William in Trouble (12 page)

SUDDENLY SOMEONE APPEARED IN THE DOORWAY. WILLIAM GROANED.

The
Outlaws
’
and District Times
lay trampled in the mud of the floor of the empty barn. The Outlaws were being Red Indians in the neighbouring wood. They had
completely forgotten the
Outlaws
’
and District Times.
It had whiled away a wet afternoon and for the Outlaws it had served its purpose.

‘OH WILLIAM, YOU ARE AN AWFUL BOY!’ SAID ETHEL.

Ethel and the young man were on the road which led to the Fairy Glen. They were getting on very well, indeed. They, too, had completely forgotten the
Outlaws
’
and District
Times.
For them, too, it had served its purpose.

CHAPTER 5

J
OAN was coming home, Joan of the demure dimples and dark curls, Joan who was William’s best and earliest love.

She had been away for a very long time, and William, who was loyal to old loves and old friends, felt that her return needed some more than ordinary celebration. The other Outlaws, who had
always approved of Joan, agreed with him. So they met in the old barn to consider what form the celebration should take. Ginger was in favour of a play, but his suggestion was not received with
enthusiasm by the others. The Outlaws had got up plays before, but they had not been successful. Something had always gone wrong with them somewhere, though nobody ever knew exactly where.
Moreover, a play demanded a certain amount of learning by heart which in the eyes of the Outlaws savoured unpleasantly of school. True, in the last play which they had acted they had decided not to
learn anything beforehand and to speak as the spirit should move them, but even the Outlaws – optimists though they were – had had to admit that it had not been a success. The spirit
had either failed to move them at all or had moved them in the wrong direction and the plot which they had decided upon beforehand had not even been approached.

Henry suggested a firework display, but though the idea of this kindled the Outlaws’ imagination, they reluctantly abandoned it owing to total absence of funds.

William’s suggestion of a circus was received with acclamation till Douglas temporarily damped their ardour by remarking, ‘Yes ’n where shall we get any an’mals for it?
What’s the use of a circus without an’mals?’

But William waved aside the objection.

‘We can easy
get
an’mals,’ he said. ‘Why you c’ hardly walk down the road without meeting an’mals. There’s an’mals simply all over the
world.’

‘Yes, but they aren’t
ours
,’ said Henry, virtuously.

‘Anyway,’ said William, not pressing this point, ‘we’ve
got
an’mals, haven’t we? I’ve got Jumble an’ Whitey, an’ I c’ easy
collect some insects an’ teach ’em tricks an’ – an’ there’s Ginger’s family’s cat, an’—’

‘An’ my aunt’s got a parrot,’ put in Douglas.

‘An’ there’s a pig in the field nex’ our garden,’ said Ginger eagerly. ‘I bet I dress it up an’ learn to ride it.’

Quite suddenly the circus seemed to be approaching the realms of possibility.

‘An’ we’ll want a few clothes to dress up in,’ said William.

To William no function was complete that did not include dressing up, preferably in a top hat and a long, trailing dressing-gown. This costume represented, in William’s eyes, any character
from Moses to Napoleon.

It was Douglas who raised the next point.

‘Where shall we have it, anyway?’ he said gloomily. ‘I guess
this
isn’t much of a place.’

The old barn was certainly a ramshackle affair. The roof leaked; the floor was generally three or four inches deep in mud; the windows were broken and the walls consisted chiefly of ventilation.
The place was dear to the Outlaws’ hearts, but they felt that as a show place it was hardly worthy of them. They felt that it might both figuratively and literally have a damping effect upon
a circus.

A gloomy silence fell after this remark.

‘Why not one of our gardens or tool sheds?’ suggested Henry brightly.

This suggestion was treated with the contempt it deserved. Only Henry would have suggested arranging a circus on grown-up territory and practically under grown-up eyes.

‘Oh, yes,’ said William with heavy sarcasm. ‘Oh, yes, let ’em all see us with Douglas’s aunt’s parrot an’ – an’ dressed up in their clothes.
Oh, yes, they’ll like it, won’t they? They won’t come out an’ stop us, will they? Oh, no!’

