William the Fourth (26 page)

‘Now,’ he said, ‘we’re goin’ to play at soldiers, an’ you come an’ say you wanter join the army—’

‘But I don’t,’ said the small boy solemnly. ‘That would be a thtory’

‘Never mind,’ said William patiently. ‘You must pretend you want to join the army. Then you must take off your clothes and leave ’em with me, and this boy will pretend to
be the doctor; an’ he’ll tell you if you’re strong enough, you know; he’ll look at your lungs and things and then – and then – well, that’s all. Now
I’ll give you the half-crown jus’ for a present if you play it prop’ly’

‘All right,’ said the boy brightly, beginning to take off his coat.

‘You’ve got bad lungs, an’ a bad heart, an’ bad legs, an’ bad arms, an’ bad ears, an’ a bad head,’ said the doctor, ‘an’ I’m
afraid
you can’t be a soldier.’

All right,’ said the boy brightly. ‘Don’ wanter be. Now I’ll put on my clothes.’

He came out to the back of the barn, where he had left his clothes, and burst into a howl.

‘Oooo – oo – oo – ’e’s tooken my clothes – tooken my clothes – ’e’s tooken my clothes. Ma!
Ma! Ma!
’E’s tooken my
clothes.’

His shirt fluttering in the wind, he went howling down the road.

Ginger went to the ditch whence William’s gesticulating arms could be seen.

‘Quick! William, quick!’ gasped Ginger.

William arose, holding his Ancient Briton costume in his hand. He was clothed in a tweed suit – a very very small tweed suit – the waistcoat would not button across him and the
sleeves came only a little way below his elbow.

‘William!’ gasped Ginger. ‘It’s not yours.’

William’s face was pale with horror.

‘It looked like mine,’ he said in a sepulchral voice, ‘but it’s not mine.’

A babel of voices arose.

‘Where are they, lovey?’

‘Boo – hoo – they’ve tooken my clothes.’

‘Wait till I gettem, that’s all.’

‘Never mind, darlin’. Ma’ll learn ’em.’

With grim despair they saw what seemed to them an army of women running up the hill, and with them a howling boy in a fluttering shirt. One of the women carried a broom.

‘Run,
William!’ gasped Ginger.

William flung his skin into the ditch and ran. Though his suit was so tight that he could only progress in little leaps and bounds, he progressed with remarkable speed.

At last, exhausted and breathless, he walked round to the side entrance of his home and stood in the hall. He could hear his mother’s voice from the drawing-room.

‘Miss Carter’s been ringing up all the afternoon,’ she was saying, ‘she seems to think that William took away one of the costumes after the rehearsal. I told her that I
was sure William wouldn’t do such a thing.’

‘My dear,’ in his father’s voice, ‘you do make the most rash statements.’

William entered slowly. His father and mother and sister turned and stared at him in silence.

‘William!’ gasped his mother. ‘What
are
you wearing?’

William made a desperate effort to carry off the situation.

‘You know – everyone says how fast I’m growin’ – I keep growin’ out of my things—’

‘Mother!’ screamed Ethel, from the window, ‘there’s a lot of awful women coming through the gate and an awful little boy in a shirt!’

William was brushed and combed and dressed in his best suit. His week-day suit had been, with great trouble and at great expense, brought back from Mrs Johnson, and taken from
the person of her eldest son, and was now being disinfected from any possible germ which might have infested the person of her eldest son.

Mrs Johnson and her indignant younger son had been, with great difficulty and also at great expense, soothed and appeased.

William had eaten the bread and water considered, in the circumstances, a suitable meal for the prodigal son, with that inward fury, but with that outward appearance of intense enjoyment that he
always fondly imagined made his family feel foolish.

He was not to leave the garden again that day. He was to go to bed an hour before his usual time, but that left him now half an hour to dispose of in the garden. Through the window William could
see his father reclining in a deck-chair and reading the evening paper. William considered that his father had that evening shown himself conspicuously lacking in tact and sympathy and generosity,
but William did not bear malice, and he knew that such qualities are not to be expected in grown-ups. Moreover, his father was the only human being within sight, and William felt disinclined for
active pursuits. He went out to his father and sat down on the grass in front of him.

‘Oh, about that man wot had his legs bit off by a shark, Father, wot I promised to tell you about – well, it begins when he starts out in the Ship of Mystery—’

William’s father tried to continue to read his paper. Finding it impossible, he folded it up.

‘One minute, William, how long is there before you go to bed?’

‘Only about half an hour,’ said William reproachfully. ‘But I can tell you quite a lot in that time, an’ I can go on tomorrow if I don’t finish it. You’ll
like
it – Ginger’n me liked it awfully. Well, starts off in the Ship of Mystery, an’ why it’s called the Ship of Mystery is because every night there’s ghostly
moanin’s an’ rattlin’s of chains, an’ one day the man wot the tale’s about went down to get something he’d forgot in the middle of the night, an’ he saw a
norful figure dressed in a long black cloak, with gleamin’ eyes, and jus’ as he was runnin’ away it put out a norful skinny hand, an,’ said in a norful
voice—’

William’s father looked wildly round for escape, and saw none.

Nemesis had overtaken him. With a groan he gave himself up for lost, and William, already thrilled to his very soul by his story, the memories of his exciting day already dim, pursued his
ruthless recital.

Richmal Crompton was born in Lancashire in 1890. The first story about William Brown appeared in
Home
magazine in 1919, and the first collection of William stories was published in book
form three years later. In all, thirty-eight William books were published, the last one in 1970, after Richmal Crompton’s death.

‘Probably the funniest, toughest children’s books ever written’

Sunday Times
on the Just William series

‘Richmal Crompton’s creation [has] been famed for his cavalier attitude to life and those who would seek to circumscribe his enjoyment of it ever since he first
appeared’

Guardian

Books available in the Just William series

Just William

More William

William Again

William the Fourth

Still William

William the Conqueror

William the Outlaw

William in Trouble

William the Good

William at War

First published in 1924

This selection first published 1983 by Macmillan Children's Books

This edition published 2011 by Macmillan Children's Books

This electronic edition published 2011 by Macmillan Children's Books
a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited
Pan Macmillan, 20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR
Basingstoke and Oxford
Associated companies throughout the world
www.panmacmillan.com

ISBN 978-0-330-54362-0 PDF
ISBN 978-0-330-54360-6 EPUB

All stories copyright © Richmal C. Ashbee
This selection copyright © 1983 Richmal C. Ashbee
Foreword copyright © Frank Cottrell Boyce 2010
Illustrations copyright © Thomas Henry Fisher Estate

You may not copy, store, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (electronic, digital,
optical, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be
liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

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