried down to the Vicarage where the actors in the pageant were to assemble.