William the Fourth (25 page)

‘ ’F you’d kin’ly stop draggin’ me about on my stomach—’ he began, then emerged, stern and dusty, and arranging his skimpy and dishevelled skin.

‘You – you – you
thief
!’ said the old man.

‘I’m not a thief,’ said William, ‘I’m a Nanshunt—’

But the old man made a dash at him and William dodged and fled out of the doorway. Ginger was already half-way downstairs. The old man was delayed, first by the door, which William banged in his
face, and secondly, by the fact that he slipped on the top stair and rolled down to the bottom.

There he sat up, looked for his spectacles, found them, adjusted them and gazed round the hall, still seated on the hall mat. The two boys were nowhere to be seen. Muttering ‘Dear!
Dear!’ and ‘Bless my soul! Let me see, what was it I wanted? – Ah, a handkerchief!’ the old man began to ascend the stairs.

But William and Ginger had not gone out of the front door. A group of Ginger’s mother’s friends could be plainly seen passing the little gateway, and in panic
William and Ginger had dashed out of the back door into the little garden, and into the corrugated iron building. A lady, dressed in an artist’s smock, a paintbrush in her hand, looked up
from an easel.

‘Please don’t come in quite so roughly’ she said disapprovingly. ‘I don’t like rough little boys.’ She looked William up and down, and her disapproval seemed
to deepen. ‘Well,’ she said stiffly, ‘it doesn’t seem to me
quite
the costume. I should have thought the Vicar— However, you’d better stay now
you’ve come. Is the other little boy your friend? He must sit down quite quietly and not disturb us. You may just look at the picture first for a treat.’ Bewildered, but ready to oblige
her, William wandered round and looked at it. It seemed to consist of a chaos of snow and polar bears.

‘It’s to be called ‘The Frozen North’,’ she said proudly. ‘Now you must stand in the attitude of one drawing a sleigh – so – no, the expression
more
gentle,
please. I must say I do
not
care for the costume, but the Vicar must know—’

‘I’m a Nanshunt—’ began William, then decided to take the line of least resistance and be the Frozen North. The lady painted in silence for some time, occasionally
looking at William’s rather mangy skin, and saying disapprovingly: ‘No, I must
say
– I do
not
– but, of course, the Vicar—’

Just as the charm of novelty was disappearing from the procedure, and he was devising means of escape, another lady came in.

‘Busy dear?’ she said, then she adjusted her lorgnettes, and she, too, looked disapprovingly at William.

‘My dear!’ she said. ‘Isn’t that rather— Well, of course, I know you artists are – well, Bohemian and all that, but—’

The artist looked worried.

‘My dear,’ she said, ‘I showed the Vicar the picture yesterday, and he said that he had a child’s Eskimo costume, and he’d find a boy to fit in and send it round
for a model. But – I’d an idea that the Eskimos dressed more – er –
completely
than that, hadn’t you?’

‘I’m a Nanshunt—’ began William, and stopped again.

‘You remember Mrs Parks asking for money to buy clothes for her boy?’ went on the artist as she painted. ‘Well, I got John to go to that Sale of Work this afternoon and get a
suit from the rummage stall, and he got quite a good suit, and I’ve just sent it round to her. Do stand
still,
little boy—You know, dear, I wish I felt happier about this –
er – costume. Yet I feel I ought not to criticise and even in my mind, anything the dear Vicar—’

‘Well, I’ll be quite frank,’ said the visitor. ‘I don’t care for it – and I do think that artists can’t be too careful – any suggestion of the
nude is so – well, don’t you agree with me? I’m
surprised
at the Vicar.’

The artist held out half a crown to William.

‘You may go,’ she said coldly. ‘Take the costume back to the Vicar, and I
don’t
think I shall require you again.’

At that moment the little old man came in. He started as his eye fell on William and Ginger.

‘The
thief
!’ he said excitedly. ‘The
thief
! Catch him, catch him,
catch
him!’

