William the Good (15 page)

‘May I come and help?’ said Clarence.

‘How could you help?’ said Miss Holding brusquely.

‘I could – er – wash up and carry things, and – er – bring you home.’

She relented.

‘All right. You can come over for tea if you like.’

‘Where shall I come – and when?’ said Clarence.

‘Come about four then,’ said Miss Holding, ‘to the bank near the church. It’s rather pretty there. It’s by the roadside, but there’s a good stretch of bank
with nice trees.’

‘I’ll come,’ said Clarence fervently.

Then they got up and began to walk along the road to the village. Clarence’s high-pitched laugh rang out as they went.

William and Ginger emerged from their leafy shelter and looked after the departing figures.

‘I bet he’s telling her about it,’ said Ginger gloomily.

‘Well, what we’ve gotter do,’ said William, ‘is to go to this ole picnic an’ see if we can’t do somethin’ to him there. I don’t care if we
do
spoil her picnic.’

He spoke rather wistfully. The sight and sound of Miss Holding had increased his admiration. But loyalty to her, of course, was as nothing to his loyalty to his Outlaws. Clarence had insulted
Douglas and Henry and so Clarence must be punished. He hardened his heart against her.

‘All right,’ said Ginger, and then mournfully, ‘but Beechtop’s a
jolly
long way off. It’s miles an’ miles an’ miles. How’re we goin’
to get there?’

‘Walk,’ said William sternly.

Ginger groaned.

‘We’ve
gotter
take a little trouble avengin’ Douglas an’ Henry,’ said William irritably. ‘We’ll start early – d’rectly after lunch,
an’ we’ll get there jus’ about tea time, I bet.’

They started directly after lunch and had they gone straight there they might easily have arrived before tea time. But the Outlaws, even when on vengeance bent, were still the
Outlaws. They could not pass anything on a road which seemed to call for investigation. And the road positively teemed with such things. There was a pond which delayed them for quite a quarter of
an hour. Then there was a tree which Ginger said William couldn’t climb and which William therefore had to climb, though it took him ten minutes, and tore his coat and nearly broke his neck.
Then there was a boy who jeered at William’s personal appearance – both pond and tree had left their marks upon him – and was challenged by William to single combat. The fight
lasted between five and ten minutes, then, battered but victorious, William rejoined Ginger and they resumed their journey.

‘Wonder if we’re nearly there,’ said Ginger.

‘Course we aren’t,’ said William, ‘it’s ever so many miles yet.’

‘S’pose we don’t get there before they’ve started home,’ said Ginger pessimistically.

‘If you hadn’t wasted all that time over that pond an’ things—’ said William, sublimely ignoring his own part in the delays.

‘Well!’ said Ginger indignantly. ‘Well! I like that! – an’ you climbin’ trees an’ fightin’ boys an’ – an’ anyway, we don’
even know what we’re going’ to do when we do get there.’

‘Somethin’ sure to turn up to do when we get there,’ said William optimistically. ‘Trouble is,’ and his depression returned to him, ‘
gettin
’
there – miles an’ miles an’ miles.’

Just then they heard the sound of a motorcycle behind them and turned round.

‘It’s him,’ whispered William.

Clarence, be-goggled and wearing a radiant leather coat, flashed by. In flashing by he swerved slightly. Ginger sprang to one side, slipped and fell.

‘Lie right down and keep your eyes shut,’ hissed William quickly.

Ginger obediently lay inert in the road.

‘Hi!’ called William after Clarence.

Clarence slowed down and turned round. He saw Ginger lying inert in the road and a look of horror came into his face. Slowly he wheeled his motorcycle back.

‘I didn’t knock him down,’ he said aggressively.

‘Didn’t you
just
!’ said William severely. ‘You came right over this side of the road.’

To his relief it was quite evident that Clarence did not recognise them. He had only seen them in the distance in Fanner Jenks’ field. To him they were just two strange boys. Ginger still
lay in the dust, his eyes closed.

