Back Aa

Still - William

<h2 id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</h2> WILLIAM THE MATCH-MAKER William was feeling disillusioned. He had received, as a birthday present, a book entitled “Engineering Explained to Boys,” and had read it in bed at midnight by the light of a lamp which he had “borrowed” from his elder brother’s photographic apparatus for the purpose. The book had convinced William that it would be perfectly simple with the aid of a little machinery, to turn a wooden packing case into a motor boat. He spent two days on the work. He took all the elastic that he could find in his mother’s work drawer. He disembowelled all the clockwork toys that he possessed. To supplement this he added part of the works of the morning-room clock. He completely soaked himself and his clothes in oil. Finally the thing was finished and William, stern and scowling and tousled and oily, deposited the motor boat on the edge of the pond, stepped into it and pushed off boldly. It shot into the middle of the pond and promptly sank.... So did William. He returned home wet and muddy and oily and embittered, to meet a father who, with a grown-up’s lack of sense of proportion, was waxing almost lyrical over the disappearance of the entrails of the morning-room clock. It had been for William a thoroughly unpleasant day. He was still dwelling moodily on the memory of it. “How was I to know the book was wrong?” he muttered indignantly as he walked down the road, his hands deep in his pockets. “Blamin’ me because the book was wrong!” If William had not been in this mood of self-pity[Pg 134] he would never have succumbed to the overtures of Violet Elizabeth. William at normal times disliked Violet Elizabeth. He disliked her curls and pink-and-white complexion and blue eyes and lisp and frills and flounces and imperiousness and tears. His ideal of little-girlhood was Joan, dark haired and dark-eyed and shy. But Joan was away on her holidays and William’s sense of grievance demanded sympathy—feminine sympathy for preference. “Good morning, William,” said Violet Elizabeth. “G’ mornin’,” said William without discontinuing his moody scowl at the road and his hunched-up onward march. Violet Elizabeth joined him and trotted by his side. “You feelin’ sad, William?” she said sweetly. “Anyone’d feel sad,” burst out William. “How was I to know a book din’ know what it was talkin’ about? You’d think a book’d know, wun’t you? Blamin’ me because a book din’ know what it was talkin’ about! ’S’nough to make anyone feel sad! Well, you’d think a book about machinery’d know jus’ a bit about machinery, wun’t you?... Sinkin’ me in a mucky ole pond an’ then when you’d think they’d be a bit sorry for me, goin’ on’s if it was my fault, ’s if I’d wrote the book!” This somewhat involved account of his wrongs seemed to satisfy Violet Elizabeth. She slipped a hand in his and for once William, the stern unbending despiser of girls, did not repel her. “Paw William!” said Violet Elizabeth sweetly. “I’m tho thorry!” Although William kept his stern frown still fixed on the road and gave no sign of his feelings, the dulcet sympathy of Violet Elizabeth was balm to his wounded soul. “Play gamth with me,” went on Violet Elizabeth soothingly. [Pg 135] William looked up and down the road. No one was in sight. After all, one must do something. “What sort of games?” said William suspiciously transferring his stern frown from the road to Violet Elizabeth and, contrary to his usual custom, forbearing to mimic her lisp. “Play houth, William,” said Violet Elizabeth eagerly. “Ith suth a nith game. You an’ me be married.” “Red Indians an’ you a squaw?” said William with a gleam of interest. “No,” said Violet Elizabeth with distaste, “not Red Indianth.” “Pirates?” suggested William. “Oh no, William,” said Violet Elizabeth. “They’re tho nathty. Juth a nordinary thort of married. You go to the offith and me go thopping and to matineeth and thee to the dinner and that sort of thing.” William’s dignity revolted from the idea. “’F you think I’d play a game like that——” he began coldly. “Pleath do, William,” said Violet Elizabeth in a quivering voice. The blue eyes, fixed pleadingly on William, swam suddenly with tears. Violet Elizabeth exerted her sway over her immediate circle of friends and relations solely by this means. Even at that tender age she possessed the art, so indispensable to her sex, of making her blue eyes swim with tears at will. She