Just William Part 15

"How much?" said the outlaws breathlessly.

"Five shillings--targets for learnin' on before we begin shootin' real things an' all."

"Five shillings!" breathed Douglas. He might as well have said five pounds. "We've not got five shillings. Henry's not having any money since he broke their drawing-room window an' Ginger only has 3_d._ a week an' has to give collection an' we've not paid for the guinea pig yet, the one that got into Ginger's sister's hat an' she was so mad at, an'----"

"Oh, never mind all that," said William, scornfully. "We'll jus' get five shillings."

"How?"

"Well," uncertainly, "grown-ups can always get money when they want it."

"How?" again.

William disliked being tied down to details.

"Oh--bazaars an' things," impatiently.

"Bazaars!" exploded Henry. "Who'd come to a bazaar if we had one? Who would? Jus' tell me that if you're so clever! Who'd come to it? Besides, you've got to sell things at a bazaar, haven't you? What'd we sell?

We've got nothin' to sell, have we? What's the good of havin' a bazaar with nothin' to sell and no one to buy it? Jus' tell me that!"

Henry always enjoyed scoring off William.

"Well--shows an' things," said William desperately.

There was a moment's silence, then Ginger repeated thoughtfully.

"Shows!" and Douglas, whose eldest brother was home from college for his vacation, murmured self-consciously, "By Jove!"

"We _could_ do a show," said Ginger. "Get animals an' things an' charge money for lookin' at them."

"Who'd pay it?" said Henry, the doubter.

"Anyone would. You'd pay to see animals, wouldn't you?--real animals.

People do at the Zoo, don't they? Well, we'll get some animals. That's easy enough, isn't it?"

A neighbouring church clock struck four and the meeting was adjourned.

"Well, we'll have a show an' get money and buy bows an' arrows an' shoot things," summed up William, "an we'll arrange the show next week."

William returned home slowly and thoughtfully. He sat on his bed, his hands in his pockets, his brow drawn into a frown, his thoughts wandering in a dreamland of wonderful "shows" and rare exotic beasts.

Suddenly from the next room came a thin sound that gathered volume till it seemed to fill the house like the roaring of a lion, then died gradually away and was followed by silence. But only for a second. It began again--a small whisper that grew louder and louder, became a raucous bellow, then faded slowly away to rise again after a moment's silence. In the next room William's mother's Aunt Emily was taking her afternoon nap. Aunt Emily had come down a month ago for a week's visit and had not yet referred to the date of her departure. William's father was growing anxious. She was a stout, healthy lady, who spent all her time recovering from a slight illness she had had two years ago. Her life held two occupations, and only two. These were eating and sleeping.

For William she possessed a subtle but irresistible fascination. Her stature, her appet.i.te, her gloom, added to the fact that she utterly ignored him, attracted him strongly.

The tea bell rang and the sound of the snoring ceased abruptly. This entertainment over, William descended to the dining-room, where his father was addressing his mother with some heat.

"Is she going to stay here for ever, or only for a few years? I'd like to know, because----"

Perceiving William, he stopped abruptly, and William's mother murmured:

"It's so nice to have her, dear."

Then Aunt Emily entered.

"Have you slept well, Aunt?"

"Slept!" repeated Aunt Emily majestically. "I hardly expect to sleep in my state of health. A little rest is all I can expect."

"Sorry you're no better," said William's father sardonically.

"_Better?_" she repeated again indignantly. "It will be a long time before I'm better."

She lowered her large, healthy frame into a chair, carefully selected a substantial piece of bread and b.u.t.ter and attacked it with vigour.

"I'm going to the post after tea," said William's mother. "Would you care to come with me?"

Aunt Emily took a large helping of jam.

"You hardly expect me to go out in the evening in my state of health, surely? It's years since I went out after tea. And I was at the post office this morning. There were a lot of people there, but they served me first. I suppose they saw I looked ill."

William's father choked suddenly and apologised, but not humbly.

"Though I must say," went on Aunt Emily, "this place does suit me. I think after a few months here I should be a little stronger. Pa.s.s the jam, William."

The glance that William's father fixed upon her would have made a stronger woman quail, but Aunt Emily was sc.r.a.ping out the last remnants of jam and did not notice.

"I'm a bit over-tired to-day, I think," she went on. "I'm so apt to forget how weak I am and then I overdo it. I'm ready for the cake, William. I just sat out in the sun yesterday afternoon and sat a bit too long and over-tired myself. I ought to write letters after tea, but I don't think I have the strength. Another piece of cake, William. I'll go upstairs to rest instead, I think. I hope you'll keep the house quiet.

It's so rarely that I can get a bit of sleep."

William's father left the room abruptly. William sat on and watched, with fascinated eyes, the cake disappear, and finally followed the large, portly figure upstairs and sat down in his room to plan the "show" and incidentally listen, with a certain thrilled awe, for the sounds from next door.

The place and time of the "show" presented no little difficulty. To hold it in the old barn would give away to the world the cherished secret of their meeting place. It was William who suggested his bedroom, to be entered, not by way of the front door and staircase, but by the less public way of the garden wall and scullery roof. Ever an optimist, he affirmed that no one would see or hear. The choice of a time was limited to Wednesday afternoon, Sat.u.r.day afternoon, and Sunday. Sunday at first was ruled out as impossible. But there were difficulties about Wednesday afternoon and Sat.u.r.day afternoon. On Wednesday afternoon Ginger and Douglas were unwilling and ungraceful pupils at a dancing cla.s.s. On Sat.u.r.day afternoon William's father gardened and would command a view of the garden wall and scullery roof. On these afternoons also Cook and Emma, both of a suspicious turn of mind, would be at large. On Sunday Cook and Emma went out, William's mother paid a regular weekly visit to an old friend and William's father spent the afternoon on the sofa, dead to the world.

Moreover, as he pointed out to the Outlaws, the members of the Sunday School could be waylaid and induced to attend the show and they would probably be provided with money for collection. The more William thought over it, the more attractive became the idea of a Sunday afternoon in spite of superficial difficulties; therefore Sunday afternoon was finally chosen.

The day was fortunately a fine one, and William and the other Outlaws were at work early. William had asked his mother, with an expression of meekness and virtue that ought to have warned her of danger, if he might have "jus' a few friends" in his room for the afternoon. His mother, glad that her husband should be spared his son's restless company, gave willing permission.

By half-past two the exhibits were ready. In a cage by the window sat a white rat painted in faint alternate stripes of blue and pink. This was Douglas' contribution, handpainted by himself in water colours. It wore a bewildered expression and occasionally licked its stripes and then obviously wished it hadn't. Its cage bore a notice printed on cardboard:

+-------------------+ | RAT FROM CHINA | | RATS ARE ALL LIKE | | THIS IN CHINA | +-------------------+

Next came a cat belonging to William's sister, s.m.u.ts by name, now imprisoned beneath a basket-chair. At the best of times s.m.u.ts was short-tempered, and all its life had cherished a bitter hatred of William. Now, enclosed by its enemy in a prison two feet square, its fury knew no bounds. It tore at the basket work, it flew wildly round and round, scratching, spitting, swearing. Its chair bore the simple and appropriate notice:

+----------+ | WILD CAT | +----------+

William watched it with honest pride and prayed fervently that its indignation would not abate during the afternoon.

Next came a giant composed of Douglas upon Ginger's back, draped in two sheets tied tightly round Douglas's neck. This was labelled:

+--------------+ | GENWIN GIANT | +--------------+