William in Trouble (27 page)

Uncle George’s sputtering suddenly ceased, and he hurled at Mr Solomon’s figure, dimly perceived through the darkness, a flood of eloquence which was worthy of a more discerning and
appreciative audience.

Mr Solomon looked around him wildly. He looked for his lantern. It was gone. He looked for his tin of sweets. It was gone. He looked for his waits. They were gone.

Pursued by Uncle George’s lurid invective he fled into the road and looked up and down it. There was no sign of lantern or tin of sweets or waits. He tore along to the village street where
he had told them to go next and where presumably their next warned host awaited them.

There was no sign of them.

Distracted he tore up and down the road.

Then at the end of the road there appeared the tall burly figure of – a policeman. Unstrung by his experience, the blameless Mr Solomon fled from the minion of the law like a criminal and
ran as fast as his legs could carry him homewards.

Meanwhile the waits were joyfully approaching the house of Douglas’s Aunt Jane on the hillside. William swaggered at the head of them, carrying the lantern in one hand
and the tin of sweets in the other. Behind him followed the others, each sucking happily a mouthful of sweets.

Kings and Queens of England
had been flung into the village stream on the way. None of them except the Outlaws knew what it was all about. All they knew was that what had promised to be a
dull and lawful expedition, organised by the Sunday School authorities, was turning out to be a thrilling and lawless expedition organised by William.

They followed him gladly, thinking blissfully of that glorious medley of sounds at which they had assisted, looking forward to another, and enjoying the delightful experience of having their
mouths filled to their utmost capacity with Mr Solomon’s sweets.

William led them into the garden of Rose Cottage, where Douglas’s Aunt Jane lived. There they massed themselves ready for the onslaught. Those who had not finished their sweets swallowed
them whole, and all drew in their breath.

They looked at William. William gave the signal. The outburst came. The effect was more powerful even than before, because no two of them were singing the same tune.

William, tiring of carols, was singing ‘Valencia’ at the top of his voice.

Ginger, who had not moved with the times, was singing, ‘Yes, We Have No Bananas.’

Douglas was still singing ‘Good King Wenceslas’.

Of the others, one was singing ‘D’ye Ken John Peel?’ and others were singing ‘Coal Black Mammy’, ‘Fight the Good Fight’, ‘The First Noel’,
‘Tea for Two’, and ‘Here We Are Again’. They all sang with gusto.

They had been singing for nearly ten minutes, when Douglas stopped them with an imperious gesture.

‘I say,’ he said to William, ‘I forgot – she’s deaf.’

The Outlaws were obviously nonplussed by this. They stared blankly, first at Douglas, then at his aunt’s house. Suddenly Ginger said excitedly, ‘Look! She’s come
downstairs.’

Certainly a lighted candle could be seen moving about in the downstairs room where before all had been darkness.

‘Well,’ said Douglas simply. ‘I’m not goin’ away without that tie now we’ve come this far for it.’

‘I’ll go,’ volunteered William, ‘an’ see if I can get it off her. You’d better not, ’cause she knows you – Go on singin’, the rest of
you.’

With that William advanced boldly into the enemy’s country. He had no clear idea of what he was going to do. He would simply await the inspiration of the moment which so seldom failed
him.

He was afraid that the deaf old lady would not hear his knock, but she opened to him almost immediately and dragged him within with a suddenness that amazed and perturbed him. There was
something witch-like about her as she stood, tall and gaunt, her grey hair over her shoulders, wrapped in a long grey dressing-gown. She held an ear-trumpet in one hand.

‘Come in!’ she said excitedly, ‘come in! Come in! Saw you coming through the window – What is it?’

She held out her trumpet to him and he repeated into it nervously: ‘What’s what?’

‘That sound,’ she went on. ‘It roused me from sleep; the roaring of wild animals or – is it an air raid? Has some enemy attacked us?’

‘No,’ William hastened to assure her through the trumpet, ‘it’s not that.’

‘Animals, then,’ she went on, still excited; ‘it sounded to me like the baying of wolves. Did you see them?’

‘Yes,’ said William into the trumpet.

‘And came here for protection? I thought so—They must have escaped from the circus at Moncton. I heard that there was a pack of live wolves there – most dangerous, I’ve
always thought this exhibiting of wild animals — Are they round the house, boy? Listen!’

Outside arose the glorious medley of ‘The First Noel’, ‘Good King Wenceslas’, ‘Fight the Good Fight’, ‘D’ye Ken John Peel?’, ‘Yes, We
Have No Bananas’, ‘Tea for Two’, ‘Coal Black Mammy’, and ‘Here We Are Again’.

Aunt Jane shuddered.

‘All round the house,’ she said, ‘even I can hear it, a most blood-curdling sound. I have often read of it, but never thought that it would fall to my lot to hear it. The first
thing to do is to barricade the house.’

William, slightly bewildered by the turn events had taken, watched her move a table across the window and block up the door with a tall cupboard.

‘There!’ she said at last. ‘That should keep them away. And I have provisions for several days.’

Aunt Jane seemed almost stimulated by the thought of the pack of wolves howling around her lonely hillside house.

‘Listen,’ she said again as the hideous uproar outside continued, ‘listen and imagine the tawny brutes with ravening open fangs. Listen to that,’ as Ginger’s strong
young voice proclaimed above the general uproar that he had no bananas. ‘Did you hear? – that voice speaks of greed and cunning, of lust for blood and a passionate hatred of the human
race.’

As she spoke she moved to and fro, moving pieces of furniture across doors and windows.

