More William Part 23

"Yes. An' I'm goin' to be King."

He unwrapped his parcel.

"Look!" he said.

He had ransacked his sister's bedroom. Once Ethel had been to a fancy dress dance as a Fairy. Over Bettine's print frock he drew a crumpled gauze slip with wings, torn in several places. On her brow he placed a tinsel crown at a rakish angle. And she quivered with happiness.

"Oh, how lovely!" she said. "How lovely! How lovely!"

His own preparations were simpler. He tied a red sash that he had taken off his sister's hat over his right shoulder and under his left arm on the top of his smock. Someone had once given him a small 'bus conductor's cap with a toy set of tickets and clippers. He placed the cap upon his head with its peak over one eye. It was the only official headgear he had been able to procure. Then he took a piece of burnt cork from his parcel and solemnly drew a fierce and military moustache upon his cheek and lip. To William no kind of theatricals was complete without a corked moustache.

Then he took Bettine by the hand and led her out to the Maypole.

The dancers were all waiting holding the ribbons. The audience was a.s.sembled and a murmur of conversation was rising from it. It ceased abruptly as William and Bettine appeared. William's father, mother and sister were in the front row. Robert was not there. Robert had declined to come to anything in which that little wretch was to perform. He'd jolly well had enough of that little wretch to last his lifetime, thank you very much.

[Ill.u.s.tration: WILLIAM AND BETTINE STEPPED SOLEMNLY HAND IN HAND UPON THE LITTLE PLATFORM WHICH HAD BEEN PROVIDED FOR THE MAY QUEEN.]

William and Bettine stepped solemnly hand in hand upon the little platform which had been provided for the May Queen.

Miss Dewhurst, who was chatting amicably to the parents till the last of her small performers should appear, seemed suddenly turned to stone, with mouth gaping and eyes wide. The old fiddler, who was rather short-sighted, struck up the strains, and the dancers began to dance. The audience relaxed, leaning back in their chairs to enjoy the scene. Miss Dewhurst was still frozen. There were murmured comments.

"How curious to have that boy there! A sort of attendant, I suppose."

"Yes, perhaps he's something allegorical. A sort of pageant. Good Luck or something. It's not quite the sort of thing I expected, I must admit."

"What do you think of the Queen's dress? I always thought Miss Dewhurst had better taste. Rather tawdry, I call it."

"I think the moustache is a mistake. It gives quite a common look to the whole thing. I wonder who he's meant to be? Pan, do you think?"

uncertainly.

"Oh, no, nothing so _pagan_, I hope," said an elderly matron, horrified. "He's that Brown boy, you know. There always seems to be something queer about anything he's in. I've noticed it often. But I _hope_ he's meant to be something more Christian than Pan, though one never knows in these days," she added darkly.

William's sister had recognised her possessions, and was gasping in anger.

William's father, who knew William, was smiling sardonically.

William's mother was smiling proudly.

"You're always running down William," she said to the world in general, "but look at him now. He's got a very important part, and he said nothing about it at home. I call it very nice and modest of him.

And what a dear little girl."

Bettine, standing on the platform with William's hand holding hers and the Maypole dancers dancing round her, was radiant with pride and happiness.

And Evangeline Fish in the wood-shed was just beginning the last currant cake.

CHAPTER IX

THE REVENGE

William was a scout. The fact was well known. There was no one within a five-mile radius of William's home who did not know it. Sensitive old ladies had fled shuddering from their front windows when William marched down the street singing (the word is a euphemism) his scout songs in his strong young voice. Curious smells emanated from the depth of the garden where William performed mysterious culinary operations. One old lady whose cat had disappeared looked at William with dour suspicion in her eye whenever he pa.s.sed. Even the return of her cat a few weeks later did not remove the hostility from her gaze whenever it happened to rest upon William.

William's family had welcomed the suggestion of William's becoming a scout.

"It will keep him out of mischief," they had said.

They were notoriously optimistic where William was concerned.

William's elder brother only was doubtful.

"You know what William is," he said, and in that dark saying much was contained.

Things went fairly smoothly for some time. He took the scouts' law of a daily deed of kindness in its most literal sense. He was to do one (and one only) deed of kindness a day. There were times when he forced complete strangers, much to their embarra.s.sment, to be the unwilling recipients of his deed of kindness. There were times when he answered any demand for help with a cold: "No, I've done it to-day."

He received with saint-like patience the eloquence of his elder sister when she found her silk scarf tied into innumerable knots.

"Well, they're jolly _good_ knots," was all he said.

He had been looking forward to the holidays for a long time. He was to "go under canvas" at the end of the first week.

The first day of the holidays began badly. William's father had been disturbed by William, whose room was just above and who had spent most of the night performing gymnastics as instructed by his scout-master.

"No, he didn't _say_ do it at nights, but he said do it. He said it would make us grow up strong men. Don't you _want_ me to grow up a strong man? He's ever so strong an' _he_ did 'em. Why shun't I?"

His mother found a pan with the bottom burnt out and at once accused William of the crime. William could not deny it.

"Well, I was makin' sumthin', sumthin' he'd told us an' I forgot it.

Well, I've _got_ to make things if I'm a scout. I didn't _mean_ to forget it. I won't forget it next time. It's a rotten pan, anyway, to burn itself into a hole jus' for that."

At this point William's father received a note from a neighbour whose garden adjoined William's and whose life had been rendered intolerable by William's efforts upon his bugle.

The bugle was confiscated.

Darkness descended upon William's soul.

"Well," he muttered, "I'm goin' under canvas next week an' I'm jolly _glad_ I'm goin'. P'r'aps you'll be sorry when I'm gone."

He went out into the garden and stood gazing moodily into s.p.a.ce, his hands in the pocket of his short scout trousers, for William dressed on any and every occasion in his official costume.

"Can't even have the bugle," he complained to the landscape. "Can't even use their rotten ole pans. Can't tie knots in any of their ole things. Wot's the good of _bein'_ a scout?"

His indignation grew and with it a desire to be avenged upon his family.

"I'd like to _do_ somethin'," he confided to a rose bush with a ferocious scowl. "Somethin' jus' to show 'em."