Free William Again by Richmal Crompton Page B

now.’
    ‘ ’E was one of the swanks an’ no mistake,’ said Eglantine to William. ‘Oi’d no patience wiv ’im an’ ’is wye of
talkin’. Oi can plye the toff as well as anyone when oi loikes – oi did wiv ’im, din’t oi? But oi despises ’em.’
    William was looking anxiously down the road where the tall man was taking them.
    ‘Where we goin’?’ he said distrustfully.
    ‘To the kind lady’s who invited us to tea,’ said the tall man, overhearing him.
    William walked along in silence. Eglantine began to expatiate again.
    ‘Look at all them ’ouses,’ she said, with a contemptuous glance at the houses between which they were passing. ‘Wot they want wiv such big ’ouses? Swank!
That’s all it is. Swank! Livin’ in big ’ouses an’ talkin’ so soft. Oi’ve no patience wiv ’em. Oi wouldn’t be one of ’em – not fer
nuffin’.’
    But William was growing more and more uneasy
    ‘What we’re goin’ along here for?’ he muttered truculently.
    The tall man turned in at a gate. William moistened his lips.
    ‘He’s making a mistake, ’ he murmured, pulling his check cap still farther over his eyes.
    At the door stood Mrs Brown and Ethel. Their glance fell first on Eglantine.
    ‘What a dreadful child,’ whispered Mrs Brown.
    Next it fell on all that could be seen of Eglantine’s companion.
    ‘What an appalling cap!’ whispered Ethel.
    Then they advanced to welcome them.
    ‘Here we are,’ said the tall man, with a note of relief in his voice. ‘Here we are . . . we’ve had a delightful time – er – quite a delightful time – er – on the whole –
er – just a little misunderstanding at one point – a – temporary separation, but all’s well that ends well. It’s too kind of you. This is – er – Eglantine, and – er – this little boy is
an orphan, poor little chap!’
    Mrs Brown laid her hand tenderly on the tweed cap. ‘Poor little boy,’ she began. ‘Poor little—’ then she met the eyes beneath the tweed cap. ‘William! ’ she said sharply. ‘Take off that horrible cap and go and wash your face.’
    William, clean and brushed and frowning, sat and glared across the table at his late friends. He felt himself disgraced for ever. He was a pariah, outside the pale, one of the
‘swanks’ who lived in big houses and talked soft. His mother’s and Ethel’s intonation and accent seemed at that moment a public humiliation to him. He did not dare to meet
Eglantine’s eyes. Fiercely he munched a currant bun. Into his unoccupied hand stole a small grimy one.
    ‘Never moind,’ whispered Eglantine, ‘yer carn’t ’elp it.’
    And William whispered gratefully, ‘Not much. ’

 
    CHAPTER 6
    WILLIAM AND THE WHITE CAT
    W illiam had before now met the strange species of male who succumbed to the charms of his elder sister. William never could think what people saw
in Ethel. Red hair and blue eyes and a silly little voice . . . Some people (thought William) might call her pretty – but, crumbs, what a temper! – making a fuss if his dog Jumble chewed up any of
her old things, or if he jus’ borrowed her bicycle, or if his pet rats got loose in her room.
    She didn’t even like interesting things like pistols and rabbits and insects. Girls were bad enough when they were at school, thought William, but they were heaps worse when they grew
up.
    The female sex was an entire mystery to William. Except in the case of his mother, he could see no reason for their existence. Yet he grudgingly admitted to himself that Ethel’s admirers
had not been useless to him. There was Mr French, who had given him his first couple of white rats, there was Mr Drew, who had showered rare postage stamps upon him, there was Mr Loughton, who had
nervously pressed sixpence into his hand whenever they met . . .
    But Mr Romford was different. He had a strange idea that William had no influence with his elder sister. This happened to be true, but that made it none the less