William the Fourth (23 page)

‘I don’t think you can see the Lion from this side of the house, my boy,’ he said, in what he imagined was a kind tone of voice, ‘it must be right on the opposite side of
the house.’

‘Then we could see it from my window,’ said William brightly and guilelessly, ‘if you’d kin’ly come an’ help me find it.’

Mr Bennison said nothing for a few seconds. He was counting forty to himself. It was a proceeding to ensure self-control taught him by his mother in early youth. It had never failed him yet,
though it nearly did on this occasion. Then he followed William across the landing to his room.

William was not content with the Lion. He insisted on finding all the other constellations mentioned in the book. At 2.30 Mr Bennison staggered back to his bedroom. He did not go to bed at once.
He took out the chapter he had written early in the evening and crossed out the words, ‘A child’s curiosity must be immediately satisfied when and where it appears, irrespective of
inconvenience to the adult.’

He decided to cut out all similar sentiments in the next editions of all his books.

Then he got into bed. Sleep at last – blissful, drowsy, soul-satisfying sleep.

‘Mr Bennison –
Mr Bennison
– in this book what you kindly gave me there’s some kind of puzzles – “ ’telligence tests” it calls ’em,
an’ I can’t do ’em. I wondered if you’d kindly help me—’

‘Well, I won’t,’ said Mr Bennison. ‘Go away. Go away, I tell you.’

‘There’s only a page of ’em,’ said William.

‘Go away’ roared Mr Bennison, drawing the clothes over his head. ‘I tell you I won’t – I
won’t
—’

William quietly went away.

Now Mr Bennison was a conscientious man. Left alone in the silence of the night all desire for sleep deserted him. He was horrified at his own depravity. He had deliberately broken his own rule.
He had been false to his ideals.

He had refused to satisfy the curiosity of the young when and where it appeared. A child had come to him for help in the middle of the night and he had refused him or her. The child, moreover,
might repeat the story. It might get about. People might hold it up against him.

After wrestling with his conscience for half an hour he arose and sought William in his room. At four o’clock he was still trying to solve the intelligence tests for William. William stood
by wearing that expression that Mr Bennison was beginning to dislike intensely

At 4.15 Mr Bennison, looking wild and dishevelled, returned to his room. But he was a broken man. He struggled no longer against Fate. Five o’clock found him explaining to William exactly
why Charles I had been put to death.

Six o’clock found him trying to fathom the meaning of ‘plunger’ and ‘inductance’ and ‘slider’ and various other words that occurred in the chapter on
Wireless. It fortunately never occurred to him that they were all terms with which William was perfectly familiar.

As he held his head and tried to think from what Greek or Latin words the terms might have been derived, he missed the flicker that occasionally upset the perfect repose of William’s
features.

At seven o’clock he felt really ill and went downstairs to try to find a whisky-and-soda. It was not William’s fault that he fell over the knitting on which Mrs Brown had been
engaged the evening before, and which had slipped from her chair on to the floor. His frenzied efforts to disentangle his feet entangled them still further.

At last, with teeth bared in rage and wearing the air of a Samson throwing off his enemies, he tore wildly at the wool, and scattering bits of this material and unravelled socks about him, he
strode forward to the sideboard. He could not find a whisky-and-soda. After upsetting a cruet in the sideboard cupboard he went guiltily back to his bedroom.

His bed looked tidier than he imagined he had left it, and very inviting. Perhaps he might get just half an hour’s sleep before he got up . . . He flung himself on to the bed. His feet met
with an unexpected resistance half-way down the bed, bringing his knees sharp up to his chin. The bed was wrong. The bed was all wrong. The bed was all very wrong.

For a few seconds Mr Bennison forgot the traditions of self-restraint and moderation of language on which he had been reared. William, standing in the doorway, listened with interest.

‘I hope you don’t mind me tryin’ ’f I could do it,’ he said. ‘I dunno why it’s called an apple-pie bed, do you? It doesn’t say nothing about it in
this book what you kindly gave me.’