had, on more than one occasion, found that it was the only suasion to which the stern and lordly William would yield. He looked at her in dismay. “All right,” he said hastily. “All right. Come on!” After all there was nothing else to do and one might as well do this as nothing. Together they went into the field where was the old barn. [Pg 136] “Thith muth be the houth,” said Violet Elizabeth, her tears gone, her pink and white face wreathed in smiles. “An’ now you go to the offith, darlin’ William, an’ I’ll thee to thingth at home. Good-bye an’ work hard an’ make a lot of money ’cauth I want a loth of new cloth. I’ve thimply nothing fit to wear. The offith ith the corner of the field. You thtay there an’ count a hundred and then come back to your dinner an’ bring me a box of chocolath an’ a large bunch of flowerth.” “’F you think——” began William, hoarse with indignant surprise. “I don’ mean real onth, William,” said Violet Elizabeth meekly. “I mean pretend onth. Thticks or grath or anything’ll do.” “Or won’t!” said William sternly. “’F you think I’m goin’ even to pretend to give presents to an ole girl——!” “But I’m your wife, William,” said Violet Elizabeth. There was the first stage—a suspicion of moisture—of the swimming tears in the blue eyes and William hastily retreated. “All right, I’ll see,” he capitulated. “G’bye.” “Aren’t you going to kith me?” said Violet Elizabeth plaintively. “No,” said William, “I won’t kiss you. I’m ’fraid of givin’ you some sort of germ. I don’t think I’d better. G’bye.” He departed hastily for the corner of the field before the tears had time to swim. He was already regretting the rash impulse that had made him stoop to this unmanly game. He waited in the corner of the field and counted fifty. He could see Violet Elizabeth cleaning the window of the barn with a small black handkerchief, then sallying forth with languid dignified gait to interview imaginary trades-people. [Pg 137] Then William suddenly espied a frog in the field beyond the hedge. He scrambled through in pursuit and captured it and spent a pleasant quarter of an hour teaching it tricks. He taught it, as he fondly imagined, to know and love him and to jump over his hands. It showed more aptitude at jumping over his hands than at knowing and loving him. It responded so well to his teaching in jumping that it finally managed to reach the ditch where it remained in discreet hiding from its late discoverer and trainer. William then caught sight of an old nest in the hedge and went to investigate it. He decided that it must have been a robin’s nest and took it to pieces to see how it was made. He came to the conclusion that he could make as good a one himself and considered the possibilities of making nests for birds during the winter and putting them ready for them in the hedges in the Spring. Then he noticed that the ditch at the further end of the field was full and went there to see if he could find any water creatures. He soaked his boots and stockings, caught a newt, but, having no receptacle in which to keep it (other than his cap which seemed to hold water quite well but only for a short time) he reluctantly returned it to its native element. Then he remembered his wife and returned slowly and not very eagerly to the barn. Violet Elizabeth was seated in the corner on an old box in a state of majestic sulks. “You’ve been at the offith for more’n a day. You’ve been there for monthth and yearth an’ I hate you!” “Well, I forgot all about you,” William excused himself, “An’ anyway I’d a lot of work to do at the office——” “An’ I kept waiting an’ waiting and thinking you’d come back every minute and you didn’t!” “Well, how could I?” said William. “How[Pg 138] could I come back every minute? How could anyone come back every minute? And anyway,” as he saw Violet Elizabeth working up her all-powerful tears, “it’s lunch time and I’m going home.” ****** William’s mother was out to lunch and Ethel was her most objectionable and objecting. She objected to William’s hair and to William’s hands and to William’s face. “Well, I’ve washed ’em and I’ve brushed it,” said William firmly. “I don’ see what you can do more with faces an’ hair than wash’ em an’ brush it. ’F you don’ like the colour they wash an’ brush to I can’t help that. It’s the colour they was born with. It’s their nat’ral colour. I can’t do more than wash ’em an’ brush it.” “Yes, you can,” said Ethel unfeelingly. “You can go and wash them and