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

“No, I mustn’t. You don’t understand. It wasn’t that kind of not wellness. A doctor couldn’t of done me no good. I jus’⁠—jus’ came over queer,” he ended, remembering a phrase he had heard used recently by the charwoman.

“What do you think, Mr. French?” said Mrs. Brown anxiously.

Both Mrs. Brown and Ethel turned to him as to an oracle. He looked from one to the other and a deep flush of guilt overspread his countenance.

“Oh⁠—er⁠—well,” he said nervously. “He looks all right, doesn’t he? I⁠—er⁠—wouldn’t bother. Just⁠—er⁠—don’t worry him with questions. Just⁠—let him go about as usual. I⁠—er⁠—think it’s best to⁠—let him forget it,” he ended weakly.

“Of course he’s growing very fast.”

“Yes. I expect it was just a sort of growing weakness,” said Mr. French brightly.

“But Mr. French was splendid!” said Ethel enthusiastically, “simply splendid. William, I don’t think you realise how kind it was of Mr. French. I think you ought to thank him.”

William fixed his benefactor with a cold eye.

“Thank you very much indeed for carrying me,” he said. Then, as his mother turned to Ethel with a remark about the lunch, he added. “Two, remember, and, with long tails!”

Mr. French stayed for lunch and spent the afternoon golfing with Ethel up at the links. William was wrapt up in rugs and laid upon the library sofa after lunch and left to sleep off his mysterious complaint in quietness with the blinds down.

Mrs. Brown, entering on tiptoe to see how her son was faring, found him gone.

“Oh, he’s gone,” she said anxiously to her husband. “I left him so comfortable on the sofa, and told him to try to sleep. Sleep is so important when you’re ill. And now he’s gone⁠—he’ll probably stay away till bedtime!”

“All right,” said her husband sardonically. “Be thankful for small mercies.”

Ethel and her esquire returned to tea, and, yielding to the entreaties of the family, who looked upon him as William’s saviour, he stayed to dinner. He spent the evening playing inadequate accompaniments to Ethel’s songs and ejaculating at intervals rapturous expressions of delight. It was evident that Ethel was flattered by his obvious admiration. He stayed till nearly eleven, and then, almost drunk with happiness, he took his leave while the family again thanked him profusely.

As he walked down the drive with a smile on his lips and his mind flitting among the blissful memories of the evening, an upper window was opened cautiously and a small head peeped out. Through the still air the words shot out⁠—

“Two, mind, an’ with long tails.”

“Where did you get it from?” demanded Mr. Brown fiercely.

William pocketed his straying pet.

“A friend gave it me.”

“What friend?”

“Mr. French. The man what carried me when I was took ill sudden. He gave me it. I di’n’t know it was goin’ to go into your slipper. I wun’t of let it if I’d known. An’ I di’n’t know it was goin’ to bite your toe. It di’n’t mean to bite your toe. I ’spect it thought it was me givin’ it sumthin’ to eat. I expect⁠—”

“Be quiet! What on earth did Mr. French give you the confounded thing for?”

“I dunno. I s’pect he jus’ wanted to.”

“He seems to have taken quite a fancy to William,” said Mrs. Brown.

Ethel blushed faintly.

“He seems to have taken a spite against me,” said Mr. Brown bitterly. “How many of the wretched pests have you got?”

“They’re rats,” corrected William, “White ’uns. I’ve only got two.”

“Good Heavens! He’s got two. Where’s the other?”

“In the shed.”

“Well, keep it there, do you hear? And this savage brute as well. Good Lord! My toe’s nearly eaten off. They ought to wear muzzles; they’ve got rabies. Where’s Jumble? He in the shed, too?” hopefully.

“No. He dun’t like ’em. But I’m tryin’ to teach him to like ’em. I let ’em loose and let him look at ’em with me holdin’ on to him.”

“Yes, go on doing that,” said Mr. Brown encouragingly. “Accidents sometimes happen.”

That night William obeyed the letter of the law by keeping the rats in a box on his bedroom windowsill.

The household was roused in the early hours of the morning by piercing screams from Ethel’s room. The more adventurous of the pair⁠—named Rufus⁠—had escaped from the box and descended to Ethel’s room by way of the creeper. Ethel awoke suddenly to find it seated on her pillow softly pawing her hair. The household, in their various sleeping attire, flocked to her room at the screams. Ethel was hysterical. They fed her on hot tea and biscuits to steady her nerves. “It was horrible!” she said. “It was pulling at my hair. It just sat there with its pink nose and long tail. It was perfectly horrible!”

“Where is the wretched animal?” said Mr. Brown looking round with murder in his eyes.

“I’ve got it, Father,” piped up William’s small voice at the back of the crowd. “Ethel di’n’t understand. It was playin’ with her. It di’n’t mean to frighten her. It⁠—”

“I told you not to keep them in the house.”

Mr. Brown in large pyjamas looked fiercely down at William in small pyjamas with the cause of all the tumult clasped lovingly to his breast. Ethel, in bed, continued to gasp weakly in the intervals of drinking tea.

“They weren’t in the house,” said William firmly. “They were outside the window. Right outside the window. Right on the sill. You can’t call outside the window in the house, can you? I put it outside the house. I can’t help it comin’ inside the house when I’m asleep, can I?”

Mr. Brown eyed his son solemnly.

“The next time I catch either of those animals inside this house, William,” he said slowly, “I’ll wring its neck.”

When Mr. French called the next afternoon, he felt that his popularity had declined.

“I can’t think why you gave William such dreadful things,” Ethel said weakly, lying on the sofa. “I feel quite upset. I’ve got such a headache and my nerves are a wreck absolutely.”

Mr. French worked hard that afternoon and evening to regain his lost ground. He sat by the sofa and talked in low tones. He read aloud to