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

shut up! Do shut up.”

The howls redoubled.

“You brought it,” said Henry accusingly, raising his voice to be heard above the baby’s fury and indignation. “Can’t you stop it? Not much sense taking babies about if you don’t know how to stop ’em crying!”

The baby was now purple in the face.

The Outlaws stood around and watched it helplessly.

“P’raps it’s hungry,” suggested Douglas.

He took up the half cake from the remains of the stores and held it out tentatively to the baby. The baby stopped crying suddenly.

“Dad⁠—dad⁠—dad⁠—dad⁠—dad,” it said tearfully.

Douglas blushed and grinned.

“Keeps on thinking I’m its father,” he said with conscious superiority. “Here, like some cake?”

The baby broke off a handful and conveyed it to its mouth.

“It’s eating it,” cried Douglas in shrill excitement. After thoroughly masticating it, however, the baby repented of its condescension and ejected the mouthful in several instalments.

William blushed for it.

“Oh, come on, let’s go and look at the fire,” he said weakly.

They left the barn and returned to the scene of the fire-lighting. The cow, still swinging the remains of the baby’s hat from its mouth, was standing with its front feet firmly planted on the remains of what had been a promising fire.

“Look!” cried William, in undisguised pleasure. “Look at Henry’s cow! Pretty nice sort of cow you’ve brought, Henry. Not much sense taking cows about if you can’t stop them puttin’ folks’ fires out.”

After a heated argument, the Outlaws turned their attention to the cow. The cow refused to be “shoo’d off.” It simply stood immovable and stared them out. Ginger approached cautiously and gave it a little push. It switched its tail into his eye and continued to munch the baby’s hat-string. Upon William’s approaching it lowered its head, and William retreated hastily. At last they set off to collect some fresh wood and light a fresh fire. Soon they were blissfully consuming two blackened slices of ham, the popcorn, and what was left of the cake.

After the “feast,” Ginger and William, as Wild Indians, attacked the barn, which was defended by Douglas and Henry. The “kidnap” crawled round inside on all fours, picking up any treasures it might come across en route and testing their effect on its palate.

Occasionally it carried on a conversation with its defenders, bringing with it a strong perfume of paraffin oil as it approached.

“Blab⁠—blab⁠—blab⁠—blab⁠—blub⁠—blub⁠—Dad⁠—dad⁠—dad⁠—dad⁠—dad. Go⁠—o⁠—o⁠—o.”

William had insisted on a place on the attacking side.

“I couldn’t put any feelin’,” he explained, “into fightin’ for that baby.”

When they finally decided to set off homewards, William gazed hopelessly at his charge. Its appearance defies description. For many years afterwards William associated babies in his mind with paraffin-oil and potato.

“Just help me get the potato out of its hair,” he pleaded; “never mind the oil and the rest of it.”

“My hat! doesn’t it smell funny!⁠—and doesn’t it look funny⁠—all oil and potato and bits of cake!” said Ginger.

“Oh! shut up about it,” said William irritably.

The cow followed them down to the stile and watched them sardonically as they climbed it.

“Bow-wow!” murmured the baby in affectionate farewell.

William looked wildly round for the pram, but⁠—the pram was gone⁠—only the piece of string dangled from the railings.

“Crumbs!” said William, “Talk about bad luck! I’m simply statin’ a fact. Talk about bad luck!”

At that minute the pram appeared, charging down the hill at full speed with a cargo of small boys. At the bottom of the hill it overturned into a ditch accompanied by its cargo. To judge from its appearance, it had passed the afternoon performing the operation.

“That’s my pram!” said William to the cargo, as it emerged, joyfully, from the ditch.

“Garn! S’ours! We found it.”

“Well, I left it there.”

“Come on! We’ll fight for it,” said Ginger, rolling up his sleeves in a businesslike manner. The other Outlaws followed his example. The pram’s cargo eyed them appraisingly.

“Oh, all right! Take your rotten old pram!” they said at last.

Douglas placed the baby in its seat and William thoughtfully put up the hood to shield his charge as far as possible from the curious gaze of the passersby. His charge was now chewing the pram cover and talking excitedly to itself. With a “heart steeled for any fate” William turned the corner into his own road. The baby’s mother was standing at his gate.

“There you are!” she called. “I was getting quite anxious. Thank you so much, dear.”

But that is what she said before she saw the baby!

IX William and White Satin

“I’d simply love to have a page,” murmured Miss Grant wistfully. “A wedding seems so⁠—second-rate without a page.”

Mrs. Brown, her aunt and hostess, looked across the tea-table at her younger son, who was devouring iced cake with that disregard for consequences which is the mark of youth.

“There’s William,” she said doubtfully. Then, “You’ve had quite enough cake, William.”

Miss Grant studied William’s countenance, which at that moment expressed intense virtue persecuted beyond all bearing.

“Enough!” he repeated. “I’ve had hardly any yet. I was only jus’ beginning to have some when you looked at me. It’s a plain cake. It won’t do me any harm. I wu’nt eat it if it’d do me any harm. Sugar’s good for you. Animals eat it to keep healthy. Horses eat it an’ it don’t do ’em any harm, an’ poll parrots an’ things eat it an’ it don’t do ’em any⁠—”

“Oh, don’t argue, William,” said his mother wearily.

William’s gift of eloquence was known and feared in his family circle.

Then Miss Grant brought out the result of her study of his countenance.

“He’s got such a⁠—modern face!” she said. “There’s something essentially medieval and romantic about the idea of a page.”

Mrs. Brown (from whose house the wedding was to take place) looked worried.

“There’s nothing medieval or romantic about William,” she said.

“Well,”⁠—Miss Grant’s intellectual face lit up⁠—“what about his cousin Dorita. They’re about the same age, aren’t they? Both eleven. Well, the two of them in white satin with bunches of holly. Don’t you think? Would you mind having her to stay for the ceremony?” (Miss Grant