brush it again.” Under the stern eye of his father who had lowered his paper for the express purpose of displaying his stern eye William had no alternative but to obey. “Some people,” he remarked bitterly to the stair carpet as he went upstairs, “don’ care how often they make other people go up an’ downstairs, tirin’ themselves out. I shun’t be surprised ’f I die a good lot sooner than I would have done with all this walkin’ up an’ downstairs tirin’ myself out—an’ all because my face an’ hands an’ hair’s nat’rally a colour she doesn’t like!” Ethel was one of William’s permanent grievances against Life. But after lunch he felt cheered. He went down to the road and there was Joan—Joan, dark-eyed and dark-haired and adorable—back from her holidays. “Hello, William!” she said. [Pg 139] William’s stern freckled countenance relaxed almost to a smile. “Hello, Joan,” he replied. “What you doing this afternoon, William?” “Nothing particular,” replied William graciously. “Let’s go to the old barn and see if Ginger or any of the others are there. I’m so glad to be back, William. I hated being away. I kept thinking about you and the others and wondering what you were doing ... you especially.” William felt cheered and comforted. Joan generally had a soothing effect upon William.... As they neared the stile that led to the field, however, William’s spirits dropped, for there, looking her most curled and cleaned and possessive, was Violet Elizabeth. “Come on, William, and play houth again,” she called imperiously. “Well, an’ I’m not goin’ to,” said William bluntly. “An’ I’m not goin’ to be married to you any more an’ ’f I play house I’m goin’ to have Joan.” “You can’t do that,” said Violet Elizabeth calmly. “Can’t do what?” “Can’t change your wife. Ith divorth if you do an’ you get hung for it.” This nonplussed William for a moment. Then he said: “I don’ believe it. You don’ know. You’ve never been married so you don’ know anything about it.” “I do know. Hereth Ginger and Douglath and Hubert Lane. You athk them.” Ginger and Douglas and Hubert Lane, all loudly and redolently sucking Bulls’ Eyes, were coming down the road. Hubert Lane was a large fat boy with protruding eyes, a superhuman appetite and a morbid love of Mathematics who was only tolerated as a[Pg 140] companion by Ginger and Douglas on account of the bag of Bulls’ Eyes he carried in his pocket. He had lately much annoyed the Outlaws—by haunting the field they considered theirs and, in spite of active and passive discouragement, thrusting his unwelcome comradeship upon them. <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/fig21.jpg" alt="" /> “I SAY, MR. MARCH,” YELLED WILLIAM, “IS IT DIVORCE OR BIGAMY IF YOU CHANGE YOUR WIFE?” </div> [Pg 141] “Hi!” William hailed them loudly from the top of the stile. “Is it divorce if you change your wife an’ do you get hung for it? She says it is! ’S all she knows!” The second trio gathered round the first to discuss the matter. “’S called bigamy not divorce,” said Ginger authoritatively. “I know ’cause our cousin’s gardener did it an’ you get put in prison.” “’S not big—what you said,” said Violet Elizabeth firmly. “Ith divorth. I know ’cauth a friend of mine’th uncle did it. Tho there!” The rival champions of divorce and bigamy glared at each other and the others watched with interest. “D’you think,” said Ginger, “that I don’ know what my own cousin’s gardener did?” “An’ d’you think,” said Violet Elizabeth, “that I don’t know what my own friendth uncle did?” “Here’s Mr. March comin’,” said Douglas. “Let’s ask him.” <div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/fig22.jpg" alt="" /> “HA, HA!” LAUGHED MR. MARCH. “EXCELLENT! WHICH OF YOU IS NOT SATISFIED WITH HIS SPOUSE?” </div> Mr. March was a short stumpy young man with a[Pg 142] very bald head and short sight. He lived in a large house at the other end of the village and rather fancied himself as a wit. He was extraordinarily conceited and not overburdened by any superfluity of intellect. “I say, Mr. March,” yelled William as he approached. “Is it divorce or bigamy if you change your wife?” “An’ do you get hung for it or put in prison?” added Ginger. Mr. March threw back his head and roared. “Ha, ha!” he bellowed, “Which of you wants to change his wife? Which of you is not satisfied with his spouse? Excellent! Ha, ha!” He went on down the road chuckling to himself. “He’s a bit cracked,” commented Ginger in a tone of kind impartiality. “But