Just William Part 38

"Don't tell them," whispered Mr. French desperately.

"What'll you give me not to?"

Furtively Mr. French pressed a two-shilling piece into his hand.

Glorious vistas opened before William's eyes He decided finally that Mr.

French must join the family. Life then would be an endless succession of half-crowns and two-shilling pieces.

The next day was Sunday, and William went to the shed directly after breakfast to continue the teaching of Rufus, the dancing rat. Rufus was to be taught to dance, the other, now christened Cromwell, was to be taught to be friends with Jumble. So far this training had only reached the point of Cromwell's sitting motionless in the cage, while in front of it William violently restrained the enraged Jumble from murder.

Still, William thought, if they looked at each other long enough, friendship would grow. So they looked at each other each day till William's arm ached. As yet friendship had not grown.

"William! It's time for church."

William groaned. That was the worst of Sundays. He was sure that with another half-hour's practice Rufus would dance and Cromwell would be friends with Jumble. He was a boy not to be daunted by circ.u.mstance. He put Rufus in his pocket and put the cage containing Cromwell on the top of a pile of boxes, leaving Jumble to continue the gaze of friendship from the floor.

He walked to church quietly and demurely behind his family, one hand clutching his prayer-book, the other in his pocket clasping Rufus. He hoped to be able to continue the training during the Litany. He was not disappointed. Ethel was on one side of him, and there was no one on the other. He knelt down devoutly, one hand shading his face, the other firmly holding Rufus's front paws as he walked it round and round on the floor. He grew more and more interested in its progress.

"Tell William to kneel up and not to fidget," Mrs. Brown pa.s.sed down via Ethel.

William gave her a virulent glance as he received the message and, turning his back on her, continued the dancing lesson.

The Litany pa.s.sed more quickly than he ever remembered its doing before.

He replaced the rat in his pocket as they rose for the hymn. It was during the hymn that the catastrophe occurred.

The Browns occupied the front seat of the church. While the second verse was being sung, the congregation was electrified by the sight of a small, long-tailed white creature appearing suddenly upon Mr. Brown's shoulder. Ethel's scream almost drowned the organ. Mr. Brown put up his hand and the intruder jumped upon his head and stood there for a second, digging his claws into his victim's scalp. Mr. Brown turned upon his son a purple face that promised future vengeance. The choir turned fascinated eyes upon it, and the hymn died away. William's face was a mask of horror. Rufus next appeared running along the rim of the pulpit.

There was a sudden unceremonial exit of most of the female portion of the congregation. The clergyman grew pale as Rufus approached and slid up his reading-desk. A choir-boy quickly grabbed it, and retired into the vestry and thence home before his right to its possession could be questioned. William found his voice.

"He's took it," he said in a sibilant whisper. "It's mine! He took it!"

"_Sh!_" said Ethel.

"It's mine," persisted William. "It's what Mr. French give me for being took ill that day, you know."

"What?" said Ethel, leaning towards him.

The hymn was in full swing again now.

"He gave it me for being took ill so's he could come and carry me home 'cause he was gone on you an' it's mine an' that boy's took it an' it was jus' gettin' to dance an'----"

"_Sh!_" hissed Mr. Brown violently.

"I shall never look anyone in the face again," lamented Mrs. Brown on the way home. "I think _everyone_ was in church! And the way Ethel screamed! It was _awful_! I shall dream of it for nights. William, I don't know how you _could_!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: WILLIAM'S FACE WAS A MASK OF HORROR.]

"Well, it's mine," said William. "That boy'd no business to take it. It was gettin' to know _me_. I di'n't _mean_ it to get loose, an' get on Father's head an' scare folks. I di'n't mean it to. I meant it to be quiet and stay in my pocket. It's mine, anyway, an' that boy took it."

"It's not yours any more, my son," said Mr. Brown firmly.

Ethel walked along with lips tight shut.

In the distance, walking towards them, was a tall, jaunty figure. It was Mr. French, who, ignorant of what had happened, was coming gaily on to meet them returning from church. He was smiling as he came, secure in his reception, composing airy compliments in his mind. As Ethel came on he raised his hat with a flourish and beamed at her effusively. Ethel walked past him, without a glance and with head high, leaving him, aghast and despairing, staring after her down the road. He never saw Mr.

and Mrs. Brown. William realised the situation. The future half-crowns and two-shilling pieces seemed to vanish away. He protested vehemently.

"Ethel, don't get mad at Mr. French. He di'n't mean anything! He only wanted to do sumthin' for you 'cause he was mad on you."

"It's _horrible_!" said Ethel. "First you bringing that dreadful animal to church, and then I find that he's deceived me and you helped him. I hope Father takes the other one away."

"He won't," said William. "He never said anything about that. The other's learnin' to be friends with Jumble in the shed. I say, Ethel, don't be mad at Mr. French. He----"

"Oh, don't _talk_ about him," said Ethel angrily.

William, who was something of a philosopher, accepted failure, and the loss of any riches a future allied with Mr. French might have brought him.

"All right!" he said. "Well, I've got the other one left, anyway."

They entered the drive and began to walk up to the front-door. From the bushes came a scampering and breaking of twigs as Jumble dashed out to greet his master. His demeanour held more than ordinary pleasure: it expressed pride and triumph. At his master's feet he laid his proud offering--the mangled remains of Cromwell.

William gasped.

"Oh, William!" said Ethel, "I'm so _sorry_."

William a.s.sumed an expression of proud, restrained sorrow.

"All right!" he said generously. "It's not your fault really. An' it's not Jumble's fault. P'r'aps he thought it was what I was tryin' to teach him to do. It's jus' no one's fault. We'll have to bury it." His spirits rose. "I'll do the reel buryin' service out of the Prayer Book."

He stood still gazing down at what was left of Jumble's friend. Jumble stood by it, proud and pleased, looking up with his head on one side and his tail wagging. Sadly William reviewed the downfall of his hopes. Gone was Mr. French and all he stood for. Gone was Rufus. Gone was Cromwell.

He put his hand into his pocket and it came in contact with the two-shilling piece.

"Well," he said slowly and philosophically, "I've got _that_ left anyway."

CHAPTER XII

"JUMBLE"

William's father carefully placed the bow and arrow at the back of the library cupboard, then closed the cupboard door and locked it in grim silence. William's eyes, large, reproachful, and gloomy, followed every movement.

"Three windows and Mrs. Clive's cat all in one morning," began Mr. Brown sternly.

"I didn't _mean_ to hit that cat," said William earnestly. "I didn't--honest. I wouldn't go round teasin' cats. They get so mad at you, cats do. It jus' got in the way. I couldn't stop shootin' in time.

An' I didn't _mean_ to break those windows. I wasn't _tryin'_ to hit them. I've not hit anything I was trying to hit yet," wistfully. "I've not got into it. It's jus' a knack. It jus' wants practice."

Mr. Brown pocketed the key.