William was utterly at a loss. He didn’t know what to do or say. He watched her in open-mouthed bewilderment. Whenever he looked as if he were going to speak she placed the ear-trumpet in
place for him so much that he gave a sickly smile and shook his head.

‘HAS SOME ENEMY ATTACKED US?’ SHE ASKED. ‘NO!’ WILLIAM ASSURED HER THROUGH THE TRUMPET.

He watched her blocking up every available entrance to her cottage and wondered desperately how on earth he was going to get out of it. He wished to goodness that he’d never come in
– that he’d let Douglas get his own silly tie. The waits outside were chanting as merrily and discordantly as ever.

Suddenly Aunt Jane left the room to reappear triumphantly a few minutes later carrying a large and old-fashioned gun.

‘It’s a long time since I used it,’ she said, ‘but I believe it might get one or two of them.’

William’s annoyance turned to dismay.

‘Oh, I wouldn’t. I – er – wouldn’t,’ he protested.

She could not hear what he said, but seeing his lips move she presented him with the other end of her ear-trumpet.

‘What do you say?’

He gave his sickly grin.

‘Er – nothing,’ he said.

‘Then I wish you’d stop saying nothing,’ she said tartly; ‘if you’ve anything to say,
say
it, and if you haven’t,
don’t
, instead of
mumbling away there and saying you’re saying nothing.’

William gave her the sickly smile again and blinked.

She clambered on to the table before the window and opened the window very slightly. Through the small aperture thus made she projected the muzzle of her gun. William watched her, paralysed with
horror. Outside the medley of song rose higher and higher.

William could dimly discern the forms of his companions through the darkness. Aunt Jane was as shortsighted as she was hard of hearing.

‘I can see them,’ she said eagerly, ‘dim, lean, sinister shapes out there – now I
really
think I might get one or two. Anyway, the sound of the shot might drive
them farther off.’

William felt as though in a nightmare, powerless to move or to speak as the old lady pointed the deadly weapon at his unsuspecting friends chanting their varied repertoire of songs so merrily in
the darkness. Then, before the fatal shot rang out, William plucked her dressing-gown. She turned to him irritably and held the ear-trumpet to him again.

‘Well,’ she snapped, ‘what’s the matter now? Got anything to say yet?’

William suddenly found both his voice and an inspiration.

‘Let’s keep the gun for a – for a sort of last resource,’ he yelled into the trumpet, ‘case they sort of attack the house.’

She was obviously impressed by the idea. She took in the gun, closed the window and descended from the table.

‘I CAN SEE THEM,’ SHE SAID EAGERLY. ‘DIM, LEAN, SINISTER SHAPES OUT THERE.’

‘Something in that,’ she said.

The success of his inspiration restored William’s self-respect. Something of his dejection vanished and something of his swagger returned. Suddenly his face shone. An idea – an idea
– an IDEA – had occurred to him.

‘I say,’ he gasped.

‘Well?’ she snapped.

‘I’ve heard,’ he yelled into the aperture, ‘I’ve
heard
that wolves are frightened of green.’

‘Of green?’ she said irritably, ‘of green what?’

‘Jus’ of green,’ said William, ‘of green colour.’

‘What nonsense!’ she snapped.

‘Well, I’ve
heard
it,’ persisted William. ‘Heard of a man drivin’ away a whole herd o’ wolves by jus’ goin’ out and showin’ ’em
a green tablecloth.’

‘Well, I’ve not got a green tablecloth, so that settles it.’

But William didn’t think it did. ‘Haven’t you got
anythin
’ green?’ he persisted.

She considered.

‘One or two small green things,’ she said, ‘but green varies so. What sort of green should it be?’

William considered this question in silence for a minute. Then, ‘Can’t quite describe it,’ he yelled, ‘but I’d know if I saw.’

That, he couldn’t help thinking, was rather neat.

After a slight hesitation Aunt Jane went from the room and soon returned with an olive green scarf, a bottle green hat, and a new tie of a most virulent pea green.

William’s eyes gleamed when they fell upon the tie.

‘That’s it!’ he shouted, ‘that’s the green.’

Aunt Jane looked rather annoyed. ‘I particularly wanted that for tomorrow,’ she said peevishly, ‘won’t the scarf do? I’ve no further use for it.’

‘No,’ said William very decidedly, pointing to the tie, ‘
that’s
the green.’

‘All right,’ she said, ‘but it’s too dark for them to see it.’

‘I’ll take a lantern. I’ve gotter lantern in the porch.’

‘They’ll attack you if you go out there.’

‘Not if they see the green,’ said William firmly.

‘Very well,’ said Aunt Jane, who was beginning to feel rather sleepy, ‘take it if you like.’

William slipped out into the night with the green tie. Aunt Jane waited.

The noise outside died away, and all was silent.

Aunt Jane suspected that the boy had been devoured by the wolves, but the thought did not trouble her very much. She merely strengthened her fortifications and then went to bed. There was
something rather inhuman about Aunt Jane. There must have been something rather inhuman about anyone who could choose a tie that colour.

The green tie had been torn into a thousand pieces, and trodden into the ditch. The toffee tin was almost empty. The waits were growing sleepy. Their songs, though no less
discordant than before, were beginning to lack verve. Only Uncle Charles remained to be dealt with. Headed by William they marched upon Uncle Charles’s house. Boldly they surged into Uncle
Charles’s garden. There they stood and upraised their strong young voices, and sang. Uncle Charles’s window was flung up as quickly as Uncle George’s had been.

‘Go away, you young rascals,’ he boomed.

The singing ceased.

‘Please, sir—’

In the meek falsetto Uncle Charles did not recognise his nephew William’s voice.

‘Go away, I tell you. You won’t get a halfpenny out of me.’