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

the front door bell rang sharply. Robert stroked his hair down with wild, unrestrained movements of his hands, and summoned a tortured smile to his lips.

Miss Cannon appeared upon the threshold, bewitching and demure.

“Aren’t I perfectly disgraceful?” she said with her low laugh. “To tell the truth, I met your little boy in the drive and I’ve been with him some time. He’s a perfect little dear, isn’t he?”

Her brown eyes rested on Robert. Robert moistened his lips and smiled the tortured smile, but was beyond speech.

“Yes, I know Ethel and I met your son⁠—yesterday, wasn’t it?”

Robert murmured unintelligibly, raising one hand to the too tight collar, and then bowed vaguely in her direction.

Then they went in to tea.

William, his hair well brushed, the cork partially washed from his face, and the feathers removed, arrived a few minutes later. Conversation was carried on chiefly by Miss Cannon and Ethel. Robert racked his brain for some striking remark, something that would raise him in her esteem far above the ranks of the ordinary young man, but nothing came. Whenever her brown eyes rested on him, however, he summoned the mirthless smile to his lips and raised a hand to relieve the strain of the imprisoning collar. Desperately he felt the precious moments passing and his passion yet unrevealed, except by his eyes, whose message he was afraid she had not read.

As they rose from tea, William turned to his mother, with an anxious sibilant whisper,

“Ought I to have put on my best suit too?”

The demure lights danced in Miss Cannon’s eyes and the look the perspiring Robert sent him would have crushed a less bold spirit.

William had quite forgotten the orders he had received to retire from the scene directly after tea. He was impervious to all hints. He followed in the train of the all-conquering Miss Cannon to the drawing-room and sat on the sofa with Robert who had taken his seat next his beloved.

“Are you⁠—er⁠—fond of reading, Miss Cannon?” began Robert with a painful effort.

“I⁠—wrote a tale once,” said William boastfully, leaning over Robert before she could answer. “It was a jolly good one. I showed it to some people. I’ll show it to you if you like. It began with a pirate on a raft an’ he’d stole some jewel’ry and the king the jewels belonged to was coming after him on a steamer and jus’ when he was comin’ up to him he jumped into the water and took the jewls with him an’ a fish eat the jewls and the king caught it an’,” he paused for breath.

“I’d love to read it!” said Miss Cannon.

Robert turned sideways, and resting an arm on his knee to exclude the persistent William, spoke in a husky voice.

“What is your favourite flower, Miss Cannon?”

William’s small head was craned round Robert’s arm.

“I’ve gotter garden. I’ve got Virginia Stock grow’n all over it. It grows up in no time. An’ must’erd ’n cress grows in no time, too. I like things what grow quick, don’t you? You get tired of waiting for the other sorts, don’t you?”

Robert rose desperately.

“Would you care to see the garden and greenhouses, Miss Cannon?” he said.

“I’d love to,” said Miss Cannon.

With a threatening glare at William, Robert led the way to the garden. And William, all innocent animation, followed.

“Can you tie knots what can’t come untied?” he demanded.

“No,” she said, “I wish I could.”

“I can. I’ll show you. I’ll get a piece of string and show you afterwards. It’s easy but it wants practice, that’s all. An’ I’ll teach you how to make aeroplanes out of paper what fly in the air when it’s windy. That’s quite easy. Only you’ve gotter be careful to get ’em the right size. I can make ’em and I can make lots of things out of matchboxes an’ things an’⁠—”

The infuriated Robert interrupted.

“These are my father’s roses. He’s very proud of them.”

“They’re beautiful.”

“Well, wait till you see my Virginia Stock! that’s all. Wait⁠—”

“Will you have this tea-rose, Miss Cannon?” Robert’s face was purple as he presented it. “It⁠—it⁠—er⁠—it suits you. You⁠—er⁠—flowers and you⁠—that is⁠—I’m sure⁠—you love flowers⁠—you should⁠—er⁠—always have flowers. If I⁠—”

“An’ I’ll get you those red ones and that white one,” broke in the equally infatuated William, determined not to be outshone. “An’ I’ll get you some of my Virginia Stock. An’ I don’t give my Virginia Stock to anyone,” he added with emphasis.

When they re-entered the drawing-room, Miss Cannon carried a large bouquet of Virginia Stock and white and red roses which completely hid Robert’s tea-rose. William was by her side, chatting airily and confidently. Robert followed⁠—a pale statue of despair.

In answer to Robert’s agonised glance, Mrs. Brown summoned William to her corner, while Robert and Miss Cannon took their seat again upon the sofa.

“I hope⁠—I hope,” said Robert soulfully, “I hope your stay here is a long one?”

“Well, why shan’t I jus’ speak to her?” William’s whisper was loud and indignant.

“ ’Sh, dear!” said Mrs. Brown.

“I should like to show you some of the walks around here,” went on Robert desperately with a fearful glance towards the corner where William stood in righteous indignation before his mother. “If I could have that⁠—er⁠—pleasure⁠—er⁠—honour?”

“I was only jus’ speaking to her,” went on William’s voice. “I wasn’t doin’ any harm, was I? Only speaking to her!”

The silence was intense. Robert, purple, opened his lips to say something, anything to drown that horrible voice, but nothing would come. Miss Cannon was obviously listening to William.

“Is no one else ever to speak to her.” The sibilant whisper, raised in indignant appeal, filled all the room. “Jus’ ’cause Robert’s fell in love with her?”

The horror of the moment haunted Robert’s nights and days for weeks to come.

Mrs. Brown coughed hastily and began to describe at unnecessary length the ravages of the caterpillars upon her husband’s favourite rose-tree.

William withdrew with dignity to the garden a minute later and Miss Cannon rose from the sofa.

“I must be going, I’m afraid,” she said with a smile.

Robert, anguished and overpowered, rose slowly.

“You