William in Trouble (4 page)

‘B-but—’ gasped the curate.

The Professor turned on him in exasperation.

‘Sit down, sir,’ he said, ‘and if you’ve anything to say to me say it at the
end
of the lecture, not the middle. Have the civility not to interrupt me any
longer.’

The Professor always prided himself on knowing how to deal with undergraduates when they went too far. . . .

The curate retired in purple-faced confusion to his seat in the front row, where he sat mopping his brow and breathing hard.

The lecture proceeded with ever increasing hilarity on the part of the audience.

He described William’s soap-dish as Samian pottery, and the hatpin with the Lincoln Imp at the end as a fragment of mosaic. The remarks he made on the piece of Balbus’ wall and the
mensa were unheard by most of his audience. Finally he bowed, and said: ‘That is all, ladies and gentlemen.’

The audience applauded whole-heartedly, and then surged excitedly into the room where the Whist Drive was to be held.

Meanwhile in the other room the Professor carefully folded up both spectacles and notes and went to the table where lay the ‘exhibits’. He took up the drooping goose, held it up
close to his eyes. He gave a start and held it closer still. Frantically he seized the toasting-fork and the sardine tin and did the same with those. He put them down. A wild look came into his
eyes. He turned to the lanky youth.

‘W-what are these?’ he said.

‘The things out of your bag, sir,’ said the lanky youth.

‘No, they’re
not
,’ almost screamed the Professor. ‘I tell you they’re not. You – you didn’t hold up
these
, did you?’

‘Yes, sir,’ said the youth blankly. ‘They was numbered same as you said – they was all there was.’

The Professor searched wildly in the bag. Then he gave a scream.

‘It’s not my bag,’ gasped the Professor. ‘It’s not my bag. It’s—’

He bundled the things back into the bag and tore out of the building, and ran down the road to the Browns’ house. At the gate he met two boys. They carried a bag almost exactly like his.
One was talking indignantly.

‘Well, I can’t help it. I tell you someone’s stole my things an’ put these rotten ole things in instead. Well, I could’ve talked about the real things. I
can’t talk about these rotten ole things. There was jus’ nothin’ to say about ’em. I’d thought out things to say about the real things. Well, no one could say
anythin’ about
these
old things, I tell you. An’ then they got mad – well,
I
din’ want everyone to start fightin’, I—’

The old Professor dropped his bag and seized upon the one William held and opened it. William seized upon the one the Professor had dropped and opened it. He looked at the contents and fixed a
stern eye upon the Professor.

‘So it was
you
stole my things, was it?’ he said indignantly.

‘The statuette!’ screamed the Professor, searching through his bag. ‘It’s not here!’

‘Oh, that doll thing!’ said William contemptuously. ‘A kid cried for it an’ I gave it her. I din’ think anyone’d want it.’

‘Get it back! Get it
back
!’ screamed the Professor.

‘All right,’ said William in a bored tone of voice. ‘She’s only jus’ down the road. I’ll get it for you ’f you want it.’ He turned to Ginger.
‘You stay an’ see if all my things are all right,’ he said sternly.

He departed. The Professor put on his spectacles and eagerly and suspiciously examined the contents of his bag. Ginger, with equal eagerness and suspicion, examined the contents of the other
bag. At the end of ten minutes William returned. He held an ancient green bronze statuette and had a black eye.

‘Had to fight her brother for it,’ he explained briefly, ‘he said she’d given it him. Here it is.’

The Professor snatched it eagerly and put it into the bag. Then he took out his watch.

‘THE STATUETTE!’ SCREAMED THE PROFESSOR, SEARCHING THROUGH HIS BAG. ‘IT’S NOT HERE!’

‘Goodness gracious!’ he said. ‘I shall miss my train,’ and set off at a run down the road without another word.

William and Ginger bent over the bag.

‘Are they all there?’ said William.

‘Yes,’ said Ginger.

‘No
wonder
he pinched ’em for his show,’ said William bitterly. ‘They’re a jolly sight better than his mouldy ole things. No
wonder
I coun’t
make anyone take any int’rest in ’em.’

