Free Still William by Richmal Crompton Page B

imaginary band of fellow captives. ‘Let us eat well and then devise some way of escape or ere dawn our bleached bones may
dangle from yon gallows.’
    Then quite happily and contentedly he began to eat the fluffy stick of toffee . . .

 
    CHAPTER 5
A BIT OF BLACKMAIL
    B ob Andrews was one of the picturesque figures of the village. He lived at the East Lodge of the Hall, and was supposed to help with the gardening
of the Hall grounds. He was tall, handsome, white-bearded and gloriously lazy. He had a roguish twinkle in his blue eyes and a genius for wasting time – both his own and other people’s.
He was a great friend of William and the Outlaws. He seemed to them to be free of all the drawbacks that usually accompany the state of grown-upness. He was never busy, never disapproving, never
tidy, never abstracted. He took seriously the really important things of life such as cigarette-card collecting, the top season, Red Indians, and the finding of birds’ nests. Having
abstracted a promise from them that they would take ‘one igg an’ no more, ye rascals’, he would show them every bird’s nest in the Hall woods. He seemed to know exactly
where each bird would build each year. He had a family of two tame squirrels, four dogs and seven cats, who all lived together in unity. He could carve boats out of wood, make whistles and bows and
arrows and tops. He did all these things as if he had nothing else to do in the world. He would stand for hours perfectly happy with his hands in his pockets, smoking. He would watch the Outlaws
organising races of boats, watch them shooting their bows and arrows, taking interest in their marksmanship, offering helpful criticism. He was in every way an eminently satisfactory person. He was
paid a regular salary by the absent owner of the Hall for occasionally opening the Lodge gates, and still more occasionally assisting with the gardening. He understood the word assistance in its
most literal sense – that of ‘standing by’. He was also generous with kindly advice to his more active colleagues. It says much for his attractive personality that this want of
activity was resented by no one.
    Mr Bott, the new owner of the Hall, was a businessman. He liked to get his money’s worth for his money. It was not for nothing that passionate appeals to safeguard their
health by taking Bott’s Sauce with every meal met England’s citizens in every town. Mr Bott believed in getting the last ounce of work out of his work-people. That was what had raised
Mr Bott from grocer’s errand boy to lord of the manor. When Mr Bott discovered that he had upon his newly acquired estate a man who drew a working man’s salary for merely standing about
and at intervals consuming the more choice fruit from the hothouses, Mr Bott promptly sacked that man. It would have been against Mr Bott’s most sacred principles to do otherwise . . .
    The Outlaws avoided Mr Bott’s estate for some time after their adventure with his daughter. But having heard that she had departed on a lengthy visit to distant relatives, the Outlaws
decided to return to their favourite haunts. They entered the wood by crawling through the hedge. For a time they amused themselves by climbing trees and turning somersaults among the leaves. Then
they tried jumping over the stream. The stream possessed the attraction of being just too wide to jump over. The interest lay in seeing how much or how little of their boots got wet each time.
Finally the Outlaws wearied of these pursuits.
    ‘Let’s go and find Bob,’ said William at last.
    Scuffling, shuffling, dragging their toes along the ground, whistling, punching each other at intervals, in the fashion of boyhood, they made their way slowly to the East Lodge.
    Bob stood at his door smoking as usual.
    ‘Hello, Bob,’ called the Outlaws.
    ‘Hello, ye young rascals.’
    ‘I say, Bob, make us some boats an’ let’s have a race.’
    ‘Sure an’ I will,’ said Bob knocking