my mother says he’s awful rich,” said Douglas. “An’ he’s gone on your sister,” said Ginger to William. “Then he mus’ be cracked!” said William bitterly. “Anyway,” said Violet Elizabeth. “It ith divorth an’ I don’ care if it ithn’t. ’F you don’ play houth with me, I’ll thcream n’ thcream till I’m thick. I can,” she added with pride. William looked at her helplessly. “Will you play house with me, Joan?” said Hubert, who had been fixing admiring eyes upon Joan. “All right,” said Joan pacifically, “and we’ll live next door to you, William.” Violet Elizabeth had gone to prepare the barn and Joan and Hubert now followed her. William glared after them fiercely. “That ole Hubert,” he said indignantly, “comin’ messin’ about in our field! I votes we chuck him out ... jus’ sim’ly chuck him out.” “Yes,” objected Ginger, “an’ he’ll tell his mother an’ she’ll come fussin’ like what she did last time an’ tellin’ our fathers an’ ’zaggeratin’ all over the place.” “Well, let’s think of a plan, then,” said William. [Pg 143] Five minutes later William approached Hubert with an unnatural expression of friendliness on his face. Hubert was politely asking Violet Elizabeth to “have a Bulls’ Eye” and Violet Elizabeth was obligingly taking three. “I say, Hubert,” whispered William to Hubert, “We’ve gotter a secret. You come over here ’n we’ll tell you.” Hubert put a Bulls’ Eye into his mouth, pocketed the packet and accompanied William to where Ginger and Douglas were, his goggle eyes still more a-goggle with excitement. Joan and Violet Elizabeth were busying themselves in transforming the interior of the barn into two semi-detached villas with great exercise of handkerchief-dusters and imagination. “Douglas,” whispered William confidentially, “’s found out a secret about this field. He got it off a witch.” Hubert was so surprised that his spectacles fell off. He replaced them and listened open-mouthed. “There’s a grass in this field that if you tread on it makes you invisible. Now we’re jus’ goin’ to tread about a bit to see ’f we can find it an’ we don’ want to leave you out of it so you can come an’ tread about a bit with us case we find it.” Hubert was thrilled and flattered. “I bet I find it first,” he squeaked excitedly. They tramped about in silence for a few minutes. Suddenly William said in a voice of great concern. “I say, where’s Hubert gone.” “I’m here,” said Hubert, a shade of anxiety in his voice. William looked at him and through him. “Where’s Hubert gone?” he said again, “He was here a minute ago.” “I’m here!” said Hubert again plaintively. Ginger and Douglas looked first at and through Hubert and then all around the field. [Pg 144] “Yes, he seems to have gone,” said Ginger sadly. “I’m ’fraid he mus’ have found the grass!” “I’-I’m here!” squeaked Hubert desperately, looking rather pale. “I’ll jus’ see if he’s hidin’ over there,” said William and proceeded literally to walk through Hubert. Hubert got the worst of the impact and sat down suddenly and heavily. “Boo-hoo!” he wailed rising to his feet. He was promptly walked into by Ginger and sat down again with another yell. “’S mos’ mysterious where he’s got to,” said William. “Let’s call him!” They yelled “Hubert!” about the field, callously disregarding that youth’s sobbing replies. Whenever he rose to his feet one of them walked through him and he sat down again with a bump and a yell. “Did the witch say anything about makin’ them visible again?” said William anxiously. “No,” said Douglas sadly, “I’m ’fraid he’ll always be invisible now and he’ll die slow of starvation ’cause no one’ll ever see him to give him anything to eat.” Hubert began to bellow unrestrainedly. He rose to his feet, dodged both Ginger and Douglas who made a dart in his direction, and ran howling towards the stile. “Boo-hoo! I’m going home. Boo-hoo! I don’ wanter die!” As soon as he reached the stile, Ginger and Douglas and William gave a shout. “Why, there’s Hubert at the stile.” Hubert ceased his tears and hung over the stile. “Can you see me now?” he said anxiously. “Am I all right now?” He wiped his tears and began to clean his spectacles and straighten his collar. He was a tidy boy. “Yes, Hubert,” said the Outlaws. “It’s all right now. We can see you now. You mus’ have jus’[Pg 145] trod on the grass. But it’s all right now. Aren’t you comin’ back to play?” Hubert placed one foot cautiously over the stile. “Ginger!” said William excitedly, “I believe he’s beginning to disappear