Clarence took out his handkerchief and mopped his brow.

‘I – er – I remember swerving a little. But I felt nothing. I’m sure I didn’t go over him.’

‘No,’ said William rather regretfully, for it would be impossible even to pretend that any motorcycle had passed over the solid and obviously intact form of Ginger. ‘You
didn’t go
over
him, but you – you swerved right on to him an’ gave him a t’riffic blow on his head. He’s got – he’s got,’ the word came with a
flash of inspiration, ‘’cussion. That’s what he’s got. He’s got ’cussion.’

‘I don’t believe he has,’ said Clarence, but he sounded uncertain and he watched the motionless figure of Ginger anxiously.

‘Well, he’s unconscious, isn’t he?’ said William, in the tone of one who states an indubitable fact.

‘I expect it just gave him a fright,’ said Clarence, then brightening, ‘anyway he looks healthy enough, doesn’t he?’

‘They always look healthy with ’cussion,’ said William darkly, and with such an air of knowledge that Clarence’s face fell again. ‘I – I once knew a boy what
had ’cussion jus’ like that. A motorcycle swerved into him and he lay for a few minutes lookin’ healthy – lookin’
very
healthy – that’s one of the
signs of ’cussion – unconscious jus’ like that – an’ soon he came round an’ sat up an’ said, “Where am I?” – same as they always say
– an’ then he said that he’d got a most awful pain jus’ above his ears – that’s where you always feel the pain in ’cussion – an’ they took him
home moanin’ an’ groanin’ somethin’ t’riffic, an’ lookin’ quite healthy all the time same as they always do in ’cussion, an’ he died jus’
when he’d been at home for about an’ hour, moanin’ and groanin’ somethin’ t’riffic, he died. The man what swerved into him was put in prison.’

‘Nonsense!’ said Clarence heartily, but he didn’t look hearty and he didn’t feel hearty.

William wore his most guileless expression. No one could look more like a boy who is telling the truth than William when he wasn’t telling the truth. Experts had often been deceived by it.
Just as Clarence stood trying to feel as hearty as he sounded and to rid himself of the effect of William’s earnest words and guileless look, Ginger, in obedience to a surreptitious prod from
William’s foot, sat up in the dust and said, ‘Where am I?’

William bent over him in tender solicitude.

‘You’re here, Ginger dear, on the road.’ Then quite politely he effected the introduction. ‘This is the gentleman who knocked you down with his motor cycle.’

Clarence blinked again, and again tried to be hearty.

‘I’m quite sure you feel all right, my boy, now,’ he said.

But Ginger began to moan in a particularly resonant manner, rather like the mooing of a cow.

‘Where do you feel the pain, Ginger dear?’ enquired William tenderly.

Ginger stopped moaning to say:

‘Jus’ above my ears.’

‘
There.
’ said William, as if greatly impressed. ‘It
is
’cussion; I
said
it was ’cussion. Do you feel as if you could walk, Ginger
dear?’

Ginger, who had started mooing again, stopped to say ‘No.’

Clarence, who was beginning to look like a man in the grip of a nightmare, said:

‘Where does he live?’

‘At Beechtop,’ said William shamelessly, ‘jus’ near the river.’

‘I – I’ll take him home then,’ said the bewildered and apprehensive Clarence.

‘Yes,’ said William. ‘I think we’d better get him home. Sometimes they go off so quick with ’cussion.’

Between them they lifted the loudly moaning Ginger on to the pillion.

‘I’ll get on with him, shall I?’ said William, ‘then if he goes off sudd’nly on the way, I can catch him.’

William and Ginger enjoyed the drive to Beechtop tremendously. It was far nicer than walking. Ginger enjoyed it so much that he kept forgetting to moan and had to be recalled to his duty by
kicks and prods from William. At Beechtop Clarence stopped.

‘Where does he live exactly?’ he inquired.