‘All right,’ said Henry sulkily. ‘You s’gest somewhere then.’

There was a silence. They looked at William. William’s position as leader seemed for a moment to tremble in the balance. But William was not their leader for nothing.

‘Why not Rose Mount School?’ he said. ‘It’ll be empty. It’s holidays.’

Rose Mount School was a large girls’ school that had settled about a year ago in the vicinity of William’s home. The ordinary attitude of the Outlaws to this establishment was one of
indifference bordering on contempt. William had not thought of it as the scene of his Celebration till he saw Ginger’s and Henry’s and Douglas’s eyes fixed expectantly upon him.
Then in a flash of inspiration the idea had come. It was the Rose Mount School holidays. The place would be empty. There would be a caretaker of course. The caretaker might possibly be the fly in
the ointment, but the caretaker would, after all, only lend to the situation that element of danger and excitement without which, to the Outlaws, life was so barren.

The Outlaws looked at William with admiration in their eyes.

Ginger voiced the general sentiment.

‘Crumbs!’ he said, ‘what
fun.
Yes,
let’s.
’

Joan was to arrive on the Tuesday. The Outlaws decided to hold a few rehearsals beforehand in the old barn, and not to brave the caretaker of Rose Mount School till the day of the actual
performance.

The first few days were spent in collecting the artistes. The next-door pig refused to be bridled and sat upon by Ginger, and refused with such gusto that Ginger, limping slightly and sucking
one finger, retired from the unequal contest remarking bitterly that if he’d known pigs could carry on like that he’d’ve jolly well left ’em alone. The parrot could not be
procured for rehearsals, though Douglas assured them that he would bring it for the actual day.

‘Honest I will,’ he said earnestly, ‘’cause my aunt’s going away then. I know an’ I can jus’ borrow it an’ if her ole maid finds out she can
– well, she can jus’ find out – an’ it talks; it says ‘Stop it’ an’ ‘Oh my hair!’ an’ things like that.’

William announced that he was teaching Whitey a trick. Whitey was William’s white rat, and the ‘trick’ consisted in running up William’s coat to a biscuit balanced on his
shoulder. William was inordinately proud of this.

‘’Straordinarily clever, isn’t it?’ he said, looking at his pet fondly.

It was decided finally not to include William’s dog Jumble in the ‘circus.’ Jumble cherished a deep suspicion and dislike of all creatures that moved on four legs except
himself and his kind, and it was felt that if Jumble figured in the circus, then Whitey and Rameses (Ginger’s family’s cat) would not figure in it – for more, that is, than a
fleeting moment. Jumble, despite his mongrelhood, had a proud and warlike spirit.

Henry felt that he was not contributing his due share to the ‘circus,’ but brightened considerably on remembering that his little sister had been presented with a new clockwork
monkey only a week ago. It was a realistic monkey, and on being wound up walked across the room in a realistic manner. It was called Monk.

He explained this to the other Outlaws.

‘It looks jus’ same as a real monkey doin’ tricks,’ he said eagerly. ‘She won’t guess it isn’t – not if we do it a good way off, anyway. It
looks
like a real monkey.’

‘She’ll see you windin’ it up,’ objected William.

‘No, she won’t. I’ll turn my back while I wind it up.’

‘She’ll hear the noise.’

‘No, she won’t – well, she’ll jus’ think it’s the monkey coughin’ if she does.’

This seemed to satisfy them.

‘Well,’ said William summing up their resources, ‘there’ll be my rat an’ Ginger’s cat an’ Douglas’s aunt’s parrot an’ Henry’s
sister’s monkey.
That
,’ he ended in a tone of satisfaction, ‘oughter be a
jolly
good show.’

William was notoriously optimistic.

It was decided that William should be ring-master. He made a whip that satisfied the deepest cravings of his soul by tying a long leather bootlace on to the end of a stick. He persisted that he
could ‘crack’ it, though the others denied that the ‘crack’ was audible. It was only when they tired of standing in silence while William flourished his leather bootlace
about in an endeavour to produce what they would admit to be an audible crack, that Ginger said: ‘All right,
p’raps
it does make a noise.
P’raps
we’re all
deaf.’