again.” With a wild yell, Hubert turned and fled howling down the road. “Well, we’ve got rid of him,” said William complacently, “and if I’m not clever I don’ know who is!” Over-modesty was not one of William’s faults. “Well, I bet you’re not quite as clever as you think you are,” said Ginger pugnaciously. “How’ d’you know that?” said William rising to the challenge. “How d’you know how clever I think I am? You mus’ think yourself jolly clever ’f you think you know how clever I think I am!” The discussion would have run its natural course to the physical conflict that the Outlaws found so exhilarating if Joan and Violet Elizabeth had not at this moment emerged from the barn. “You have been making a noith!” said Violet Elizabeth disapprovingly. “Wherth the boy with the Bullth Eyth?” “Heth gonth awath,” said William unfeelingly. “I want a Bullth Eye. You’re a nathty boy to let him go away when I want a Bullth Eye.” “Well, you can go after himth,” said William, less afraid of her tears now that he was surrounded by his friends. But Violet Elizabeth was too angry for tears. “Yeth and I thall!” she said. “You’re a nathty rude boy an’ I don’t love you and I don’t want you for a huthband. I want the boy with the Bullth Eyth!” “What about divorce or big or whatever it is?” said William, taken aback by her sudden and open repudiation of him. “What about that? What about being hung?” [Pg 146] “If anyone trith to hang me,” said Violet Elizabeth complacently, “I’ll thcream and thcream and thcream till I’m thick. I can.” Then she put out her tongue at each of the Outlaws in turn and ran lightly down the road after the figure of Hubert which could be seen in the distance. “Well, we’ve got rid of her too,” said William, torn between relief at her departure and resentment at her scorn of him, “and she can play her silly games with him. I’ve had enough of them. Let’s go an’ sit on the stile and see who can throw stones farthest.” They sat in a row on the stile. It counted ten to hit the telegraph post and fifteen to reach the further edge of the opposite field. Ethel who had been to the village to do the household shopping came past when the game was in full swing. “I’ll tell father,” she said grimly to William. “He said you oughtn’t to throw stones.” William looked her up and down with his most inscrutable expression. “’F it comes to that,” he said distantly, “he said you oughtn’t to wear high heels.” Ethel flushed angrily, and walked on. William’s spirits rose. It wasn’t often he scored over Ethel and he feared that even now she would have her revenge. He watched her go down the road. Coming back along the road was Mr. March. As he met Ethel a deep flush and a sickly smile overspread his face. He stopped and spoke to her, gazing at her with a sheep-like air. Ethel passed on haughtily. He had recovered slightly when he reached the Outlaws, though traces of his flush still remained. “Well,” he said with a loud laugh, “Divorce or bigamy? Which is it to be? Ha, ha! Excellent!” He put his walking stick against Ginger’s middle[Pg 147] and playfully pushed him off the stile backwards. Then he went on his way laughing loudly. “I said he was cracked!” said Ginger climbing back to his perch. “He’d jus’ about suit Ethel then,” said William bitterly. They sat in silence a few minutes. There was a far-away meditative look in William’s eyes. “I say,” he said at last, “’f Ethel married him she’d go away from our house and live in his, wun’t she?” “U-hum,” agreed Ginger absently as he tried to hit the second tree to the left of the telegraph post that counted five. “I wish there was some way of makin’ them fall in love with each other,” said William gloomily. “Oh, there is, William,” said Joan. “We’ve been learning it at school. Someone called Shakespeare wrote it. You keep saying to both of them that the other’s in love with them and they fall in love and marry. I know. We did it last term. One of them was Beatrice and I forget the other.” “You said it was Shakespeare,” said William. “No, he’s the one that tells about it.” “Sounds a queer sort of tale to me,” said William severely. “Couldn’t you write to him and get it a bit plainer what to do?” “Write to him!” jeered Ginger. “He’s dead. Fancy you not knowin’ that! Fancy you not knowin’ Shakespeare’s dead!” “Well, how was I to know he was dead? I can’t know everyone’s name what’s dead, can I? I bet there’s lots of dead folks’ names what you don’ know!” “Oh, do you?” said