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

yes,” she lost her foothold and rolled down to the pile of pillows. From them came her voice muffled, but clear as ever. “You betcher life. In ornery clothes.” X William’s New Year’s Day

William went whistling down the street, his hands in his pockets. William’s whistle was more penetrating than melodious. Sensitive people fled shuddering at the sound. The proprietor of the sweet-shop, however, was not sensitive. He nodded affably as William passed. William was a regular customer of his⁠—as regular, that is, as a wholly inadequate allowance would permit. Encouraged William paused at the doorway and ceased to whistle.

“ ’Ullo, Mr. Moss!” he said.

“ ’Ullo, William!” said Mr. Moss.

“Anythin’ cheap today?” went on William hopefully.

Mr. Moss shook his head.

“Twopence an ounce cheapest,” he said.

William sighed.

“That’s awful dear,” he said.

“What isn’t dear? Tell me that. What isn’t dear?” said Mr. Moss lugubriously.

“Well, gimme two ounces. I’ll pay you tomorrow,” said William casually.

Mr. Moss shook his head.

“Go on!” said William. “I get my money tomorrow. You know I get my money tomorrow.”

“Cash, young sir,” said Mr. Moss heavily. “My terms is cash. ’Owever,” he relented, “I’ll give you a few over when the scales is down tomorrow for a New Year’s gift.”

“Honest Injun?”

“Honest Injun.”

“Well, gimme them now then,” said William.

Mr. Moss hesitated.

“They wouldn’t be no New Year’s gift then, would they?” he said.

William considered.

“I’ll eat ’em today but I’ll think about ’em tomorrow,” he promised. “That’ll make ’em a New Year’s gift.”

Mr. Moss took out a handful of assorted fruit drops and passed them to William. William received them gratefully.

“An’ what good resolution are you going to take tomorrow?” went on Mr. Moss.

William crunched in silence for a minute, then,

“Good resolution?” he questioned. “I ain’t got none.”

“You’ve got to have a good resolution for New Year’s Day,” said Mr. Moss firmly.

“Same as giving up sugar in tea in Lent and wearing blue on Oxford and Cambridge Boat Race Day?” said William with interest.

“Yes, same as that. Well, you’ve got to think of some fault you’d like to cure and start tomorrow.”

William pondered.

“Can’t think of anything,” he said at last. “You think of something for me.”

“You might take one to do your school work properly,” he suggested.

William shook his head.

“No,” he said, “that wun’t be much fun, would it? Crumbs! It wun’t!”

“Or⁠—to keep your clothes tidy?” went on his friend.

William shuddered at the thought.

“Or to⁠—give up shouting and whistling.”

Williams crammed two more sweets into his mouth and shook his head very firmly.

“Crumbs, no!” he ejaculated indistinctly.

“Or to be perlite.”

“Perlite?”

“Yes. ‘Please’ and ‘thank you,’ and ‘if you don’t mind me sayin’ so,’ and ‘if you excuse me contradictin’ of you,’ and ‘can I do anything for you?’ and suchlike.”

William was struck with this.

“Yes, I might be that,” he said. He straightened his collar and stood up. “Yes, I might try bein’ that. How long has it to go on, though?”

“Not long,” said Mr. Moss. “Only the first day gen’rally. Folks generally give ’em up after that.”

“What’s yours?” said William, putting four sweets into his mouth as he spoke.

Mr. Moss looked round his little shop with the air of a conspirator, then leant forward confidentially.

“I’m goin’ to arsk ’er again,” he said.

“Who?” said William mystified.

“Someone I’ve arsked regl’ar every New Year’s Day for ten year.”

“Asked what?” said William, gazing sadly at his last sweet.

“Arsked to take me o’ course,” said Mr. Moss with an air of contempt for William’s want of intelligence.

“Take you where?” said William. “Where d’you want to go? Why can’t you go yourself?”

“Ter marry me, I means,” said Mr. Moss, blushing slightly as he spoke.

“Well,” said William with a judicial air, “I wun’t have asked the same one for ten years. I’d have tried someone else. I’d have gone on asking other people, if I wanted to get married. You’d be sure to find someone that wouldn’t mind you⁠—with a sweet-shop, too. She must be a softie. Does she know you’ve got a sweet-shop?”

Mr. Moss merely sighed and popped a bull’s eye into his mouth with an air of abstracted melancholy.

The next morning William leapt out of bed with an expression of stern resolve. “I’m goin’ to be p’lite,” he remarked to his bedroom furniture. “I’m goin’ to be p’lite all day.”

He met his father on the stairs as he went down to breakfast.

“Good mornin’, Father,” he said, with what he fondly imagined to be a courtly manner. “Can I do anything for you today?”

His father looked down at him suspiciously.

“What do you want now?” he demanded.

William was hurt.

“I’m only bein’ p’lite. It’s⁠—you know⁠—one of those things you take on New Year’s Day. Well, I’ve took one to be p’lite.”

His father apologised. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You see, I’m not used to it. It startled me.”

At breakfast William’s politeness shone forth in all its glory.

“Can I pass you anything, Robert?” he said sweetly.

His elder brother coldly ignored him. “Going to rain again,” he said to the world in general.

“If you’ll ’scuse me contradicting of you Robert,” said William, “I heard the milkman sayin’ it was goin’ to be fine. If you’ll ’scuse me contradictin’ you.”

“Look here!” said Robert angrily, “Less of your cheek!”

“Seems to me no one in this house understands wot bein’ p’lite is,” said William bitterly. “Seems to me one might go on bein’ p’lite in this house for years an’ no one know wot one was doin’.”

His mother looked at him anxiously.

“You’re feeling quite well, dear, aren’t you?” she said. “You haven’t got a headache or anything, have you?”

“No. I’m bein’ p’lite,” he said irritably, then pulled himself up suddenly. “I’m quite well, thank you, Mother dear,” he said in a tone of cloying sweetness.

“Does it hurt you much?” inquired his brother tenderly.

“No thank you, Robert,” said William politely.

After breakfast he received his pocket-money with courteous gratitude.

“Thank you very much, Father.”

“Not at all. Pray don’t mention it, William. It’s quite all right,” said Mr. Brown, not to be outdone. Then, “It’s rather trying. How long does it last?”

“What?”

“The resolution.”

“Oh, bein’ p’lite! He said they didn’t often do it after the first day.”

“He’s quite right, whoever he is,” said Mr. Brown. “They don’t.”

“He’s