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

well pinchin’ things out o’ someone else’s shop, I can see. ’Ere, gimme some of them.”

“You get out!” said William.

“Get out yerself!” said the other.

“If I’d not took one to be p’lite,” said William threateningly, “I’d knock you down.”

“Yer would, would yer?” said the other, beginning to roll up his sleeves.

“Yes, an’ I would, too. You get out.” Seizing the nearest bottle, which happened to contain Acid Drops, he began to fire them at his opponent’s head. One hit him in the eye. He retired into the street. William, now afire for battle, followed him, still hurling Acid Drops with all his might. A crowd of boys collected together. Some gathered Acid Drops from the gutter, others joined the scrimmage. William, Henry, and Ginger carried on a noble fight against heavy odds.

It was only the sight of the proprietor of the shop coming briskly down the sidewalk that put an end to the battle. The street boys made off (with what spoils they could gather) in one direction and Ginger and Henry in another. William, clasping an empty Acid Drop bottle to his bosom, was left to face Mr. Moss.

Mr. Moss entered and looked round with an air of bewilderment.

“Where’s Bill?” he said.

“He’s ill,” said William. “He couldn’t come. I’ve been keepin’ shop for you. I’ve done the best I could.” He looked round the rifled shop and hastened to propitiate the owner as far as possible. “I’ve got some money for you,” he added soothingly, pointing to the four pennies that represented his morning’s takings. “It’s not much,” he went on with some truth, looking again at the rows of emptied boxes and half-emptied bottles and the debris that is always and everywhere the inevitable result of a battle. But Mr. Moss hardly seemed to notice it.

“Thanks, William,” he said almost humbly. “William, she’s took me. She’s goin’ ter marry me. Isn’t it grand? After all these years!”

“I’m afraid there’s a bit of a mess,” said William, returning to the more important matter.

Mr. Moss waved aside his apologies.

“It doesn’t matter, William,” he said. “Nothing matters today. She’s took me at last. I’m goin’ to shut shop this afternoon and go over to her again. Thanks for staying, William.”

“Not at all. Don’t menshun it,” said William nobly. Then, “I think I’ve had enough of that bein’ p’lite. Will one mornin’ do for this year, d’you think?”

“Er⁠—yes. Well, I’ll shut up. Don’t you stay, William. You’ll want to be getting home for lunch.”

Lunch? Quite definitely William decided that he did not want any lunch. The very thought of lunch brought with it a feeling of active physical discomfort which was much more than mere absence of hunger. He decided to go home as quickly as possible, though not to lunch.

“Goo’-bye,” he said.

“Goodbye,” said Mr. Moss.

“I’m afraid you’ll find some things gone,” said William faintly; “some boys was in.”

“That’s all right, William,” said Mr. Moss, roused again from his rosy dreams. “That’s quite all right.”

But it was not “quite all right” with William. Reader, if you had been left, at the age of eleven, in sole charge of a sweet shop for a whole morning, would it have been “all right” with you? I trow not. But we will not follow William through the humiliating hours of the afternoon. We will leave him as, pale and unsteady, but as yet master of the situation, he wends his homeward way.

XI The Best Laid Plans I

“She’s⁠—she’s a real Botticelli,” said the young man dreamily, as he watched the figure of William’s sister, Ethel, disappearing into the distance.

William glared at him.

“Bottled cherry yourself!” he said indignantly. “She can’t help having red hair, can she? No more’n you can help havin’⁠—havin’⁠—” his eye wandered speculatively over the young man in search of physical defects⁠—“having big ears,” he ended.

The young man did not resent the insult. He did not even hear it. His eyes were still fixed upon the slim figure in the distance.

“ ‘Eyes of blue and hair red-gold,’ ” he said softly. “Red-gold. I had to put that because it’s got both colours in it. Red-gold, ‘Eyes of blue and hair red-gold.’ What rhymes with gold?”

“Cold,” suggested William brightly. “That’s jolly good, too, ’cause she has gotter cold. She was sneezing all last night.”

“No. It should be something about her heart being cold.

Eyes of blue and hair red-gold,
Heart of ice⁠—so stony cold⁠—”

“That’s jolly good!” said William with admiration. “It’s just like what you read in real books⁠—poetry books!”

The young man⁠—James French by name⁠—had met Ethel at an evening party and had succumbed to her charm. Lacking courage to pursue the acquaintance, he had cultivated the friendship of her small brother, under a quite erroneous impression that this would win him her good graces.

“What would you like most in the world?” he said suddenly, leaning forward from his seat on the top of the gate. “Suppose someone let you choose.”

“White rats,” said William without a moment’s hesitation.

The young man was plunged in deep thought.

“I’m thinking a way,” he said at last. “I’ve nearly got it. Just walk home with me, will you? I’ll give you something when we get there,” he bribed with pathetic pleading, noting William’s reluctant face. “I want to tell you my idea.”

They walked down the lane together. The young man talked volubly and earnestly. William’s mouth opened wide with amazement and disapproving horror. The words “white rats” were repeated frequently. Finally William nodded his head, as though acquiescing.

“I s’pose you’re balmy on her,” he said resignedly at the end, “like what folks are in books. I want ’em with long tails, mind.”

William was not unacquainted with the tender passion. He had been to the pictures. He had read books. He had seen his elder brother Robert pass several times through every stage of the consuming fever. He had himself decided in moments of deep emotion to marry the little girl next door as soon as he should reach manhood’s estate. He was willing to further his new friend’s suit by