‘Well,’ said Ginger optimistically, ‘let’s give another show with the real things.’

‘No,’ said William firmly, ‘I’m
sick
of ole Roman things. Let’s think of something else.’

The Professor was in a railway carriage speeding on his way to London. His precious bag was on the seat by his side. The Professor was thinking. He was remembering the nature
of the objects which he had seen on the table in the village hall, and which had caused him such consternation. He remembered the numbered labels which were attached to them. He took out his notes
and read them in the light of these memories. Then there came the sound as of the drawing of rusty bolts or the creaking of rusty hinges.

It was the Professor laughing.

CHAPTER 2

T
HE Outlaws swung happily along the road. It was Saturday. It was a holiday. All the world was before them. . . .

‘I went to the dentist, Wednesday,’ said Ginger with a touch of legitimate pride.

‘What’d you have done?’ said Douglas.

‘I bet you made ’nough fuss,’ said William, who considered it his duty to deflate his fellow-creatures when he thought they were unduly puffed up.

‘I had a tooth
out
,’ said Ginger triumphantly, ‘an’ I
dint
make no fuss.’

‘I bet you had gas,’ said William contemptuously.

‘’
Course
I had gas,’ said Ginger indignantly; ‘d’you want me to die of pain? That’s what people do what don’t have gas – die of pain
– it’s not the
pain
I mind,’ he added hastily, ‘but it seems silly to go and
die
of it.’

‘I bet you wun’t die of it,’ said William pugnaciously.

‘Well, you go an’ have a try,’ said Ginger; ‘you go an’ have a tooth out without gas tomorrow an’
see
if you die of pain.’

‘I can’t,’ said William with an air of virtue, ‘’cause they’d make me pay, an’ I haven’t any money.’

‘Don’t see how they
could
make you pay if you died of it,’ said Henry.

‘Well, I’m not
goin
’ to,’ said William, irritated by the callousness of his friends; ‘you’d only get hung for murder ’f I did.’

‘No, it’d be the dentist what’d get hung,’ pronounced Henry judicially.

‘I’ll lend you the money to go,’ said Ginger.

‘You can’t,’ said William with an air of finality, ‘’cause I know you haven’t got any.’

This was irrefutable, and the subject died a natural death.

‘My aunt sent me a box of tools yest’day,’ said Douglas.

The Outlaws received this news with interest.

‘What sort of tools?’ said William.

‘Fretwork tools,’ said Douglas, with a swagger, ‘a jolly fine box of ’em.’

‘Well, where are they?’ said Ginger; ‘why din’t you bring them along?’

Douglas’ swagger dropped.

‘Haven’t gottem any longer. They’ve took them off me.’

The Outlaws’ faces registered righteous indignation at this fresh example of adult tyranny.

‘Whaffor?’ they said simultaneously.

‘I jus’ did a nice s’prise for my mother,’ said Douglas, with a mixture of resignation and indignation in his tones. ‘She’s gotter ole bookcase – all
plain wood, you know – ugly ole thing – an’ I got up early an’ fret-worked it for her – made it ever so much prettier – for a nice s’prise for her –
an’—’ he sighed.

There was no need to complete the story. They had all experienced similar examples of almost incredible ingratitude from the grown-up world around them.

‘Anyway,’ ended Douglas simply, ‘they took ’em off me.’

‘Once when I had a tooth filled,’ said Ginger, returning to the former subject, ‘I din’ have gas jus’ havin’ it
filled
, though, coo ! . . . it
did
hurt. I did
nearly
die of pain – anyway, my father gave me a book after it called
The Jungle Explorers
, an’ crumbs! it was exciting. They went on and on through
woods which no white man had ever set foot in before an’ they found an unexplored tribe livin’ there what no one had ever found before – savages livin’ in the middle of an
unexplored wood. Crumbs! I wish there was places like that in England!’

There was a short silence. Then William said:

‘Well, how’d you know there isn’t?’

‘’Course there isn’t. You’d read about it in the newspapers if there was.’

