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

Chesterfield and again they looked at each other.

“Heth kite good now,” said Michael hopefully.

Then the maid of honour, aware that cold deliberation often kills the most glorious impulses, seized William’s hand.

“Sit down. Quick!” she whispered sharply.

Without a word they sat down. They sat till they felt the cold moisture penetrate to their skins. Then William heaved a deep sigh.

“We can’t go now,” he said.

Through the open door they saw a little group coming⁠—Miss Grant in shining white, followed by William’s mother, arrayed in her brightest and best, and William’s father, whose expression revealed a certain weariness mingled with a relief that the whole thing would soon be over.

“Here’s the old sardine all togged up,” whispered Dorita.

“William! Dorita! Michael!” they called.

Slowly William, Dorita and Michael obeyed the summons.

When Miss Grant’s eyes fell upon the strange object that was Michael, she gave a loud scream.

“Michael! Oh, the dreadful child!”

She clasped the centre of the door and looked as though about to swoon.

Michael began to sob.

“Poor Micky,” he said through his tears. “He feelth tho thick.”

They removed him hastily.

“Never mind, dear,” said Mrs. Brown soothingly, “the other two look sweet.”

But Mr. Brown had wandered further into the room and thus obtained a sudden and startling view of the page and maid of honour from behind.

“What? Where?” he began explosively.

William and Dorita turned to him instinctively, thus providing Mrs. Brown and the bride with the spectacle that had so disturbed him.

The bride gave a second scream⁠—shriller and wilder than the first.

“Oh, what have they done? Oh, the wretched children! And just when I wanted to feel calm. Just when all depends on my feeling calm. Just when⁠—”

“We was walkin’ round the room an’ we sat down on the Chesterfield and there was this stuff on it an’ it came on our clothes,” explained William stonily and monotonously and all in one breath.

“Why did you sit down,” said his mother.

“We was walkin’ round an’ we jus’ felt tired and we sat down on the Chesterfield and there was this stuff on it an’ it came on⁠—”

“Oh, stop! Didn’t you see it there?”

William considered.

“Well, we was jus’ walking round the room,” he said, “an’ we jus’ felt tired and we sat⁠—”

“Stop saying that.”

“Couldn’t we make cloaks?” wailed the bride, “to hang down and cover them all up behind. It wouldn’t take long⁠—”

Mr. Brown took out his watch.

“The carriage has been waiting a quarter of an hour already,” he said firmly. “We’ve no time to spare. Come along, my dear. We’ll continue the investigation after the service. You can’t go, of course, you must stay at home now,” he ended, turning a stern eye upon William. There was an unconscious note of envy in his voice.

“And I did so want to have a page,” said Miss Grant plaintively as she turned away.

Joy and hope returned to William with a bound. As the sound of wheels was heard down the drive he turned head over heels several times on the lawn, then caught sight of his long-neglected alpenstock leaning against a wall.

“Come on,” he shouted joyfully. “I’ll teach you a game I made up. It’s mountaineerin’.”

She watched him place a plank against the wall and begin his perilous ascent.

“You’re a mug,” she said in her clear, sweet voice. “I know a mountaineering game worth ten of that old thing.”

And it says much for the character and moral force of the maid-of-honour that William meekly put himself in the position of pupil.

It must be explained at this point that the domestics of the Brown household were busy arranging refreshments in a marquee in the garden. The front hall was quite empty.

In about a quarter of an hour the game of mountaineering was in full swing. On the lowest steps of the staircase reposed the mattress from William’s father’s and mother’s bed, above it the mattress from Miss Grant’s bed, above that the mattress from William’s bed, and on the top, the mattress from Dorita’s bed. In all the bedrooms the bedclothes lay in disarray on the floor. A few nails driven through the ends of the mattresses into the stairs secured the stability of the “mountain.” Still wearing their robes of ceremony, they scrambled up in stockinged feet, every now and then losing foothold and rolling down to the pile of pillows and bolsters (taken indiscriminately from all the beds) which was arranged at the foot of the staircase. Their mirth was riotous and uproarious. They used the alpenstock in turns. It was a great help. They could get a firm hold on the mattresses with the point of the alpenstock. William stood at the top of the mountain, hot and panting, his alpenstock in his hand, and paused for breath. He was well aware that retribution was not far off⁠—was in the neighbouring church, to be quite exact, and would return in a carriage within the next few minutes. He was aware that an explanation of the yellow stain was yet to be demanded. He was aware that this was not a use to which the family mattresses could legitimately be put. But he cared for none of these things. In his mind’s eye he only saw a crowd of small boys assembled outside a church door with eager eyes fixed on a carriage from which descended⁠—Miss Grant, Mrs. Brown, and Mr. Brown. His life stretched before him bright and rose-coloured. A smile of triumph curved his lips.

“Yah! Who waited at a church for someone what never came? Yah!”

“I hope you didn’t get a bad cold waitin’ for me on Wednesday at the church door.”

“Some folks is easy had. I bet you all believed I was coming on Wednesday.”

Such sentences floated idly through his mind.

“I say, my turn for that stick with the spike.”

William handed it to her in silence.

“I say,” she repeated, “what do you think of this marriage business?”

“Dunno,” said William laconically.

“If I’d got to marry,” went on the maid of honour, “I’d as soon marry you as anyone.”

“I wu’nt mind,” said the page gallantly. “But,” he added hastily, “in ornery clothes.”

“Oh,