William the Good (19 page)

William rejoined the others in the summer-house.

‘Takin’ your mouth-organs an’ trumpets off you,’ he said bitterly, ‘an’ carin’ more about someone bein’ ill than someone
dyin’.
An’ she’s not even reely ill, either. If I get a chance,’ he added darkly, ‘I’ll make ’em buy you
new
mouth-organs an’ trumpets, an’ make her
give me back my bow an’ arrer.’

‘Well, you aren’t likely to get a chance,’ said the victims without much gratitude, ‘an’ the thing to do now is to try’n find a few more animals for
lecturin’ on. A dead dormouse an’ a few insecks isn’t much.’

William considered this a minute in silence, then he said:

‘Tell you what. We’ll put up a notice askin’ people to lend us an’mals or give us an’mals like what they do to the zoo.’

This suggestion seemed to infuse new life into them. Their gloom departed.

‘Who’ll write it an’ where’ll we put it?’ said Ginger.

‘I’ll write it,’ said William, ‘an’ we’ll put it on the side gatepost. Quite a lot of people go along the lane by the side gate. We’ll put it up
an’ then we’ll go out’n look for some more int’restin’ insecks.’

‘If we all go out,’ objected Ginger, ‘there’ll be no one to take the an’mals when they bring them.’

The Outlaws tried to visualise a queue of people waiting by the side gate each in charge of a rare and interesting animal, but even with their optimism the vision lacked reality.

‘Of course,’ admitted William, ‘it’s jus’
possible
that no one’ll see it – at least no one what’s got an an’mal or at least no one
what’s got an an’mal what they want to lend us. It doesn’t hardly seem worth while any of us stayin’ behind jus’ on the chance when we might be out catchin’
int’restin’ insecks.’

‘Let’s put somethin’ on the notice,’ suggested Ginger, ‘tellin’ ’em to take ’em to the summer-house an’ leave ’em there.’

‘Yes,’ said William sarcastically, ‘an’ havin’ ’em eatin’ up or fightin’ our insecks. You don’ know what sort of wild creatures they may
bring – all fightin’ each other an’ eatin’ each other up in the summer-house. ’Sides, you can see the summer-house from the road an’ we’ll be gettin’
’em all stolen by thieves what see them as they pass. No, I vote we shut up the summer-house while we’re away an’ put somethin’ on the notice tellin’ ’em where
to leave them. They can leave ’em somewhere where they can’t be seen from the road.’ He pondered the problem in silence for a few seconds, frowning thoughtfully, then his face
cleared. ‘I know . . . we’ll tell ’em to put ’em on the seat in the back garden, ’cause no one can see that from the road an’ if it’s somethin’ wild
they can tie it up.’

This seemed to the Outlaws an excellent solution of the problem, and William went indoors to write out the notice. Soon he emerged carrying it and wearing the complacent smile of successful
authorship.

‘Here it is,’ he said with modest pride. ‘All right, isn’t it?’

They gathered round to look. It read as follows:

The other Outlaws were less impressed by this than was its author. Ginger voiced their feelings.

‘Good deal about you in it,’ he commented, ‘an’ not much about us.’

‘Well, who’s the lecturer?’ demanded William with spirit, ‘me or you?’

‘Yes,’ said Ginger, ‘an’ who works jus’ as hard as you
or
harder gettin’ things ready?’

William soothed their feelings by adding a footnote to his notice:

‘WHO’S THE LECTURER?’ DEMANDED WILLIAM WITH SPIRIT. ‘ME OR YOU?’

Conciliated by this they helped William to pin the notice on the side gate and sallied forth with him in search of insects.

A short time before their return, Hector appeared looking very hot and breathless. He held a parrot in a cage. He had cycled frenziedly into the nearest town for it and he had spent practically
his last penny on it. He came round to the back of the house. Ethel’s window was, he believed, at the back of the house. There he found a garden seat conveniently situated. He put the parrot
upon that and tiptoed to the side door. He had decided to do the whole graceful action as Ethel’s friend’s friend had done it. If Ethel was touched at second hand, as it were, by the
action as performed by her friend’s friend, how much more would she be touched when it was actually done to her.

He slipped a letter quietly through the letter-box. In the letter he said that if she would look out of the window she would see upon the garden seat a little friend who had come to keep her
company. Then, still hot and breathless, but smiling fatuously to himself, he tiptoed away.

Hardly had he disappeared when the Outlaws returned. The expedition had not been, upon the whole, a great success. They had only found one species of caterpillar that William did not already
possess. They carried it carefully in a little tin which contained also a large amount of greenery for its nourishment.

‘Well, we’ve not found
much
,’ said Douglas despondently.

‘No,’ said William, ‘but – but someone might’ve brought an animal for us while we’ve been away.’

‘Yes, an’ they mightn’t,’ said Douglas. ‘I bet you anythin’ that we find that ole garden seat as empty as we left it.’

‘An’ I bet we find somethin’ put on it,’ said William with gallant but unconvinced optimism.

They turned the corner of the house and stood there transfixed for a moment with rapture and amazement.

There upon the garden seat was a parrot in a cage.

Recovering from their paralysis they rushed to it and bore it off in triumph to the summer-house.

‘
Well
,’ said William deeply touched and with his faith in human nature entirely restored. ‘I do call that decent of
somebody.
’

‘An’ no labels on,’ said Ginger, ‘that means we can keep it. They’ve
given
it.’

They crowded round their acquisition, still half incredulous of their amazing good fortune.

