William The Outlaw (3 page)

The Outlaws sat down weakly on the ground around the little heap of black twigs and dead leaves which marked the scene of William’s failure as a fire-maker and held their heads.

‘Crumbs!’ moaned William, and Ginger mournfully echoed, ‘Crumbs!’

‘Well, anyway, he’s gone,’ said Henry trying to look on the bright side.

But it wasn’t really easy to look on the bright side. The Outlaws were feeling very hungry and there wasn’t anything to eat. Ringers’ Hill had lost its charm. They’d had
a rotten time there – not a bit the sort of time they’d always imagined Outlaws having. And the sun had suddenly gone behind a cloud. It was cold and dark. They were hungry and fed
up.

‘Wonder what time it is,’ said Henry casually.

As if in answer the clock of the village church struck in the valley, One – Two – Three – Four – Five. Five o’clock. Tea-time. Into each mind flashed a picture of a
cheerful dining-room with a table laid for tea.

‘Well,’ said William with an unconvincing attempt at cheerfulness, ‘we’d better be getting something to eat. We might have had a rabbit if Henry’d caught one.
Let’s have a go at the blackberries.’

‘There aren’t any ripe ones,’ said Douglas, ‘and the others make you feel awful inside after you’ve eaten a few.’

Then suddenly to their secret relief Henry rose and said bluntly, ‘I want my tea and I’m sick of being an Outlaw. I’m going home.’

On the road they met Brown and Smith. Brown and Smith were swinging happily along the road carrying fishing-rods and jars of minnows.

‘I say, we’ve had a
topping
time,’ they called. ‘Have you? But you were rotters not to have told us.’

‘Told you what?’ said the Outlaws.

‘That there was going to be a half-holiday.’

‘
What?
’ said the Outlaws.

‘They sent us all away as soon as we got there. Said they’d forgotten to give it out in the morning. We were jolly surprised to meet you going away from school, but when we got there
we knew why but we thought you jolly well might have told us.’

‘Why was there a half-holiday?’ gasped William.

‘Oh, some old josser or something coming to give some old jaw or other to some old society or other,’ said Smith vaguely, ‘but we’ve had a
topping
afternoon, have
you?’

In bitter silence the Outlaws walked on. They hadn’t had a topping afternoon. At the end of the road a prefect was putting a letter into a pillar-box. Another prefect stood by.

‘What was it like?’ said the one who stood by.

‘He never turned up,’ said the one who’d just posted the letter. The Outlaws slowed their pace to listen.

‘We’d arranged to meet him on Ringers’ Hill. The Head and everyone was there. We’d never been to Ringers’ Hill before but there was a signpost up so we
couldn’t have gone wrong. We waited three-quarters of an hour and he never turned up. It’s sickening. I’ve just posted a letter from the Head telling him that we went there and
waited three-quarters of an hour. I suppose he was kept somewhere. He might have let us know, but some of those professors are beastly absent-minded. We were looking forward to it awfully, because
it was Professor Fremlin, one of the greatest geologists in England, you know. Ringers’ Hill’s supposed to be an old volcano crater. It would have been awfully interesting. He was going
to lecture on its formation and show us the strata and fossils there. We’d been reading it up for weeks so as to know something about it. A shame when we’ve got such a decent Geologist
Society for the star turn show of the year to fall flat. Perhaps he was taken ill on the way.’ He turned to the Outlaws. ‘Now then, you kids, what are you hanging about for? Clear
off.’

Blinking dazedly, walking very, very slowly, very, very thoughtfully, the Outlaws cleared off.

