Still William Read Free Page B

threat. He saw his already distant chances of pocket-money vanish into nothingness when the cost of the Vicar’s glasses and plates was added to the landing
window. He wouldn’t have minded if he’d got the handkerchief. He wouldn’t have minded anything if—
    ‘Don’t suck your hand, my boy,’ said the Bishop. ‘An open cut like that is most dangerous. Poison works into the system by it. You remember I told you how the poison of
alcohol works into the system – well, any kind of poison can work into it by a cut – don’t suck it; keep it covered up – haven’t you a handkerchief? – here, take
mine. You needn’t trouble to return it. It’s an old one.’
    The Bishop was deeply touched by what he called the ‘bright spirituality’ of the smile with which William thanked him.
    William, limping slightly, his hand covered by a grimy rag, came out into the garden, drawing from his pocket with a triumphant flourish an enormous violently-coloured silk
handkerchief. Robert, who was weeding the rose-bed, looked up. ‘Here,’ he called, ‘you can jolly well go and put that handkerchief of mine back.’
    William continued his limping but proud advance.
    ‘ ’S’ all right,’ he called airily, ‘the Bishop’s is on your dressing-table.’
    Robert dropped the trowel.
    ‘Gosh!’ he gasped, and hastened indoors to investigate.
    William went down to the gate, smiling very slightly to himself.
    ‘The days are drawing out so pleasantly,’ he was saying to himself in a mincing accent. ‘Vaseline – ammonia – er – or cold cream— Damn!’
    He leant over the gate, took out his caterpillar, satisfied himself that it was still alive, put it back and looked up and down the road. In the distance he caught sight of the figure of his
friend.
    ‘Gin – ger ,’ he yelled in hideous shrillness.
    He waved his coloured handkerchief carelessly in greeting as he called. Then he swaggered out into the road . . .

 
    CHAPTER 2
HENRI LEARNS THE LANGUAGE
    I t was Joan who drew William and the Outlaws from their immemorial practice of playing at Pirates and Red Indians.
    ‘I’m tired of being a squaw,’ she said plaintively, ‘an’ I’m tired of walking the plank an’ I want to be something else an’ do something
else.’
    Joan was the only girl whose existence the Outlaws officially recognised. This was partly owing to Joan’s own personal attractiveness and partly to the fact that an admiration for Joan was
the only human weakness of their manly leader, William. Thus Joan was admitted to all such games as required the female element. The others she was graciously allowed to watch.
    They received her outburst with pained astonishment.
    ‘Well,’ said Ginger coldly, ‘wot else is there to do an’ be?’
    Ginger felt that the very foundation of the Society of Outlaws was being threatened. The Outlaws had played at Pirates and Red Indians since their foundation.
    ‘Let’s play at being ordinary people,’ said Joan.
    ‘Ordinary people—!’ exploded Douglas. ‘There’s no playin’ in bein’ ordinary people. Wot’s the good—?’
    ‘Let’s be Jasmine Villas,’ said Joan, warming to her theme. ‘We’ll each be a person in Jasmine Villas—’
    William, who had so far preserved a judicial silence, now said:
    ‘I don’ mind playin’ ornery people s’long as we don’ do ornery things.’
    ‘Oh, no, William,’ said Joan with the air of meekness with which she always received William’s oracles, ‘we needn’t do ornery things.’
    ‘Then bags me be ole Mr Burwash.’
    ‘And me Miss Milton next door,’ said Joan hastily.
    The Outlaws were beginning to see vague possibilities in the game.
    ‘An’ me Mr Luton,’ said Ginger.
    ‘An’ me Mr Buck,’ said Douglas.
    Henry, the remaining outlaw, looked around him indignantly. Jasmine Villas only contained four houses.
    ‘An’ wot about me ?’ he said.
    ‘Oh, you be a policeman wot walks about outside,’ said William.
    Henry,