Ginger. “Well, I bet I know more dead folks’ names than you do!” “He said that anyway,” interposed Joan hastily and pacifically. “He said that if you keep on making up nice things and saying that the other said it about[Pg 148] them they fall in love and marry. It must be true because it’s in a book.” There was a look of set purpose in William’s eyes. “It’ll take a bit of arrangin’,” was the final result of his frowning meditation, “but it might come off all right.” ****** William’s part was more difficult than Joan’s. William’s part consisted in repeating to Ethel compliments supposed to emanate from Mr. March. If Ethel had had the patience to listen to them she would have realised that they all bore the unmistakable imprint of William’s imagination. William opened his campaign by approaching her when she was reading a book in the drawing-room. “I say, Ethel,” he began in a deep soulful voice, “I saw Mr. March this afternoon.” Ethel went on reading as if she had not heard. “He says,” continued William mournfully, sitting on the settee next to Ethel, “he says that you’re the apple of his life. He says that he loves you with a mos’ devourin’ passion. He says that you’re ab’s’lutely the mos’ beauteous maid he’s ever come across.” “Be quiet and let me read!” said Ethel without looking up from her book. “He says,” went on William in the same deep monotonous voice, “he says that he doesn’t mind your hair bein’ red though he knows some people think it’s ugly. That’s noble of him, you know, Ethel. He says——” Ethel rose from the settee. “If you won’t be quiet,” she said, “I’ll have to go into another room.” She went into the dining-room and, sitting down in an armchair began to read again. After a short interval William followed and taking the armchair opposite hers, continued: [Pg 149] “He says, Ethel, that he’s deep in love with you and that he doesn’t mind you bein’ so bad-tempered. He likes it. Anyway he ’spects he’ll get used to it. He says he’ adores you jus’ like what people do on the pictures. He puts his hand on his stomach and rolls his eyes whenever he thinks of you. He says——” “Will—you—be—quiet?” said Ethel angrily. “No, but jus’ listen, Ethel,” pleaded William. “He says——” Ethel flounced out of the room. She went to the morning-room, locked the door, and, sitting down with her back to the window, continued to read. After a few minutes came the sound of the window’s being cautiously opened and William appeared behind her chair. “I say, Ethel, when I saw Mr. March he said——” Ethel gave a scream. “If you mention that man’s name to me once more, William, I’ll—I’ll tell father that you’ve been eating the grapes in the hot-house.” It was a random shot but with a boy of William’s many activities such random shots generally found their mark. He sighed and slowly retreated from the room by way of the window. Ethel’s attitude made his task a very difficult one.... ****** Joan’s task was easier. Joan had free access to her father’s study and typewriter and Joan composed letters from Ethel to Mr. March. William “borrowed” some of his father’s notepaper for her and she worked very conscientiously, looking up the spelling of every word in the dictionary and re-typing every letter in which she made a mistake. She sent him one every day. Each one ended, “Please do not answer this or mention it to me and do not mind if my manner to you seems different to these letters.[Pg 150] I cannot explain, but you know that my heart is full of love for you.” One letter had a p.s. “I would be grateful if you would give half-a-crown to my little brother William when next you meet him. I am penniless and he is such a nice good boy.” Anyone less conceited than Mr. March would have suspected the genuineness of the letters, but to Mr. March they seemed just such letters as a young girl who had succumbed to his incomparable charm might write. It was William who insisted on the p.s. though Joan felt that it was inartistic. It had effect, however. Mr. March met William on the road the next morning and handed him a half-crown then, with a loud guffaw and “Divorce or bigamy, eh?” pushed William lightly into a holly bush and passed on. Mr. March’s methods of endearing himself to the young were primitive.... But the half-crown compensated for the holly bush in William’s estimation. He wanted to make the p.s. a regular appendage to the letter but Joan firmly refused to allow it. After a week of daily letters written by Joan and