Mr Bennison flung himself upon William with a roar. William dodged lightly on to the landing. Mr Bennison followed and collided heavily with a housemaid who was carrying a tray of early morning
tea.

William came down to breakfast. He entered the dining-room slowly and cautiously. Only his father and mother were there. His mother was talking to his father.

‘He wouldn’t even stay for breakfast,’ she was saying. ‘He said his letter called him back to town on most urgent business. I didn’t like his manner at
all.’

‘Oh?’ said her husband from behind his paper, without much interest.

‘No, I thought it rather ungracious, and he looked queer.’

‘Oh?’ said her husband, turning to the financial columns.

‘Yes – wild and hollow-eyed and that sort of thing. I’ve wondered since whether perhaps he takes drugs. One reads of such things, you know, and he certainly looked queer.
I’m glad he’s gone.’

William went up to Ethel’s bedroom. Ethel was gloomily putting the finishing touches to her auburn hair.

‘He’s gone, Ethel,’ he said in a conspiratorial whisper, ‘gone for good.’

Ethel’s countenance brightened.

‘Sure?’ she said.

‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Now what ’bout that two shillings?’

She looked at him with sudden suspicion.

‘Have you—?’ she began.

‘Me?’ broke in William indignantly. ‘Why, I din’ know he’d gone till I got down to breakfast.’

‘All right,’ said Ethel carelessly. ‘If he’s really and truly gone, I’ll give you half a crown.’

William, on his way to school, met Ginger at the end of the lane.

‘I’ve tried ’em all,’ said Ginger despondently, ‘an’ none of ’em’ll give me a penny’

William with a flourish brought out his half a crown.

This’ll do for both of us,’ he said with a lordly air.

‘Crumbs!’ said Ginger, with respect and admiration in his voice. ‘Who d’you get that out of?’

‘Well, a man came to stay at our house—’ began William.

Ginger’s respect and admiration vanished.

‘Oh, a
visitor
!’ he said disparagingly. ‘ ’S easy enough to get money out of a visitor.’

‘ ’F you think
this
was easy’ began William with deep feeling, then stopped.

It was a long story and already retreating into the limbo of the past. He could not sully the golden present by a lengthy repetition of it. It had been jolly hard work while it lasted, but now
it was over and done with. It belonged to the past. The present included a breathless run into the village, leaping backwards and forwards across the ditches, a race down the village streets and TOPS – glorious tops – superior shilling-each tops with sixpence
over.

He uttered his shrill, discordant war-whoop.

‘Come on,’ he shouted, ‘ ’fore they’re all sold out. Race you to the end of the road!’

CHAPTER 14

A DRESS REHEARSAL

I
t was Saturday, but despite that glorious fact, William, standing at the dining-room window and surveying the world at large, could not for the
moment think of anything to do.

From the window he saw the figure of his father, who sat peacefully on the lawn reading a newspaper. William was not fond of his own society. He liked company of any sort. He went out to the
lawn and stood by his father’s chair.

‘You’ve not got much hair right on the top of your head, Father,’ he said pleasantly and conversationally

There was no answer.

‘I said you’d not got much hair on the top of your head,’ repeated William in a louder tone.

‘I heard you,’ said his father coldly.

‘Oh,’ said William, sitting down on the ground. There was silence for a minute, then William said in friendly tones:

‘I only said it again ’cause I thought you didn’t hear the first time. I thought you’d have said, “Oh”, or “Yes”, or “No”, or
something if you’d heard.’

There was no answer, and again after a long silence, William spoke.

‘I didn’t mind you not sayin’ “Oh”, or “Yes”, or “No”,’ he said, ‘only that was what made me say it again, ’cause with you
not sayin’ it I thought you’d not heard.’

Mr Brown arose and moved his chair several feet away. William, on whom hints were wasted, followed.

