William The Outlaw (5 page)

Then she opened her eyes.

‘It
may
be all wrong,’ she admitted, ‘I’m only guessing how to do it. But if it’s a very good spell it
may
be all right.’

‘Well, let’s go and have a look at him,’ said William, ‘and if he’s still there we’ll come back and try again.’

So they went.

And now comes one of those coincidences without which both life and the art of the novelist would be so barren. Five minutes after the Outlaws had left Mr Galileo Simpkins
peacefully reading his novel on a bank in the shade in the field, a boy crossed the field carrying a telegram. He came from the post office and the telegram was for Mr Galileo Simpkins, so, on
seeing Mr Galileo Simpkins in the field, the boy took it up to him. Mr Simpkins opened it. It summoned him to the sick bed of a great-aunt from whom he had expectations. There was a train to town
in ten minutes. Mr Simpkins had his hat and coat and plenty of money on him. He decided not to risk missing the train by going back to the house. He set off at once for the station, meaning to
telegraph to his housekeeper from town (which he quite forgot to do). He left his book on the bank where he had laid it down on taking the telegram from the boy’s hand.

Five minutes after he had gone Farmer Jenks, to whom the field belonged, brought to it a young donkey which he had just purchased, and departed. The young donkey had been christened
‘Maria’ by Mrs Jenks. Maria kicked her heels happily in the field for a few minutes, then realised that it was rather a hot afternoon. There was only one bit of shade in the field and
that was the bank where but lately Mr Galileo Simpkins had reposed and where even now his book lay. Maria went over to this and lay down in it just by the book. In fact her attitude suggested that
she was engaged in reading the book.

And so when five minutes later the Outlaws cautiously and fearfully peeped over the hedge, they saw what was apparently Mr Galileo Simpkins metamorphosed by their spell into a donkey lying where
they had last seen him still reading his book. No words in the English language could quite describe the Outlaws’ feelings. Not one of them had really expected Joan’s spell to take
effect. And here was the incredible spectacle before them – Mr Galileo Simpkins turned into a donkey before their very eyes by one of his own spells. They all went rather pale. William
blinked. Ginger’s jaw dropped open. Henry’s eyes seemed on the point of falling out of his head. Douglas swallowed and held on to the gate for support and Joan gave a little scream. At
the sound of the scream Maria turned her head and gave them a reproachful glance.

‘
Well!
’ said Joan.

‘
Crumbs!
’ said William.

‘
Gosh!
’ said Douglas.

‘
Crikey!
’ said Henry.

And ‘
Now
we’ve done it!’ said Ginger.

Maria turned away her head and surveyed the distant landscape, drowsily. ‘I wonder if he
knows
,’ said William awefully, ‘or if he thinks he’s still a
man.’

‘He
must
know,’ said Ginger. ‘He’s got eyes. He c’n see his legs ’n tail an’ things.’

‘
WELL!
’ SAID JOAN. ‘
NOW
WE’VE DONE IT!’ SAID GINGER.

‘P’raps,’ suggested Henry, ‘he’s forgotten all about bein’ a man an’ only feels like a donkey now.’

‘Well, he won’t try stickin’ pins into
me
again,
anyway
,’ said Ginger.

HERE WAS THE INCREDIBLE BEFORE THEM – MR SIMPKINS TURNED INTO A DONKEY BY ONE OF HIS OWN SPELLS!

‘This is Farmer Jenks’ field,’ he said, ‘he’ll be mad findin’ a donkey in it. He won’t know it’s reely Mr Simpkins.’

‘Well, it won’t matter,’ said Ginger.

‘Yes, I bet it will,’ said William. ‘P’raps it can talk still – the donkey, I mean – p’raps it’ll tell people about us an’ get us into
trouble. I specks there’s a law against turnin’ people into things like what there is against murder – an’ he’s got a nasty look in his eyes. Look at him now. I bet he
c’n still talk an’ he’ll go tellin’ people an’ we’ll be put in prison or hanged or somethin’.’

‘It’s
your
fault,’ said Ginger, ‘why did you say a big thing like a donkey? If you’d said a little thing like a frog or somethin’ we could’ve put
him in a bottle, same as he did other folks, but what can you do with a big thing like a
donkey?

‘Well, I never thought he’d
really
turn into one,’ said William with spirit.

‘Well, he
has
done,’ said Ginger, ‘an’ we’ve gotter
do
something about it ’fore anyone comes along and he starts tellin’ them about
us.’

At this point Maria uttered a loud, ‘Hee-haw!’

‘There, you see,’ said Henry relieved, ‘he can only talk donkey talk.’

‘I don’ believe it,’ said William doggedly. ‘He’s jus’ pretendin’. He was readin’ his book when we came along an’ I bet he can talk. He only
wants to wait till someone comes along an’ then get us into trouble . . . Look at him now eatin’ grass . . . Well,’ virtuously, ‘he’s got no
right
eatin’
that grass. It’s Farmer Jenks’ grass . . . an’ what’re we goin’ to do when they find out that the man’s disappeared an’ there’s only a donkey left
an’ – they’ll blame
us . . .
they always blame
us
for everything.’