William dashed to the doorway, upsetting the old man and a wet canvas on his way. The old man landed on top of the canvas and sat there murmuring, ‘Oh, dear, oh dear, what a day!’
and looking for his glasses.

The visitor pursued the two of them half-heartedly to the gate, and then returned to help in the work of separating the old gentleman from the wet canvas.

William and Ginger sat in a neighbouring ditch and looked at each other breathlessly.

‘Parks,’ said Ginger, ‘that’s the shop at the end of the village.’

‘Yes,’ said William, ‘an’ I’m jus’ about sick of crawlin’ in ditches, an’ what’s wrong with it I’d like to know,’ he went on,
looking down indignantly at his limp skin, ‘it’s all right – not as clothes – but as a kind of dress-up thing it’s all right – as good as that ole pinnyfore
she
was wearing, an’ I jolly nearly said so – an’ ‘thief, too. Well, I wun’t go
inside
that house again, not if – not if – not if they
asked
me – Anyway’ his expression softened, ‘anyway, I got half a crown,’ his expression grew bitter once more, ‘half a crown, an’ not even a pocket to
put it in. Come on to Parks’.’

William returned to the ditch. They only passed a little girl and her small brother.

‘Look, Algy,’ said the little girl, ‘look at ’im. ’E’s a loony an’ the other’s ’is keeper. ’E thinks ’e’s a frog,
prob’ly, an’ that’s why ’e goes in ditches, an’ doesn’t wear no clothes.’

William straightened himself.

‘I’m a Nanshunt—’ he began, but at sight of his red and muddy face, surmounted by its crest of muddy hair, the little girl fled screaming.

‘Come on, Algy, ’e’ll get yer an’ eat yer if yer don’t—’ Algy’s screams reinforced hers, and William disconsolately returned to the ditch as the
screams, still lusty, faded into the distance.

‘I’m jus’ getting a bit sick of this,’ muttered the Ancient Briton.

They reached Parks’. William lay concealed behind the hedge, and Ginger wandered round the shop, reconnoitring.

‘Go in!’ goaded William, in a hoarse whisper from the hedge. ‘Go in an’ gettem. Say you’ll fetch a policeman –
make
’em give ’em you
–
fight
’em –
take
’em –
you
lettem go – I can’t stand this much longer. I’m cold an’ I’m wet. I feel as if
I’d been a Nanshunt Briton for years an’ years – hurry up— Are-you-goin’-to-get-my
-clothes
?’

‘Oh, shut
up
!’ said Ginger miserably. ‘I’m doin’ all I can.’

‘Doin’ all you can, are you? Well, you’re not doin’ much but walkin’ round an’ round the shop. D’you think ’f you go on walkin’ round and
round the shop my clothes’ll come out of themselves – come
walkin’
out to you? ’Cause if you think that—’

‘Shut
up.’ . . .

At this moment a small boy walked out of the shop.

‘Hallo!’ said Ginger, with a fatuous smile of friendship.

‘Hallo!’ said the boy, ungraciously.

Ginger moistened his lips and repeated the fatuous smile.

‘Have you got any new clothes today?’

The boy gave a fairly good imitation of the fatuous smile.

‘No,’ he said, ‘have you? Don’t go spoilin’ your fice for me. It’s bee-utiful, but don’t waste it on me.’

Then, whistling, he prepared to walk away from Ginger down the road. Desperately Ginger stopped him.

‘I’ll – I’ll – I’ll give you,’ he swallowed, then, with an effort, made the nobler offer. ‘I’ll give you five shillings if—’

‘Yus?’ said the boy suddenly, ‘If—?’

‘If you’ll give me those clothes the lady wot paints sent you today’

‘Gimme the five shillings then.’

‘I won’t give you the money till you give me the clothes.’

‘Oh, won’t you? Well, I won’t give you the clothes till you give me the money’

They stared hostilely at each other.

‘Get my clothes,’ said the irate voice from the ditch. ‘Punch him – do anythin’ to him. Get – my – clothes.’

