William in Trouble Read Free

been seen in the interval carrying down baskets full of various
objects, which they concealed in the soil of their hole. There was little time, and the presence of a suspicious family at home gave little opportunity for the collection of very numerous or very
interesting ‘finds,’ but they did what they could. William found time in the interval for a hasty glance at his Latin book.
    At six o’clock a large audience had assembled round William’s hole and William began operations.
    Ginger first of all unearthed an old sardine tin which he handed up to William. William wiped away the mud with his long-suffering handkerchief, then made a pretence of careful examination. This
pretence had gained greatly in dramatic force since before tea. He placed upon his nose a pair of blue glasses which the doctor had once ordered Ginger’s mother to wear, and which Ginger had
long ago appropriated to his own use, and approached the tin closely to them, making exclamations of interest and surprise as he examined it. The audience watched breathlessly.
    ‘Why,’ he said at last, ‘this is the very tin what the Roman wolf drank out of.’
    ‘What wolf?’ demanded a small boy at the back.
    William looked at him in horror through his blue spectacles.
    ‘You meanter to say,’ he said, ‘that you’ve never heard of the Roman wolf – the one what sucked Romus an’ Remus?’
    It may here be remarked that all William’s knowledge of the animal in question had been gleaned hastily from his illustrated Latin book before tea.
    ‘Who was they ?’ piped the stubbornly illiterate small boy.
    ‘Well!’ said William in a tone that expressed horror and surprise at the revelation of such depths of ignorance. ‘Fancy not knowing ’bout Romus an’ Remus. Romus
an’ Remus was – they was – they was two Romans an’ they went out walkin’ in a wood an’ they met a wolf an’ – an’ it sucked
’em.’
    ‘Why’d it stick ’em?’ said the small boy.
    ‘Wolfs don’t suck folk,’ said a boy in front, ‘you’re thinkin’ of bears huggin’ folks.’
    ‘I’m not ,’ said the excavator pugnaciously. ‘You ever met an ole Roman wolf?’
    The objector had to admit that he had not had this experience.
    ‘Well then,’ said William triumphantly, ‘how do you know how they useter go on? I tell you that all ole Roman wolfs useter suck folks. It says so in the book.
It’s just like dogs lickin ’ folks to show that they’re pleased. Well, this tin is the tin what the wolf what sucked Romus an’ Remus useter drink out
of—’
    Henry with his little wooden spade had unearthed a small dish. William carefully wiped it and examined it, adjusting his blue spectacles with a flourish and uttering the while his dramatic
exclamations of surprised interest. Any member of William’s household would have recognised the soap-dish from William’s bedroom, but, fortunately for William, no members of his
household were there.
    ‘Why, this is the basin where Julia washed the sailors’ hands,’ he said at last.
    There was a murmur of pleased recognition. That came in Exercise II. Most of them had got so far.
    ‘There’s a bit o’ soap still left in,’ said William, holding up a fragment of coal tar soap for inspection, ‘so that proves it.’
    Then he hastily passed on before anyone could challenge his deduction.
    Douglas was holding up a piece of wood.
    ‘Part of an ole Roman mensa,’ said William with an air of conscious scholarship which was both deprecating and proud.
    Next came the gem of the collection, a battered, once white cloth goose with a broken yellow beak, which Henry had taken, together with the spade, from his furiously protesting small sister.
    William rubbed this drooping creature with his earth-sodden handkerchief, and gave a well-simulated start of amazement.
    ‘Why, this,’ he said, ‘is one of the geese what woke the Capitol.’ He held it up. Its head drooped limply on to one side, ‘dead now,