CHAPTER 2

T
HE advent of Mr Galileo Simpkins to the village would in normal times have roused little interest in William and his friends. But the summer
holidays had already lasted six weeks and though the Outlaws were not tired of holidays (it was against the laws of nature for the Outlaws ever to tire of holidays), still they had run the gamut of
almost every conceivable occupation both lawful and unlawful, and they were ready for a fresh sensation. They had been Pirates and Smugglers and Red Indians and Highwaymen
ad nauseam.
They
had trespassed till every farmer in the neighbourhood saw red at the mere sight of them. They had made with much trouble a motor boat and an aeroplane, both of which had insisted on obeying the
laws of gravity rather than fulfilling the functions of motor boats and aeroplanes. They had made a fire in Ginger’s backyard and cooked over it a mixture of water from the stream and
blackberries and Worcester Sauce and Turkish delight and sardines (these being all the edibles they could jointly produce), had pronounced the resultant concoction to be excellent and had spent the
next day in bed. They had taken Jumble (William’s mongrel) ‘hunting’ and had watched the ignominious spectacle of Jumble’s being attacked by a cat half his size and pursued
in a state of abject terror all the length of the village with a bleeding nose. They had discovered a wasps’ nest and almost simultaneously its inhabitants had discovered them. They were only
just leaving off their bandages. They had essayed tightrope walking on Henry’s mother’s clothes line, but Henry’s mother’s clothes line had proved unexpectedly brittle and
William still limped slightly. They had tried to teach tricks to Etheldrida, Douglas’s aunt’s parrot, and Douglas still bore the marks of her beak in several places on his face.
Altogether they were, as I said, ripe for any fresh sensation when Mr Galileo Simpkins dawned upon their horizon.

Mr Galileo Simpkins had been thus christened by his parents in the hope that he would take to science. And Mr Galileo Simpkins, being by nature ready to follow the line of least resistance, had
obligingly taken to science at their suggestion. Moreover, he quite enjoyed taking to science. He enjoyed pottering about with test tubes and he disliked being sociable. A scientist, as everyone
knows, is immune from sociability. A scientist can retire to his lab as to a fortress and, if he likes, read detective novels there to his heart’s content without being disturbed by anyone.
Not that Mr Galileo Simpkins only read detective novels. He was genuinely interested in Science as Science (he put it that way) and though as yet he had made no startling contribution to Science as
Science, still he enjoyed reading in his textbooks of experiments that other men had made and then doing the experiments to see if the same thing happened in his case. It didn’t always . . .
Fortunately he was not dependent for his living on his scientific efforts. He had a nice little income of his own which enabled him to stage himself as a Scientist to his complete satisfaction. He
took a great interest in the staging of himself as a Scientist. He liked to have an imposing array of test tubes and bottles and appliances of every sort – even those whose use he did not
quite understand. He was very proud too of a skeleton which he had bought third-hand from a medical student and which he thought conferred great
éclat
on his position as a Scientist
from its stronghold in the darkest corner. As you will gather from all this, Mr Galileo Simpkins was a very simple and inoffensive and well-meaning little man and before he came to the village
where William lived, had not caused a moment’s uneasiness to anyone since the time at three years old he had inadvertently fallen into the rain tub and been fished out half drowned by his
nurse.

He had come to the village because the lease of the house where he had lived previously had run out and the original owners were returning to it and he had seen the house in William’s
village advertised in the paper, and it seemed just what he wanted. He liked to live in the country because he was rather a nervous little man and was afraid of traffic.

The first sight of Mr Galileo Simpkins on his way from the station had not interested the Outlaws much except that as a stranger to the village he was naturally to be kept under observation and
his possibilities in every direction explored at the earliest opportunity.

‘He dun’t look very
int
’restin’,’ said Ginger scornfully as, sitting in a row on a gate, the Outlaws stared in an unblinking manner quite incompatible with
Good Manners at little Mr Galileo Simpkins driving by on his way from the station in the village cab. The driver of the village cab, who knew the Outlaws well, kept a wary eye upon them as he
passed, and had his whip ready. The ancient quadruped who drew the village cab seemed to know them too, and turned his head to leer at them sardonically from behind his blinkers. But the attention
of the Outlaws was all for the occupant of the village cab, who alone was quite unaware of them as the ancient equipage passed on its way. He was merely thinking what a fine day it was for his
arrival at his new home and hoping that his skeleton (which he had packed most carefully) had travelled well.

William considered Ginger’s comment for a moment in silence. Then he said meditatively: ‘Oh . . . dunno. He looks sort of soft and ’s if he couldn’t run very fast. We
c’n try playin’ in his garden sometime. I bet he couldn’t catch us.’

They then had a stone-throwing competition which lasted till one of William’s stones went through General Moult’s cucumber-frame.