daily unsuccessful attempts on the part of William to introduce imaginary compliments from Mr. March into casual conversation with Ethel, both felt that it was time for the dénouement. The final letter was the result of a hard morning’s work by William and Joan. <div class="blockquot"> “Dear George (May I call you George now?), Will you meet me by the river near Fisher’s Lock to-morrow afternoon at three o’clock? Will you wear a red carnation and I will wear a red rose as gages of our love? I want to tell you how much I love you, though I am sure you know. Let us be married next Monday afternoon. Do not speak to[Pg 151] me of this letter but just come wearing a red carnation and I will come wearing a red rose as gages of our love. I hope you will love my little brother William too. He is very fond of caramels. Yours with love Ethel Brown (soon I hope to be March).” </div> The reference to William had been the subject of much discussion, but William had overborne Joan’s objections. “I reely only want it put because it makes it seem more nat’ral. It’s only nat’ral she should want him to be kind to her brother. I mean, not knowin’ Ethel as well as I do, he’ll think it nat’ral.” The stage managing of the actual encounter was the most difficult part of all. Ethel’s reception of her swain’s supposed compliments had not been such as to make William feel that a request to meet him at Fisher’s Lock would be favourably received. He was feeling just a little doubtful about the working of Joan’s love charm in the case of Ethel but with his usual optimism he was hoping for the best. “Ethel,” he said at lunch. “Gladys Barker wants to see you this afternoon. I met her this morning.” “Did she say any time?” said Ethel. “Soon after three,” said William. “Why on earth didn’t you tell me sooner?” said Ethel. The road to Gladys Barker’s house lay by the river past Fisher’s Lock. “’S not tellin’ a story,” William informed his conscience. “I did meet her this mornin’ an’ I don’ know that she doesn’t want to see Ethel this afternoon. She prob’ly does.” About quarter to three William came in from the garden carefully holding a rose. He wore his most inscrutable expression. [Pg 152] “I thought you might like to wear this, Ethel,” he said, “It goes nice with your dress.” Ethel was touched. “Thank you, William,” she said. She watched him as he returned to the garden, humming discordantly. She wondered if sometimes she misjudged William.... ****** It was ten minutes past three. On the path by the river near Fisher’s Lock stood Mr. March with a red carnation in his button hole. Concealed in a tree just above his head were Ginger, Douglas, William and Joan. Down the path by the river came Ethel wearing her red rose. Mr. March started forward. “Well, little girl?” he said with roguish tenderness. Ethel stopped suddenly and stared at him in amazement. “Ah!” said Mr. March, shaking a fat finger at her, “The time has come to drop the mask of haughtiness. I know all now, you know, from your own sweet lips, I mean your own sweet pen.... I know how your little heart beats at the thought of your George. I know who is your ideal ... your beloved knight ... your all those sweet things you wrote to me. Now, don’t be frightened, little girl. I return your affection, but not Monday afternoon! I don’t think we can manage it quite as soon as that.” “Mr. March,” said Ethel, “are you ill?” “Ill, my little precious?” ogled Mr. March. “No, well, my little popsie! Your dear loving letters have made me well. I was so touched by them, little Ethelkins!... You thinking me so handsome and clever and, you know, I admire you, too.” He[Pg 153] touched the red rose she was wearing playfully, “the gage of your love, eh?” <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/fig23.jpg" alt="" /> “NOW, DON’T BE FRIGHTENED, LITTLE GIRL,” SAID MR. MARCH. “I KNOW HOW YOUR LITTLE HEART BEATS AT THE THOUGHT OF YOUR GEORGE.” “MR. MARCH!” EXCLAIMED ETHEL, “ARE YOU ILL?” </div> “Mr. March,” said Ethel angrily, “You must be mad. I’ve never written to you in my life.” [Pg 154] “Ah,” he replied, “Do not deny the fond impeachment.” He took a bundle of type-written letters out of his pocket and handed them to her, “You have seen these before.” She took them and read them slowly one by one. “I’ve never heard such rubbish,” she said at last. “I’ve never seen the idiotic things before. You must be crazy.” Mr. March’s mouth fell open. “You—didn’t write them?” he said