Just William Richmal Crompton (important of reading books txt) 📖

borrows a hundred pounds from someone else⁠—”

She wrote down the figures on a piece of paper, bending low over her desk. The sun poured in through the window, showing the little golden curls in the nape of her neck. She lifted to William eyes that were stern and frowning, but blue as blue above flushed cheeks.

“Don’t you see, William?” she said.

There was a faint perfume about her, and William the devil-may-care pirate and robber-chief, the stern despiser of all things effeminate, felt the first dart of the malicious blind god. He blushed and simpered.

“Yes, I see all about it now,” he assured her. “You’ve explained it all plain now. I cudn’t unnerstand it before. It’s a bit soft⁠—in’t it⁠—anyway, to go lending hundred pounds about just ’cause someone says they’ll give you five pounds next year. Some folks is mugs. But I do unnerstand now. I cudn’t unnerstand it before.”

“You’d have found it simpler if you hadn’t played with dead lizards all the time,” she said wearily, closing her books.

William gasped.

He went home her devoted slave. Certain members of the class always deposited dainty bouquets on her desk in the morning. William was determined to outshine the rest. He went into the garden with a large basket and a pair of scissors the next morning before he set out for school.

It happened that no one was about. He went first to the hothouse. It was a riot of colour. He worked there with a thoroughness and concentration worthy of a nobler cause. He came out staggering beneath a piled-up basket of hothouse blooms. The hothouse itself was bare and desolate.

Hearing a sound in the back garden he hastily decided to delay no longer, but to set out to school at once. He set out as unostentatiously as possible.

Miss Drew, entering her classroom, was aghast to see instead of the usual small array of buttonholes on her desk, a mass of already withering hothouse flowers completely covering her desk and chair.

William was a boy who never did things by halves.

“Good Heavens!” she cried in consternation.

William blushed with pleasure.

He changed his seat to one in the front row. All that morning he sat, his eyes fixed on her earnestly, dreaming of moments in which he rescued her from robbers and pirates (here he was somewhat inconsistent with his own favourite role of robber-chief and pirate), and bore her fainting in his strong arms to safety. Then she clung to him in love and gratitude, and they were married at once by the Archbishops of Canterbury and York.

William would have no half-measures. They were to be married by the Archbishops of Canterbury and York, or else the Pope. He wasn’t sure that he wouldn’t rather have the Pope. He would wear his black pirate suit with the skull and crossbones. No, that would not do⁠—

“What have I just been saying, William?” said Miss Drew.

William coughed and gazed at her soulfully.

“ ’Bout lendin’ money?” he said, hopefully.

“William!” she snapped. “This isn’t an arithmetic lesson. I’m trying to teach you about the Armada.”

“Oh, that!” said William brightly and ingratiatingly. “Oh, yes.”

“Tell me something about it.”

“I don’t know anything⁠—not jus’ yet⁠—”

“I’ve been telling you about it. I do wish you’d listen,” she said despairingly.

William relapsed into silence, nonplussed, but by no means cowed.

When he reached home that evening he found that the garden was the scene of excitement and hubbub. One policeman was measuring the panes of glass in the conservatory door, and another was on his knees examining the beds near. His grown-up sister, Ethel, was standing at the front door.

“Every single flower has been stolen from the conservatory some time this morning,” she said excitedly. “We’ve only just been able to get the police. William, did you see anyone about when you went to school this morning?”

William pondered deeply. His most guileless and innocent expression came to his face.

“No,” he said at last. “No, Ethel, I didn’t see nobody.”

William coughed and discreetly withdrew.

That evening he settled down at the library table, spreading out his books around him, a determined frown upon his small face.

His father was sitting in an armchair by the window reading the evening paper.

“Father,” said William suddenly, “s’pose I came to you an’ said you was to give me a hundred pounds an’ I’d give you five pounds next year an’ so on, would you give it me?”

“I should not, my son,” said his father firmly.

William sighed.

“I knew there was something wrong with it,” he said.

Mr. Brown returned to the leading article, but not for long.

“Father, what was the date of the Armada?”

“Good Heavens! How should I know? I wasn’t there.”

William sighed.

“Well, I’m tryin’ to write about it and why it failed an’⁠—why did it fail?”

Mr. Brown groaned, gathered up his paper, and retired to the dining-room.

He had almost finished the leading article when William appeared, his arms full of books, and sat down quietly at the table.

“Father, what’s the French for ‘my aunt is walking in the garden’?”

“What on earth are you doing?” said Mr. Brown irritably.

“I’m doing my home-lessons,” said William virtuously.

“I never even knew you had the things to do.”

“No,” William admitted gently, “I don’t generally take much bother over them, but I’m goin’ to now⁠—’cause Miss Drew”⁠—he blushed slightly and paused⁠—“ ’cause Miss Drew”⁠—he blushed more deeply and began to stammer, “ ’c⁠—cause Miss Drew”⁠—he was almost apoplectic.

Mr. Brown quietly gathered up his paper and crept out to the verandah, where his wife sat with the week’s mending.

“William’s gone raving mad in the dining-room,” he said pleasantly, as he sat down. “Takes the form of a wild thirst for knowledge, and a babbling of a Miss Drawing, or Drew, or something. He’s best left alone.”

Mrs. Brown merely smiled placidly over the mending.

Mr. Brown had finished one leading article and begun another before William appeared again. He stood in the doorway frowning and stern.

“Father, what’s the capital of Holland?”

“Good Heavens!” said his father. “Buy him an encyclopedia. Anything, anything. What does he think I am? What⁠—”

“I’d better set apart a special room for his homework,” said Mrs. Brown