The boy looked round with interest into the ditch.

‘Look at ’im!’ he shrieked mirthfully. ‘Look at ’im.
Nakid
– jus’ dressed in a muff – Oh! look at ’im.’

William arose with murder in his face. Ginger hastily pressed five shillings into the boy’s hand.

‘Gettem quick,’ he said.

The boy retreated to the shop and closed the door except for a small crack. Through that crack he shouted, ‘We din’ want no narsty mangy, mouldy, cast-off clothes from no one. We
gived ’em to Johnsons’ up the village.’

Then he banged the door.

William, in fury, kicked the door, and a crowd of small boys collected. William, perceiving them, fled through the hedge and into the field. The small boys followed, uttering derisive cries.

‘Look
at ’im –
Look
at ’im – ’e’s a cannibal – he’s got no clothes – ’e’ out of a circus –
’e’s balmy – ’e’s wearin’ ’is mother’s fur.’

William turned on them in fury.

‘I’m a Nanshunt—’ he began, rushing upon them; and they fled in panic.

William and Ginger sat down behind a haystack.

‘Well, you’re very clever at gettin’ back my clothes, aren’t you?’ said William with heavy sarcasm.

‘I’m gettin’ jus’ about sick of your clothes,’ said Ginger gloomily

‘Sick of ’em?’ echoed William. ‘I only wish I’d gottem to be sick of. I’m jus’ about sick of not havin’ ’em an’ walkin’ about on
prickles an’ stones and scratchin’ myself an’ shiverin’ with cold. That boy’d jus’ better wait till I
get
my clothes an’ then—’ His eyes
gleamed darkly with visions of future vengeance.

‘Well,’ he turned to Ginger, ‘an’ wot we goin’ to do now?’

‘Dunno,’ said Ginger despondently.

‘Well, where’s Johnsons’?’

‘Mrs Johnson’s my aunt’s charwoman,’ said Ginger, wearily. ‘I know where she lives.’

William rose with a determined air.

‘Come on,’ he said.

‘If we don’t gettem this time,’ said Ginger, as they started on their furtive journey. ‘I’m going home.’

‘Oh, are you?’ said William sternly. ‘Well, then, you’re goin’ in this Anshunt Briton thing an’ I’m goin’ in your clothes. You lost my clothes
an’ if you can’t gettem back you can give me yours, that’s fair, isn’t it?’

‘Oh, shut
up,’
said Ginger, in the tone of one who has suffered all that it is possible to suffer and can suffer no more. ‘It’s that five shillings that I keep
thinkin’ of
- five shillin’s
– an’ all for nothin’.’

‘An’ callin’ my clothes mouldy,’ said William, with equal indignation.
‘My
clothes mouldy’

‘She lives here,’ said Ginger.

From the shelter of a hedge they watched the house.

‘You’d better go an’ gettem then,’ said William unfeelingly

‘How?’
said Ginger.

‘Well, you sold ’em.’

‘I
didn’t
sell ’em.’

‘Shh! Look!’

The door of the Johnsons’ home was opening. A small boy came out.

‘He’s dressed in my clothes,’ said William excitedly
‘Gettem – Gettim
– my clothes.’ His eyes brightened, and into his face came a radiant look
as of one beholding some dear friend after a long absence. ‘My clothes.’

Ginger advanced to the small boy and smiled his anxious, fatuous, mirthless smile.

‘Like to come an’ play with me?’ he said.

‘Yeth, pleth,’ said the boy, returning the friendly smile.

‘Well, you can come with me,’ said Ginger ingratiatingly

He followed Ginger through the stile, and gave a shout of derision when he saw William crouching behind the hedge. ‘Oh!
Look
at ’im,’ he said, ‘dressed up
funny.’

A masterly plan had come into William’s head. He led the party to the next field, to the disused barn which, in their normal happy life that now seemed to him so far away, served as castle
or pirate ship.