Just William Richmal Crompton (important of reading books txt) đ
- Author: Richmal Crompton
Book online «Just William Richmal Crompton (important of reading books txt) đ». Author Richmal Crompton
âHeâs took it,â he said in a sibilant whisper. âItâs mine! He took it!â
âSh!â said Ethel.
âItâs mine,â persisted William. âItâs what Mr. French give me for being took ill that day, you know.â
âWhat?â said Ethel, leaning towards him.
The hymn was in full swing again now.
âHe gave it me for being took ill soâs he could come and carry me home âcause he was gone on you anâ itâs mine anâ that boyâs took it anâ it was jusâ gettinâ to dance anââ ââ
âSh!â hissed Mr. Brown violently.
âI shall never look anyone in the face again,â lamented Mrs. Brown on the way home. âI think everyone was in church! And the way Ethel screamed! It was awful! I shall dream of it for nights. William, I donât know how you could!â
âWell, itâs mine,â said William. âThat boyâd no business to take it. It was gettinâ to know me. I diânât mean it to get loose, anâ get on Fatherâs head anâ scare folks. I diânât mean it to. I meant it to be quiet and stay in my pocket. Itâs mine, anyway, anâ that boy took it.â
âItâs not yours any more, my son,â 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.
âEthel, donât get mad at Mr. French. He diânât mean anything! He only wanted to do sumthinâ for you âcause he was mad on you.â
âItâs horrible!â said Ethel. âFirst you bringing that dreadful animal to church, and then I find that heâs deceived me and you helped him. I hope Father takes the other one away.â
âHe wonât,â said William. âHe never said anything about that. The otherâs learninâ to be friends with Jumble in the shed. I say, Ethel, donât be mad at Mr. French. Heâ ââ
âOh, donât talk about him,â 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.
âAll right!â he said. âWell, Iâve got the other one left, anyway.â
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 masterâs feet he laid his proud offeringâ âthe mangled remains of Cromwell.
William gasped.
âOh, William!â said Ethel, âIâm so sorry.â
William assumed an expression of proud, restrained sorrow.
âAll right!â he said generously. âItâs not your fault really. Anâ itâs not Jumbleâs fault. Pârâaps he thought it was what I was tryinâ to teach him to do. Itâs jusâ no oneâs fault. Weâll have to bury it.â His spirits rose. âIâll do the reel buryinâ service out of the Prayer Book.â
He stood still gazing down at what was left of Jumbleâs 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.
âWell,â he said slowly and philosophically, âIâve got that left anyway.â
XII âJumbleâWilliamâs 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. Williamâs eyes, large, reproachful, and gloomy, followed every movement.
âThree windows and Mrs. Cliveâs cat all in one morning,â began Mr. Brown sternly.
âI didnât mean to hit that cat,â said William earnestly. âI didnâtâ âhonest. I wouldnât go round teasinâ cats. They get so mad at you, cats do. It jusâ got in the way. I couldnât stop shootinâ in time. Anâ I didnât mean to break those windows. I wasnât tryinâ to hit them. Iâve not hit anything I was trying to hit yet,â wistfully. âIâve not got into it. Itâs jusâ a knack. It jusâ wants practice.â
Mr. Brown pocketed the key.
âItâs a knack you arenât likely to acquire by practice on this instrument,â he said drily.
William wandered out into the garden and looked sadly up at the garden wall. But The Little Girl Next Door was away and could offer no sympathy, even if he climbed up to his precarious seat on the top. Fate was against him in every way. With a deep sigh he went out of the garden gate and strolled down the road disconsolately, hands in pockets.
Life stretched empty and uninviting before him without his bow and arrow. And Ginger would have his bow and arrow, Henry would have his bow and arrow, Douglas would have his bow and arrow. He, William, alone would be a thing apart, a
Comments (0)