‘I was readin’ a tale yesterday’ he said, ‘about a man wot’s legs got bit off by sharks—’

Mr Brown groaned.

‘William,’ he said politely, ‘pray don’t let me keep you from your friends.’

‘Oh, no, that’s quite all right,’ said William. ‘Well – p’raps Ginger is lookin’ for me. Well, I’ll finish about the man an’ the sharks
after tea. You’ll be here then, won’t you?’

‘Please, don’t trouble,’ said Mr Brown with sarcasm that was entirely lost on his son.

‘Oh, it’s not a trouble,’ said William as he strolled off, ‘I like talkin’ to people.’

Ginger was strolling disconsolately down the road looking for William. His face brightened when he saw William in the distance.

‘Hello, William.’

‘Hello, Ginger.’

In accordance with their usual ceremonial greeting, they punched each other and wrestled with each other till they rolled on to the ground. Then they began to walk along the road together.

‘I’ve not got to stop with you long,’ said Ginger gloomily; ‘my mother’s got an ole Sale of Work in her garden, an’ she wants me to help.’

‘Huh!’ said William scornfully,
‘you
helpin’ at a Sale of Work!
You.
Huh!’

‘She’s goin’ to give me five shillings,’ went on Ginger coldly

William slightly modified his tone. ‘Well, I never said you can’t help, did I?’ he said in a more friendly voice.

‘She said I needn’t go for about half an hour. Wot’ll we do? Dig for hidden treasure?’

Two months ago William and his friends had been fired with the idea of digging for hidden treasure. From various books they had read (‘Ralph the Reckless’, ‘Hunted to
Death’, ‘The Quest of Captain Terrible’, etc.), they had gathered that the earth is chockful of buried treasure if only one takes the trouble to dig deep enough.

They had resolved to dig every inch of their native village, collect all the treasure they found, and with it buy a desert island on which they proposed to spend the rest of their lives
unhampered by parents and schoolmasters.

They had decided to begin with the uncultivated part of Ginger’s back garden, and to buy further land for excavation with the treasure they found in the back garden.

Their schemes were not narrow. They had decided to purchase and to pull down all the houses in the village as their treasure grew and more and more land was required for digging.

But they had dug unsuccessfully for two months in Ginger’s back garden and were beginning to lose heart. They had not realised that digging was such hard work, or that ten feet square of
perfectly good land would yield so little treasure. Conscientiously they carried on the search, but it had lost its first fine careless rapture, and they were glad of any excuse for avoiding
it.

‘Dig in your back garden with all those Sale of Work people messin’ about interruptin’ and gettin’ in the way?’ said William sternly. ‘Not much!’

‘All right,’ said Ginger, relieved. ‘I only
s’gested
it. Well, shall we hunt for smugglers?’

There was a cave in the hillside just beneath the road, and though the village in which William and Ginger lived was more than a hundred miles inland, William and Ginger were
ever hopeful of finding a smuggler or, at any rate, traces of a smuggler, in the cave. They searched it carefully every day

As William said, ‘ ’S only likely the reely cunnin’ ones wouldn’t stay sittin’ in their caves by the sea all the time. They’d know folks’d be on the
look out for ’em there. They’d bring their things here where no one’d expect ’em. Why, with a fine cave like this there’s
sure
to be smugglers.’

When tired of hunting for smugglers, or traces of smugglers, they adopted the characters of smugglers themselves, and carried their treasure (consisting of stones) up the hillside to conceal it
in the cave, or fled for their lives to the cave with imaginary soldiers in pursuit. From the cover of the cave, Bill, the smuggler, often covered the entire hillside with the dead bodies of
soldiers. In these frays the gallant smugglers never received even the slightest scratch.

With ever fresh hope they searched the cave again. Ginger found a stone that he said had not been there yesterday, and must have been left as a kind of signal, but William said that he
distinctly recognised it as having been there yesterday, and the matter dropped.