incredulously. “Of course not!” snapped Ethel. “How could you be such a fool as to think I did?” He considered for a minute then his expression of bewilderment gave place again to the roguish smile. “Ah, naughty!” he said. “She’s being very coy! I know better! I know——” He took her hand. Ethel snatched it back and pushed him away angrily. He was standing on the very edge of the river and at the push he swayed for a second, clutching wildly at the air, then fell with a loud splash into the stream. “Oh, I say, Ethel,” expostulated William from his leafy hiding place. “Don’t carry on like that ... drownin’ him after all the trouble we’ve took with him! He’s gotter lot of money an’ a nice garden an’ a big house. Anyone’d think you’d want to marry him ’stead of carryin’ on like that!” At the first sound of his voice, Ethel had gazed round open-mouthed, then she looked up into the tree and saw William. “You hateful boy!” she cried. “I’m going straight home to tell father!” She turned on her heel and went off without looking back. Meanwhile Mr. March was scrambling up the bank, spitting out water and river weeds and (fortunately) inarticulate expletives. [Pg 155] “I’ll have damages off someone for this!” he said as he emerged on to the bank. “I’ll make someone pay for this! I’ll have the law on them! I’ll....” He went off dripping and muttering and shaking his fist vaguely in all directions.... Slowly the Outlaws climbed down from their tree. “Well, you’ve made a nice mess of everything!” said Ginger dispassionately. “I’ve took a lot of trouble tryin’ to get her married,” said William, “and this is how she pays me! Well, she needn’t blame me.” He looked at the indignant figure of his pretty nineteen-year-old sister which was still visible in the distance and added gloomily, “She’s turnin’ out an old maid an’ it’s not my fault. I’ve done my best. Seems to me she’s goin’ to go on livin’ in our house all her life till she dies, an’ that’s a nice look out for me, isn’t it? Seems to me that if she won’t even get married when you practically fix it all up for her an’ save her all the trouble like this, she won’t ever marry an’ she needn’t blame me ’cause she’s an old maid. I’ve done everythin’ I can. An’ you,” he transferred his stern eye to Joan. “Why don’ you read books with a bit of sense in them? This Shake man simply doesn’t know what he’s talkin’ about. It’s a good thing for him he is dead, gettin’ us all into a mess like this!” “What are you goin’ to do now?” said Douglas with interest. “I’m goin’ fishin’,” said William, “an’ I don’ care if I don’t get home till bed time.” ****** It was a week later. The excitement and altercations and retaliations and dealing out of justice which had followed William’s abortive attempt to marry Ethel were over. Ethel had gone into the morning-room for a book. The Outlaws were playing in the garden outside.[Pg 156] Their strong young voices floated in through the open window. “Now let’s have a change,” William was saying. “Ginger be Mr. March an’ Joan be Ethel.... Now, begin ... go on.... Joan, come on ... walkin’ kind of silly like Ethel ... an’ Ginger go to meet her with a soft look on your face.... That’s it ... now, start!” “Well, little girl?” said Ginger in a shrill affected voice. “I know how your little heart beats at me. I know I am your knight an’ all that.” “You’ve left a lot out,” said William. “You’ve left out where he said he wouldn’t marry her on Monday. Now you go on, Joan.” “Mr. March,” squeaked Joan in piercing hauteur, “are you mad?” “No,” corrected William. “’Are you feelin’ ill?’ comes first. Let’s start again an’ get it all right....” Ethel flounced out of the room and slammed the door. She found her mother in the dining-room darning socks. “Mother,” she said, “can’t we do anything about William? Can’t we send him to an orphanage or anything?” “No, darling,” said Mrs. Brown calmly. “You see, for one thing, he isn’t an orphan.” “But he’s so awful!” said Ethel. “He’s so unspeakably dreadful!” “Oh, no, Ethel,” said Mrs. Brown still darning placidly. “Don’t say things like that about your little brother. I sometimes think that when William’s just had his hair cut and got a new suit on he looks quite sweet!” <hr class="full x-ebookmaker-drop" /> [Pg 157] <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

1 of 2

2 of 2

Update Required To play the media you will need to either update your browser to a recent version or update your Flash plugin.