‘Let’s turn him back now,’ said Joan, ‘we’ve prob’ly taught him a lesson. Now he knows what it feels like to be turned into something perhaps he’ll stop
turning other people into things.’

‘And running pins into ’em,’ said Ginger feelingly.

‘Well, we’d better get him to his house, anyway,’ said William, ‘then he can turn himself back with his own things.’

Maria had arisen from the bank and was now munching grass a few yards away. Somewhat cautiously they approached her. William addressed her sternly.

‘Now,’ he said, ‘we know that you’re a magician an’ that you turned people into frogs an’ bones an’ run pins into people so we turned you into a donkey,
but we’re goin’ to let you turn yourself back if you
promise
never to be a magician any more. Will you
promise
never to be a magician any more?’

Maria opened her mouth to its fullest extent and emitted a ‘hee-haw’ that took William’s breath away.

The Outlaws withdrew and held a hasty conclave.

‘I think he meant to promise, William,’ said Joan.

‘Well, I don’t,’ said William, ‘I don’t. I think he meant he wun’t promise.’

‘Well, let’s get him home, anyway,’ said Douglas. ‘Someone’ll only be comin’ along and findin’ out all about it if we leave him here.’

Again William approached Maria and fixed her with a stern eye.

‘You can come home an’ turn yourself back now,’ he said magnanimously, ‘if you want to.’

For answer Maria turned her back on them, kicked her heels into the air, then leapt skittishly away.

It would take too long to describe in detail the struggle by which the Outlaws finally brought the recalcitrant Maria from the field into Mr Simpkins’ garden and from Mr Simpkins’
garden through the French window into Mr Simpkins’ laboratory. Henry retired early from the contest after a kick on the shin.

‘
Now
you know what he’s like,’ said Ginger bitterly, still obsessed by memories of his gastric trouble.

It was William who had the bright idea of running home for a bunch of carrots and by means of this they led the frisky Maria into the garden of Mr Simpkins’ home. There Maria for a time
ran amok. She broke a pane of glass in the greenhouse, she pranced about the well rolled lawn, leaving innumerable hoof holes to mark her progress. She trampled down a bed of heliotrope. She
completely demolished a bed of roses. She bit William. She was finally brought through the French window into the lab at the cost of all the glass in the French window. The housekeeper, as it
happened, was lying down and was a very sound sleeper. A small child belonging to the jobbing gardener, pressing its nose through the front gate, was the amazed spectator of these proceedings.

Inside the lab Maria grew more frisky still. She broke and ground into the carpet the test tubes that had formed Joan’s magic circle. She wrecked the bench and everything upon it. She
kicked over an entire shelf of bottles.

‘He’s mad,’ said William, ‘he’s mad at bein’ a donkey an’ he doesn’t know how to turn himself back.’

‘Say somethin’ to him,’ urged Ginger.

William said something to him.

‘If you can’t turn yourself back,’ said William, ‘you’ll have to stay like you are. We can’t do anything more for you.’

In answer to this Maria kicked over a small cupboard and then put her head through a large glass beaker.

‘HE’S MAD AT BEIN’ A DONKEY,’ SAID WILLIAM, ‘AN’ HE DOESN’T KNOW HOW TO TURN HIMSELF BACK.’

The Outlaws were just going to take his advice and return home as unostentatiously as possible, when they discovered that their line of retreat was cut off. A small band of women headed by the
Vicar’s wife was coming up the drive towards the front door. Like five streaks of lightning the Outlaws disappeared behind a screen which Maria amid the general chaos had considerately left
standing.

The small band of women headed by the Vicar’s wife were the members of a local Anti-vivisection Society which had been formed in the village by the Vicar’s wife a year ago. Up to now
there had been little scope in the village for their activities, though they had all much enjoyed the monthly meetings at which they had had tea and cakes and discussed the various village
scandals. But now, as the Vicar’s wife said, was the Time to Act. They had heard of Mr Galileo Simpkins’ skeleton and bottled frogs and they thought that the local Anti-vivisection
Society should approach him and demand from him a guarantee that he would not in his researches touch the hair of the head of any living animal. Also they wanted an opportunity of inspecting the
mysterious lab of which they had heard so much. Things in the village had been rather dull lately and like the Outlaws they welcomed any fresh diversion. . . .

They were approaching the front door, meaning to ring and ask to see Mr Simpkins in the normal fashion of callers. But to reach the front door they had to pass the window of the lab and it
proved far too thrilling to be passed. The Outlaws, neatly hidden behind the screen, were invisible. Maria stood in the middle of the room, her head drooping in an utterly deceptive attitude of
patient meekness. All around was wreckage. The visitors stood and gazed at the scene open-mouthed. Tacitly they abandoned their intention of knocking at the front door and being admitted as
callers. Led by the Vicar’s wife, they entered by the French windows.