‘P’raps the newspapers don’t know about it. Jus’ think,’ went on William, warming to his subject, ‘what a big place England is, an’ jus’ think of
all the woods in it, an’ d’you think that anyone’s ever walked
right
over every inch of every one of those woods? Huh!’ he gave a scornful laugh, ‘I
bet
they haven’t. Who’d do it, anyway? Everyone’s too busy to go searchin’ about every inch of every wood. I bet we’d find some unexplored tribes ’f we looked
prop’ly for ’em. I bet no one’s ever
looked
before. They jus’ took for granted there wasn’t any, but I just bet there is. I bet—’

The road was now leading them through woods stretching into the distance on either side. ‘Look at those!’ said William dramatically. ‘Look at ’em! You can’t see to
the end of them. D’you think that anyone’s ever took the trouble to walk
right
over every inch of ’em? I bet there’s – there’s – vast tracks of
unexplored land there what no one’s even set their feet in, an’ I bet there’s unexplored tribes, too, if only one was to look for them.’

The others gazed at him open-mouthed. Then Ginger gave vent to their feelings by a simple, but heartfelt ‘Crumbs!’

Henry already had his foot on the lowest rung of the fence that separated the road from the wood.

‘Come on!’ he said.

‘Of course,’ said William, slightly disconcerted by the immediate effect of his eloquence, ‘we don’
know
there is any.’

‘No, but we can see,’ said Ginger, assuming the grim expression he considered suitable to an intrepid explorer.

‘They might be dangerous, you know,’ cautioned Douglas, hanging back.

‘All right, you stay behind ’f you’re afraid,’ said Ginger.

‘I’m not afraid for myself,’ said Douglas hastily, ‘I was only thinkin’ of you others.’

‘Come on, then,’ said William, assuming leadership and making an unsuccessful attempt to vault the fence. ‘We’ll have a jolly good look for ’em,’ he added as
he picked himself up from the ground and removed the bits of bracken from his mouth, ‘we’ll have a
jolly
good look!’

The undergrowth grew thicker, and they walked now in single file. ‘Well, I bet no white man’s ever set his feet
here
before,’ said William as he forced
his way through a bramble.

‘I say,’ said Ginger, ‘wun’t it be fun if we found a tribe of savage tree dwellers. You know, the sort that lives up in trees.’

‘You’re thinkin’ of monkeys,’ said Douglas gloomily.

‘I’m not either,’ said Ginger indignantly. ‘I know what I’m thinkin’ of, an’ I’m
not
thinkin’ of monkeys. I’m thinkin’ of
people
what built sort of nests in trees.’

‘It’s birds what you’re thinkin’ of, then,’ said Douglas.

‘Well, whatever they are, let’s join ’em,’ said William, ‘an’ live a savage life with ’em, and not go back to school.’

‘Let’s hope they’re not cannibals,’ said Douglas, still gloomy.

‘P’raps,’ said Henry, ‘they’ll think we’re gods an’ make us kings. I once read a tale where they did that.’

The Outlaws did not seem to think this probable.

William put the matter succinctly. ‘The people in your book must’ve sort of
looked
different from us if anyone’d think they was gods. . . . Anyway, I think we’ll
join
’em an’ live a savage life with ’em.’

‘I hope you’re all keeping a lookout for wild animals,’ said Henry. ‘I think I saw a leopard vanishin’ in the distance jus’ then.’

‘’F I’d
known
what we were goin’ to do,’ said William, ‘I’d’ve brought my air-gun.’

‘Yes ’n if they hadn’t took my fret-work tools off me they might’ve saved my life,’ said Ginger, bitterly. ‘They cut holes right through things.’

‘
Coo!
’ said Douglas, who had just fought his way through a thorn bush only to fall into a bog. ‘Coo! it’s
jus
’ what they call an im-impenetratable
jungle.’

‘A what jungle?’ said William.

‘An impenetratable one,’ said Douglas, firmly.

William had a vague idea that there was something wrong with the word, but not being sure, he let it pass.

They had walked for nearly an hour. Their clothes were torn, their collars awry, and they carried attached to their persons, at various points, a goodly load of mother earth
– but though they were convinced that they had explored land where no white man had ever set foot before them, they had found no traces of savage tribes, and were beginning to lose hope.