‘Oh, it’s jus’ near here,’ said William. ‘Do you feel a little better, Ginger dear? Do you feel you could walk?’

‘Yes,’ said Ginger, who had now stopped moaning, ‘I feel I could walk a bit now.’

Clarence looked relieved and recovered something of his aplomb.

‘Your own fault entirely,’ he said, ‘for not keeping right at the side of the road.’

Then he went on to the river bank where Miss Holding and her friends awaited him.

He had completely forgotten the episode a few minutes later when he sat among the other guests on the bank, making little jokes and laughing his high-pitched laugh and handing round bags of
cakes.

It was some time before he noticed William’s face peering at him through the bushes making contortions which were obviously meant to be signs of some sort. The memory came back to him like
the memory of a nightmare. His smile died away and his high-pitched laugh stopped abruptly on its highest note.

‘I’ll – er – I’ll fetch some more cakes,’ he said, and went over to the provision basket near which William’s face had loomed through the bushes.

Pretending to busy himself with the provisions, he snapped:

‘Well?’

From behind the bushes where William’s face had now discreetly withdrawn itself came a hoarse whisper:

‘It is ’cussion. He’s vi’lently ill.’

‘Well, I can’t help it,’ hissed Clarence irritably. ‘He must have been standing right in the way. I can’t do anything.’

‘No,’ said William. ‘No, I know you can’t. But they say he’s gotter have a lot of nourishment an’ his mother’s not got any food in the house
’cause of them bein’ very poor –
ever
so poor. So if you could let me have a few cakes an’ things for him I’d take them to his house for him. The. doctor says
he can have rich things – he’d like some of those cakes with cream on—’

‘All right,’ hissed Clarence. ‘I’ll – I’ll get some for you. Only – go away.’

‘If you sit down here an’ put them behind you – I’ll take ’em from you.’

‘All right,’ hissed Clarence, in a fever lest anyone should notice his visitor or hear his visitor’s penetrating whisper. He sat down by the basket, very much irritated because
it was right away from Miss Holding, and began to talk to a girl with red hair. As he talked he pushed cakes into the bushes. He talked excitedly and increasingly to divert attention from his
activities and frequently stopped to mop his brow with his mauve silk handkerchief. He’d had a lot of nightmares in his life, but none as bad as this.

Meanwhile behind him in the bushes William and Ginger sat down happily to their splendid feast.

‘It’s most peculiar,’ Miss Holding was heard to say, ‘I can’t think what’s happened to all the iced cakes. We bought heaps, but they all seem to have
gone.’

‘Most mysterious,’ said the girl with the red hair. ‘Never mind, we’ll make the most of the biscuits.’

Clarence began to talk to the red-haired girl again. He was just forgetting his fears and beginning to talk more or less sensibly when he felt a prod in the back.

CLARENCE TALKED EXCITEDLY TO DIVERT ATTENTION, AND AS HE TALKED HE PUSHED CAKES INTO THE BUSHES.

‘He’s finished all those things what you sent,’ hissed William’s voice, ‘an’ the doctor says he’s gotter have some more nourishment. His
’cussion’s getting worse an’ worse.’

‘I don’t wonder if he’s eaten all that stuff I gave you,’ said Clarence bitterly.

‘You’ve gotter eat with ’cussion. It’s the only thing to do to save your life – to go on eatin’ an’ eatin’. Can I have that bag of biscuits for
him?’

‘No.’

‘Well – I’ll ask Miss Holding. P’r’aps if I tell her about you knockin’ him down, she’ll give me some for him.’ Hastily Clarence seized the bag of
biscuits and pushed them into the bushes.

‘IT’S MOST PECULIAR,’ SAID MISS HOLDING. ‘I CAN’T THINK WHAT’S HAPPENED TO ALL THE ICED CAKES.’

‘Good heavens,’ said Miss Holding, looking around her a few minutes later, ‘all the biscuits seem to have gone now.’