When General Moult had finally given up the chase, the Outlaws threw themselves breathlessly (for General Moult, despite his size, was quite a good runner) on to the grass at the top of the hill
and reviewed the further possibilities of amusement which the world held for them. They decided after a short discussion not to teach Etheldrida any more tricks, not so much because they were tired
of teaching Etheldrida tricks as because Etheldrida seemed to be tired of learning them.

Douglas stroked his scars thoughtfully and said:

‘Not that I’m
frightened
of her, but – but, well, let’s try ’n think of somethin’ a bit more
int’restin
’.’

No one had anything very original to suggest (they seemed to have exhausted the possibilities of the whole universe in those six weeks of holidays), so they made new bows and arrows and held a
match which William won in that he made the finest long distance shot. He shot his arrow into the air and unfortunately it came to earth by way of Miss Miggs’ scullery window. Miss Miggs
happened to be in the scullery at the time and again the Outlaws, bitterly meditating on the overpopulation of the countryside, had to flee from the avenging wrath of an outraged householder. In
the shelter of the woods they again drew breath.

‘I say,’ said Ginger, ‘wun’t it be nice to live in the middle of Central Africa or the North Pole or somewhere where there isn’t any houses for miles an’
miles an’
miles
’

‘She runs,’ commented Douglas patronisingly, ‘faster’n what you’d think to look at her.’

‘What’ll we do
now?
said Henry.

Dusk was falling, and ahead of them loomed the evil hour of bedtime which they were ever ready to postpone.

‘I tell you what,’ said William, his freckled face suddenly alight, ‘let’s go ’n see how
he’s
gettin’ on – you know, him what we saw
ridin’ up in the cab. We c’n go an’ watch him through his window. It’s quite dark.’

They watched him in petrified amazement. They watched him as, dressed in a black dressing-gown and a black skull-cap, he pottered about, laying out test tubes and pestles and
mortars and crucibles and curious-looking instruments and bottles of strangely coloured liquids. Eyes and mouths opened still further when little Mr Galileo Simpkins brought in his skeleton and set
it up with tender care and pride in its corner.

They crept away through the darkness in a stricken silence and did not speak till they reached the road. Then: ‘
Crumbs!
’ said William, in a hoarse whisper. ‘What
is
he? What’s he
doin
’?’

‘I think he’s a sort of Bolsh’vist goin’ to blow up all the world,’ said Douglas with a burst of inspiration.

‘An’ a dead body an’ all,’ said Ginger, deeply awed by the memory of what they had seen.

‘P’rhaps he’s just doin’ ordinary chemistry,’ suggested Henry mildly.

This suggestion was indignantly scouted by the Outlaws.

‘’
Course
it’s not jus’ ordin’ry chemistry,’ said William, ‘not with all that set-out.’

‘Dead bodies an’ all,’ murmured Ginger again in a sepulchral voice.

‘An’ dressed all funny,’ said William, ‘an’ queer sorts of things all over the place. ’Sides, what’d he be doin’ ordin’ry chemistry
for
, anyway? He’s too old to be goin’ in for exams.’

This was felt to be unanswerable.

‘What I think is—’ began William, but he never got as far as what he thought.

A plaintive voice came through the dusk – the voice of William’s sister Ethel.

‘William! Mother says it’s long past your bedtime and
will
you come in and she says—’

The Outlaws crept off through the dusk.

The next day Joan came back from a visit to an aunt.

Joan was the only female member of the Outlaws. Though she did not accompany them on their more dangerous and manly exploits she was their unfailing confidante and sympathiser and could be
always counted on to side with them against a hostile and unsympathetic world. She was small and dark and very pretty and she considered William the greatest hero the world has ever known.

She joined them the first morning of her return and they told her without any undue modesty of their exploits during her absence – of their heroic flights from irate farmers, of their
miraculous creation of motor boats and aeroplanes (they omitted any reference to the over-officious law of gravity), of their glorious culinary operations (they omitted the sequel), their Herculean
contest with the wasps, their tightrope walking performance, their (partial) mastery over the brute creation as represented by Etheldrida, their glorious feats of stone throwing and arrow
shooting.