And William had to be content with that.

As regards the costume of ring-master, William insisted on a top hat. His own father’s top hat was inaccessible. Mr Brown, whose top hat had been utilised by his son on more than one
occasion and had suffered in the process, had learnt wisdom and now kept that article of adornment under lock and key. Ginger’s father, however, was of a less suspicious nature and Ginger
thought that if he chose his time carefully he could easily ‘borrow’ (the word in the Outlaws’ vocabulary had a very wide application) his father’s top hat, and convey it to
Rose Mount School under cover of darkness in time for the performance.

Next William, as ring-master, insisted on some robe of office, preferably of an all-enveloping and flowing character. And here Douglas came to his help. Douglas thought that he could bring a
dressing-gown of his mother’s which she only wore on special occasions, and, therefore, would not miss.

The actual rehearsal in the barn was not an unqualified success, owing chiefly to the absence of most of the properties and some of the performers.

Whitey was there, and at first performed very creditably. On being released from his box, he ran up to William’s shoulder and ate his biscuit in his very best style. That, however, was the
end of his good behaviour. Having consumed his biscuit, he showed base ingratitude by making an unprovoked and unprincipled effort to escape, and on being captured by Ginger, he bit his finger and
then chewed a button off his coat.

‘Nice sorter
rat
,’ said Ginger bitterly as he sucked his finger, ‘more like a mowin’ machine.’

‘’S as good as your ole family’s cat,’ said William indignantly, as he placed his pet in its box, ‘an’ he didn’t mean to hurt you. It was only his
fun.’

‘Fun!’ said Ginger, with a short, ironic laugh. ‘Fun! All right, ’f he starts bein’ funny with me again, I’ll start bein’ funny with him.’

At this moment Rameses escaped from his basket, and unless Whitey had been transferred at once to his box, the worst (from Whitey’s point of view) would have happened. Rameses had not
wished to come. Rameses did not wish to take part in the ‘circus,’ at all. He made a spring at the disappearing Whitey, missed him by a claw, flung himself at Henry and scratched his
cheek, spat at William, hissed at Douglas, and after an exciting chase was finally cornered by Ginger and put back into his basket.

‘Well!’ said Ginger, mopping his brow with a grimy handkerchief, with which he then proceeded to bind up his scratches, ‘Talk about
gratitude –
I took no end of
trouble finding a basket that’d fit him an’ then he carries on like this.’

‘Well, we’ve not done many
tricks
’cept scratchin’ an’ bitin’ an’ such like,’ said William, summing up proceedings. ‘Not much to make
a
circus
of so far’s I can see.’

‘Well, what about you?’ said Douglas with spirit, ‘what about those insecks you were goin’ to teach tricks to?’

‘I haven’t c’lected ’em yet,’ said William with dignity. ‘I – I,’ with a sudden flash of inspiration, ‘I don’t want ’em
getting’
stale
before the day.’

They turned on to Henry next. ‘Where’s that walkin’ monkey you said you was goin’ to bring?’

‘Well,’ said Henry, ‘I’ve got to be jolly careful how I take her things. She makes enough fuss about it.’

‘Thought she couldn’t talk yet,’ said William.

‘No, but she can yell an’ scream an’ carry on somethin’ awful if I jus’
touch
any of her things. It’s goin’ to be jolly awful when she can talk
as well,’ he ended gloomily. ‘I’ll have to wait till she’s asleep the night before an’ get it an’ even then she’ll make enough fuss when she wakes up
an’ finds it gone.’

William looked round at the box containing Whitey and the basket containing the still scratching, spitting, swearing, but now invisible Rameses, and sighed. Then his unfailing optimism came to
his aid.

‘Well, I daresay it’ll turn out all right on the day,’ he said.

The Outlaws were walking stealthily down the road towards Rose Mount School. It was the evening before the day of the performance. Joan was expected to arrive in the morning
and was to be escorted to Rose Mount School for the Celebration in the afternoon. Joan did not know this (the Outlaws did not shine as letter writers) but they trusted Joan to come at all costs
when she was told that they expected her. Joan was like that.