Just William Part 9

"Yes, I do, too," said William with firm conviction.

The kitchen-maid giggled again, and the housemaid gave a sigh expressive of scorn and weariness as she drew a thin pencil over her eyebrows.

"Well, if you've quite finished, my lord," said the butler in ponderous irony, "I'll show you to your room."

William indicated that he had quite finished, and was led up to a very small bed-room. Over a chair lay a page's uniform with the conventional row of bra.s.s b.u.t.tons down the front of the coat.

"Togs," explained the butler briefly. "Your togs. Fix 'em on quick as you can. There's company to dinner to-night."

William fixed them on.

"You're smaller than wot the last one was," said the butler critically.

"They 'ang a bit loose. Never mind. With a week or two of stuffin'

you'll 'ave most probable bust 'em, so it's as well to 'ang loose first.

Now, come on. 'Oo's bringing over your things?"

"E--a friend," explained William.

"I suppose it _is_ a bit too much to expeck you to carry your own parcels," went on the butler, "in these 'ere days. Bloomin' Bolshevist, I speck, aren't you?"

William condescended to explain himself.

"I'm a gold-digger," he said.

"Criky!" said the butler.

William was led down again to the kitchen.

The butler threw open a door that led to a small pantry.

"This 'ere is where you work, and this 'ere," pointing to a large kitchen, "is where you live. You 'ave not," he ended haughtily "the hentry into the servants' 'all."

"Crumbs!" said William.

"You might has well begin at once," went on the butler, "there's all this lunch's knives to clean. 'Ere's a hap.r.o.n, 'ere's the knife-board an' 'ere's the knife-powder."

He shut the bewildered William into the small pantry and turned to the cook.

"What do you think of 'im?" he said.

"'E looks," said the cook gloomily, "the sort of boy we'll 'ave trouble with."

"Not much cla.r.s.e," said the house-maid, arranging her frilled ap.r.o.n. "It surprises me 'ow any creature like a boy can grow into an experienced, sensible, broad-minded man like you, Mr. Biggs."

Mr. Biggs simpered and straightened his necktie.

"Well," he admitted, "as a boy, of course, I wasn't like 'im."

Here the pantry-door opened and William's face, plentifully adorned with knife-powder came round.

"I've done some of the knives," he said, "shall I be doin' something else and finish the others afterwards?"

"'Ow many 'ave you done?" said Mr. Biggs.

"One or two," said William vaguely, then with a concession to accuracy, "well, two. But I'm feeling tired of doin' knives."

The kitchen-maid emitted a scream of delight and the cook heaved a deep sigh.

The butler advanced slowly and majestically towards William's tousled head, which was still craned around the pantry door.

"You'll finish them knives, my boy," he said, "or----"

William considered the weight and size of Mr. Biggs.

"All right," he said pacifically. "I'll finish the knives."

He disappeared, closing the pantry door behind him.

"'E's goin' to be a trile," said the cook, "an' no mistake."

"Trile's 'ardly the word," said Mr. Biggs.

"Haffliction," supplied the housemaid.

"That's more like it," said Mr. Biggs.

Here William's head appeared again.

"Wot time's supper?" he said.

He retired precipitately at a hysterical shriek from the kitchen-maid and a roar of fury from the butler.

"You'd better go an' do your potatoes in the pantry," said the cook to the kitchenmaid, "and let's 'ave a bit of peace in 'ere and see 'e's doin' of 'is work all right."

The kitchenmaid departed joyfully to the pantry.

William was sitting by the table, idly toying with a knife. He had experimented upon the knife powder by mixing it with water, and the little brown pies that were the result lay in a row on the mantelpiece.

He had also tasted it, as the dark stains upon his lips testified. His hair was standing straight up on his head as it always did when life was strenuous. He began the conversation.

"You'd be surprised," he said, "if you knew what I really was."

She giggled.

"Go on!" she said. "What are you?"

"I'm a gold-digger," he said. "I've got ship-loads an' ship-loads of gold. At least, I will have soon. I'm not goin' to give _him_," pointing towards the door, "any, nor any of them in there."

"Wot about me?" said the kitchenmaid, winking at the cat as the only third person to be let into the joke.