Just William by Richmal Crompton (funny books to read TXT) 📕
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Just William, published in 1922, was the first of a long series of well-loved books about William Brown, an eleven-year old English schoolboy, written by Richmal Crompton. William is continually scruffy and disreputable, and has a talent for getting into trouble and becoming involved in various inventive plots and scrapes, to the exasperation of his long-suffering parents and older siblings.
Crompton continued to write stories about the amusing adventures and mishaps of William Brown right up until her death in 1969. Some 39 book collections of stories about William were eventually published, entertaining several generations of children. Despite this, Crompton felt her real work was in writing novels for adults, of which she wrote some 41—most now forgotten and out of print.
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- Author: Richmal Crompton
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William surveyed the room proudly.
“Not a bad show for a penny, I should say. I guess there aren’t many like it, anyway. Do shut up talkin’, Ginger. It’ll spoil it all, if folks hear the giant talking out of his stomach. It’s Douglas that’s got to do the giant’s talking. Anyone could see that. I say, they’re comin’! Look! They’re comin’! Along the wall!”
There was a thin line of children climbing along the wall in single file on all fours. They ascended the scullery roof and approached the window. These were the first arrivals who had called on their way to Sunday School.
Henry took their pennies and William cleared his throat and began:—
“White rat from China, ladies an’ gentlemen, pink an’ blue striped. All rats is pink an’ blue striped in China. This is the only genwin China rat in England—brought over from China special las’ week jus’ for the show. It lives on China bread an’ butter brought over special, too.”
“Wash it!” jeered an unbeliever. “Jus’ wash it an’ let’s see it then.”
“Wash it?” repeated the showman indignantly. “It’s gotter be washed. It’s washed every morning an’ night same as you or me. China rats have gotter be washed or they’d die right off. Washin’ ’em don’t make no difference to their stripes. Anyone knows that that knows anything about China rats, I guess.”
He laughed scornfully and turned to Smuts. Smuts had grown used to the basket chair and was settling down for a nap. William crouched down on all fours, ran his fingers along the basket-work, and, putting his face close to it, gave vent to a malicious howl. Smuts sprang at him, scratching and spitting.
“Wild cat,” said William triumphantly. “Look at it! Kill anyone if it got out! Spring at their throats, it would, an’ scratch their eyes out with its paws an’ bite their necks till its teeth met. If I jus’ moved away that chair it would spring out at you.” They moved hastily away from the chair, “and I bet some of you would be dead pretty quick. It could have anyone’s head right off with bitin’ and scratchin’. Right off—separate from their bodies!”
There was an awestricken silence.
Then:
“Garn! It’s Smuts. It’s your sister’s cat!”
William laughed as though vastly amused by this idea.
“Smuts!” he said, giving a surreptitious kick to the chair that infuriated its occupant still more. “I guess there wouldn’t be many of us left in this house if Smuts was like this.”
They passed on to the giant.
“A giant,” said William, rearranging the tinsel crown, which was slightly too big for him. “Real giant. Look at it. As big as two of you put together. How d’you think he gets in at doors and things? Has to have everything made special. Look at him walk. Walk, Ginger.”
Ginger took two steps forward. Douglas clutched his shoulders and murmured anxiously, “By Jove!”
“Go on,” urged William scornfully, “That’s not walkin’.”
The goaded Ginger’s voice came from the giant’s middle regions!
“If you go on talkin’ at me, I’ll drop him. I’m just about sick of it.”
“All right,” said William hastily.
“Anyway it’s a giant,” he went on to his audience. “A jolly fine giant.”
“It’s got Douglas’s face,” said one of his audience.
William was for a moment at a loss.
“Well,” he said at last, “giant’s got to have some sort of a face, hasn’t it? Can’t not have a face, can it?”
The Russian Bear, which had often been seen adorning the shoulders of William’s mother and was promptly recognised, was greeted with ribald jeers, but there was no doubt as to the success of the Blue Dog. Chips advanced deprecatingly, blue head drooping, and blue tail between blue legs, makingabject apologies for his horrible condition. But Henry had done his work well. They stood around in rapt admiration.
“Blue dog,” said the showman, walking forward proudly and stumbling violently over the cords of the dressing gown. “Blue dog,” he repeated, recovering his balance and removing the tinsel crown from his nose to his brow. “You never saw a blue dog before, did you? No, and you aren’t likely to see one again, neither. It was made blue special for this show. It’s the only blue dog in the world. Folks’ll be comin’ from all over the world to see this blue dog—an’ thrown in in a penny show! If it was in the Zoo you’d have to pay a shilling to see it, I bet. It’s—it’s jus’ luck for you it’s here. I guess the folks at the Zoo wish they’d got it. Tain’t many shows have blue dogs. Brown an’ black an’ white—but not blue. Why, folks pay money jus’ to see shows of ornery dogs—so you’re jus’ lucky to see a blue dog an’ a dead bear from Russia an’ a giant, an’ a wild cat, an’ a China rat for jus’ one penny.”
After each speech William had to remove from his mouth the rug fringe which persisted in obeying the force of gravity rather than William’s idea of what a moustache should be.
“It’s jus’ paint. Henry’s gate’s being painted blue,” said one critic feebly, but on the whole the Outlaws had scored a distinct success in the blue dog.
Then, while they stood in silent admiration round the unhappy animal, came a sound from the next door, a gentle sound like the sighing of the wind through the trees. It rose and fell. It rose again and fell again. It increased in volume with each repetition, till at its height it sounded like a wild animal in pain.
“What’s that?” asked the audience breathlessly.
William was slightly uneasy. He was not sure whether this fresh development would add lustre or dishonour to his show.
“Yes,” he said darkly to gain time, “what is it? I guess you’d like to know what it is!”
“Garn! It’s jus’ snorin’.”
“Snorin’!”
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