Just William by Richmal Crompton (funny books to read TXT) 📕

A cab was turning in at the front gate. In the sudden silence that fell upon the party, cook’s hoarse cries for vengeance rose with redoubled force from the coal cellar. William grew pale.

The cab contained his family.

Two hours later a small feminine friend of William’s who had called with a note for his mother, looked up to William’s window and caught sight of William’s untidy head.

“Come and play with me, William,” she called eagerly.

“I can’t. I’m goin’ to bed,” said William sternly.

“Why? Are you ill, William?”

“No.”

“Well, why are you going to bed, William?”

William leant out of the window.

“I’m goin’ to bed,” he said, “ ’cause my father don’t understand ’bout English Grammar, that’s why!”

VII William Joins the Band of Hope

“William! you’ve been playing that dreadful game again!” said Mrs. Brown despairingly.

William, his suit covered with dust, his tie under one ear, his face begrimed and his knees cut, looked at her in righteous indignation.

“I haven’t. I haven’t done anything what you said I’d not to. It was ‘Lions an’ Tamers’ what you said I’d not to play. Well, I’ve not played ‘Lions an’ Tamers,’ not since you said I’d not to. I wouldn’t do it⁠—not if thousands of people asked me to, not when you said I’d not to. I⁠—”

Mrs. Brown interrupted him.

“Well, what have you been playing at?” she said wearily.

“It was ‘Tigers an’ Tamers.’ ” said William. “It’s a different game altogether. In ‘Lions an’ Tamers’ half of you is lions an’ the other half tamers, an’ the tamers try to tame the lions an’ the lions try not to be tamed. That’s ‘Lions an’ Tamers’. It’s all there is to it. It’s quite a little game.”

“What do you do in ‘Tigers and Tamers’?” said Mrs. Brown suspiciously.

“Well⁠—”

William considered deeply.

“Well,” he repeated lamely, “in ‘Tigers an’ Tamers’ half of you is tigers⁠—you see⁠—and the other half⁠—”

“It’s exactly the same thing, William,” said Mrs. Brown with sudden spirit.

“I don’t see how you can call it the same thing,” said William doggedly. “You can’t call a lion a tiger, can you? It jus’ isn’t one. They’re in quite different cages in the Zoo. ‘Tigers an’ Tamers’ can’t be ’zactly the same as ‘Lions an’ Tamers.’ ”

“Well, then,” said Mrs. Brown firmly, “you’re never to play ‘Tigers and Tamers’ either. And now go and wash your face.”

William’s righteous indignation increased.

“My face?” he repeated as if he could hardly believe his ears. “My face? I’ve washed it twice today. I washed it when I got up an’ I washed it for dinner. You told me to.”

“Well, just go and look at it.”

William walked over to the looking-glass and surveyed his reflection with interest. Then he passed his hands lightly over the discoloured surface of his face, stroked his hair back and straightened his tie. This done, he turned hopefully to his mother.

“It’s no good,” she said. “You must wash your face and brush your hair and you’d better change your suit⁠—and stockings. They’re simply covered with dust!”

William turned slowly to go from the room.

“I shouldn’t think,” he said bitterly, as he went, “I shouldn’t think there’s many houses where so much washin’ and brushin’ goes on as in this, an’ I’m glad for their sakes.”

She heard him coming downstairs ten minutes later.

“William!” she called.

He entered. He was transformed. His face and hair shone, he had changed his suit. His air of righteous indignation had not diminished.

“That’s better,” said his mother approvingly. “Now, William, do just sit down here till teatime. There’s only about ten minutes, and it’s no good your going out. You’ll only get yourself into a mess again if you don’t sit still.”

William glanced round the drawing-room with the air of one goaded beyond bearing.

“Here?”

“Well, dear⁠—just till teatime.”

“What can I do in here? There’s nothing to do, is there? I can’t sit still and not do anything, can I?”

“Oh, read a book. There are ever so many books over there you haven’t read, and I’m sure you’d like some of them. Try one of Scott’s,” she ended rather doubtfully.

William walked across the room with an expression of intense suffering, took out a book at random, and sat down in an attitude of aloof dignity, holding the book upside down.

It was thus that Mrs. de Vere Carter found him when she was announced a moment later.

Mrs. de Vere Carter was a recent addition to the neighbourhood. Before her marriage she had been one of the Randalls of Hertfordshire. Everyone on whom Mrs. de Vere Carter smiled felt intensely flattered. She was tall, and handsome, and gushing, and exquisitely dressed. Her arrival had caused quite a sensation. Everyone agreed that she was “charming.”

On entering Mrs. Brown’s drawing-room, she saw a little boy, dressed very neatly, with a clean face and well-brushed hair, sitting quietly on a low chair in a corner reading a book.

“The little dear!” she murmured as she shook hands with Mrs. Brown.

William’s face darkened.

Mrs. de Vere Carter floated over to him.

“Well, my little man, and how are you?”

Her little man did not answer, partly because Mrs. de Vere Carter had put a hand on his head and pressed his face against her perfumed, befrilled bosom. His nose narrowly escaped being impaled on the thorn of a large rose that nestled there.

“I adore children,” she cooed to his mother over his head.

William freed his head with a somewhat brusque movement and she took up his book.

“Scott!” she murmured. “Dear little laddie!”

Seeing the expression on William’s face his mother hastily drew her guest aside.

“Do come and sit over here,” she said nervously. “What perfect weather we’re having.”

William walked out of the room.

“You know, I’m frightfully interested in social work,” went on her charming guest, “especially among children. I adore children! Sweet little dear of yours! And I always get on with them. Of course, I get on with most people. My personality, you know! You’ve heard perhaps that I’ve taken over the Band of Hope here, and I’m turning it into such a success. The pets! Yes, three lumps, please. Well, now, it’s here I want you to help