Just William - Richmal Crompton (have you read this book .TXT) 📗

of justifiable exasperation, he threw a beer bottle at her head. He then bedewed her bed in Hospital with penitent tears, tore out his hair, flung up his arms towards Heaven, beat his waistcoat, and clasped her to his breast, so that it was not to be wondered at that, after all that excitement, the child had a relapse and with the words “Goodbye, Father. Do not think of what you have done. I forgive you,” passed peacefully away.

William drew a deep breath at the end, and still sucking, arose with the throng and passed out.

Once outside, he glanced cautiously around and slunk down the road in the direction of his home. Then he doubled suddenly and ran down a back street to put his imaginary pursuers off his track. He took a pencil from his pocket and, levelling it at the empty air, fired twice. Two of his pursuers fell dead, the rest came on with redoubled vigour. There was no time to be lost. Running for dear life, he dashed down the next street, leaving in his wake an elderly gentleman nursing his toe and cursing volubly. As he neared his gate, William again drew the pencil from his pocket and, still looking back down the road, and firing as he went, he rushed into his own gateway.

William’s father, who had stayed at home that day because of a bad headache and a touch of liver, picked himself up from the middle of a rhododendron bush and seized William by the back of his neck.

“You young ruffian,” he roared, “what do you mean by charging into me like that?”

William gently disengaged himself.

“I wasn’t chargin’, Father,” he said, meekly. “I was only jus’ comin’ in at the gate, same as other folks. I jus’ wasn’t looking jus’ the way you were coming, but I can’t look all ways at once, cause⁠—”

“Be quiet!” roared William’s father.

Like the rest of the family, he dreaded William’s eloquence.

“What’s that on your tongue! Put your tongue out.”

William obeyed. The colour of William’s tongue would have put to shame Spring’s freshest tints.

“How many times am I to tell you,” bellowed William’s father, “that I won’t have you going about eating filthy poisons all day between meals?”

“It’s not filthy poison,” said William. “It’s jus’ a few sweets Aunt Susan gave me ’cause I kin’ly went to the post office for her an’⁠—”

“Be quiet! Have you got any more of the foul things?”

“They’re not foul things,” said William, doggedly. “They’re good. Jus’ have one, an’ try. They’re jus’ a few sweets Aunt Susan kin’ly gave me an’⁠—”

“Be quiet! Where are they?”

Slowly and reluctantly William drew forth his bag. His father seized it and flung it far into the bushes. For the next ten minutes William conducted a thorough and systematic search among the bushes and for the rest of the day consumed Gooseberry Eyes and garden soil in fairly equal proportions.

He wandered round to the back garden and climbed on to the wall.

“Hello!” said the little girl next door, looking up.

Something about the little girl’s head and curls reminded William of the simple country maiden. There was a touch of the artistic temperament about William. He promptly felt himself the simple country son of the soil.

“Hullo, Joan,” he said in a deep, husky voice intended to be expressive of intense affection. “Have you missed me while I’ve been away?”

“Didn’t know you’d been away,” said Joan. “What are you talking so funny for?”

“I’m not talkin’ funny,” said William in the same husky voice, “I can’t help talkin’ like this.”

“You’ve got a cold. That’s what you’ve got. That’s what Mother said when she saw you splashing about with your rain tub this morning. She said, ‘The next thing that we shall hear of William Brown will be he’s in bed with a cold.’ ”

“It’s not a cold,” said William mysteriously. “It’s jus’ the way I feel.”

“What are you eating?”

“Gooseberry Eyes. Like one?” He took the packet from his pocket and handed it down to her. “Go on. Take two⁠—three,” he said in reckless generosity.

“But they’re⁠—dirty.”

“Go on. It’s only ord’nery dirt. It soon sucks off. They’re jolly good.” He poured a shower of them lavishly down to her.

“I say,” he said, reverting to his character of simple country lover. “Did you say you’d missed me? I bet you didn’t think of me as much as I did of you. I jus’ bet you didn’t.” His voice had sunk deeper and deeper till it almost died away.

“I say, William, does your throat hurt you awful, that you’ve got to talk like that?”

Her blue eyes were anxious and sympathetic.

William put one hand to his throat and frowned.

“A bit,” he confessed lightly.

“Oh, William!” she clasped her hands. “Does it hurt all the time?”

Her solicitude was flattering.

“I don’t talk much about it, anyway, do I?” he said manfully.

She started up and stared at him with big blue eyes.

“Oh, William! Is it⁠—is it your⁠—lungs? I’ve got an aunt that’s got lungs and she coughs and coughs,” William coughed hastily, “and it hurts her and makes her awful bad. Oh, William, I do hope you’ve not got lungs.”

Her tender, anxious little face was upturned to him. “I guess I have got lungs,” he said, “but I don’t make a fuss about ’em.”

He coughed again.

“What does the doctor say about it?”

William considered a minute.

“He says it’s lungs all right,” he said at last. “He says I gotter be jolly careful.”

“William, would you like my new paintbox?”

“I don’t think so. Not now. Thanks.”

“I’ve got three balls and one’s quite new. Wouldn’t you like it, William?”

“No⁠—thanks. You see, it’s no use my collectin’ a lot of things. You never know⁠—with lungs.”

“Oh, William!”

Her distress was pathetic.

“Of course,” he said hastily, “if I’m careful it’ll be all right. Don’t you worry about me.”

“Joan!” from the house.

“That’s Mother. Goodbye, William dear. If Father brings me home any chocolate, I’ll bring it in to you. I will⁠—honest. Thanks for the Gooseberry Eyes. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye⁠—and don’t worry about me,” he added bravely.

He put another Gooseberry Eye