‘Someone must’ve come down the lane an’ seen the notice,’ said William, ‘an’ then gone home to fetch their parrot to give us. P’raps it’d belonged
to some relation what’d died an’ they din’t know what to do with it or p’raps’ – hopefully – ‘it uses such bad language that they din’t like to
have it in the house.’

As if intensely amused by the idea the parrot uttered a shrill scream of laughter and when its paroxysm of mirth was over said with deep feeling: ‘Go away. I hate you.’

This so delighted the Outlaws that they crowded round it again hoping it would repeat it, but though it would whistle and make the sound of a cork coming out of a bottle and utter a most
offensive snigger, it refused to oblige the Outlaws by telling them again that it hated them.

‘Wonder what they eat,’ said Ginger still gazing enraptured at their new pet.

‘Well, don’t you start givin’ it any of your berries,’ said William sternly. Then looking round: ‘I say where’s that tin with my caterpillar in? Who’s
took it?’

‘You left it on the garden seat when we fetched the parrot in,’ said Douglas, ‘I saw you.’

They hurried out to the garden seat.

It was empty.

‘Well, of all the
cheek
,’ said William indignantly, ‘someone’s pinched it.’

‘Never mind it,’ said Ginger, ‘we’ve got a parrot. What’s a caterpillar when we’ve got a parrot?’

‘I
want
that caterpillar,’ said William doggedly, ‘I’d thought of a lot of things to say about it an’ I’m goin’ to get another. Come on.
Let’s shut up the parrot in the summer-house where no one can steal it an’ all go out to look for another caterpillar.’

Without much enthusiasm they agreed.

‘An’ what I’d like to know,’ said William darkly, ‘is where that caterpillar
is.
’

That caterpillar was a matter of fact in Ethel’s bedroom, being flung, tin box and all, into the fireplace in a fit of temper. A housemaid had found Hector’s note on the mat and
taken it up to Ethel’s room. Ethel’s room did not happen to overlook the garden. She read the note with a smile almost as fatuous as Hector’s. She remembered what she had told
them about the parrot. Suppose he’d remembered the story and brought her a parrot. ‘A little friend to keep you company.’ . . . It might, of course, be a kitten or a puppy. . . .
Anyway, it was very, very sweet of him. She opened her door and, still smiling, called to the housemaid who was sweeping the stairs.

‘Emma, will you go out and bring me something that you’ll find upon the garden seat.’

Emma went out and returned with a small tin. Ethel’s smile faded.

‘Was this all that there was upon the garden seat?’ she asked.

‘Yes, miss. There was nothing else.’

Ethel returned to her room and opened the tin. Inside were several leaves and a big furry caterpillar. There was nothing else.

‘Oh,
that’s
his idea of being funny, is it?’ said Ethel viciously. ‘Well, it’s not
mine.
’

And it was then that she flung the tin furiously into the fireplace.

At that very moment had she but known it, the faithful George was tiptoeing softly round the house bearing a parrot in a cage. He too was hot and breathless. He too had cycled into the
neighbouring market town for the parrot. He too had spent practically his last penny on it. He too had decided to leave it on the garden seat and drop into the letter-box a note about a
‘little friend to keep her company.’ He entered the back garden. There was a convenient garden seat. He put down the cage upon it, slipped his note into the letter box and went home
smiling to himself. How pleased she’d be about it. . . . It would give him a pull over that ass Hector. Near the gate he met the Outlaws carrying a tin. They passed each other as usual
without any sign of recognition. Both Ginger and Hector and Douglas and George, whatever stage of cordiality or the reverse their relations might have attained at home, made it a point of honour to
pass each other on the public highway as if they had never seen each other before. At present relations at home were not cordial.

‘Smilin’,’ muttered Douglas bitterly when he had passed. ‘Yes, ’s all right for
him
to go about smilin’ – takin’ people’s
mouth-organs off them an’ ru’nin’ them.’

‘Funny we only caught one of those caterpillars again,’ said William meditatively.

‘Well, one’s enough to lecture on, I suppose,’ said Douglas rather irritably. The sight of the fatuously smiling George had reminded him of his grievances. ‘I’d
like to see someone take somethin’ of
his
away,’ he went on, little knowing how literally his wish was to be fulfilled.

‘An’ I’d saved up for that trumpet,’ said Ginger. ‘I don’t s’pose I’ll ever – what’s the matter?’

William, who was walking in front, had stopped suddenly on turning the corner of the house and was staring in blank amazement, eyes and mouth wide open.

‘There – there’s another parrot on the seat,’ he said faintly. ‘Seems – seems sort of impossible but – look!’

They looked. Like William’s, their eyes and mouth opened wide in blank amazement.

‘It is, isn’t it?’ said William still faintly as if he couldn’t quite believe his eyes. ‘It
is
another parrot, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ said Ginger also rather faintly, ‘it cert’nly is. Someone else must’ve passed the notice. Seems sort of funny they should
all
be givin’ us
parrots, dun’t it?’

With a certain dazed bewilderment beneath their ecstasy the Outlaws approached this new ‘gift’.

‘Let’s take it in the summer-house an’ see if it talks to the other,’ said William.

They took it into the summer-house and the other parrot greeted it with a sardonic laugh. The latest comer gazed round the summer-house with a supercilious air and finally ejaculated,
‘Great Scott!’

Ginger drew a breath of delight but William, in whom familiarity with parrots was breeding contempt and who was becoming overcritical, merely said, ‘If that’s the worst bad language
it knows it’s not goin’ to be very int’restin’.’ Then he looked about him. ‘Where’s that tin with the caterpillar in?’