Free William in Trouble by Richmal Crompton Page B

at him with interest.
    ‘A newspaper?’ said William slowly, as though he were weighing the idea judicially.
    ‘Yes,’ said Douglas eagerly. ‘Write one, you know an’ someone be editor. The editor’s a sort of chief man—’
    ‘I’ll be that,’ put in William hastily.
    ‘An’ each write somethin’ for it jus’ like a real newspaper.’
    ‘An’ what about printin’?’ said Henry the practical.
    ‘Oh, we can settle all that later,’ said Douglas vaguely. ‘It’s gotter be wrote first.’
    Henry looked somewhat sombrely round the barn with its bare walls and sodden floor and dripping roof. Its only furniture consisted of a few old packing-cases, which the Outlaws generally
utilised for their games on wet days, and an old coil of rope.
    ‘Doesn’t look much to write a newspaper with ,’ he said gloomily.
    ‘Well, we c’d easily get things,’ said the newly-appointed editor, with an air of stern and frowning leadership. ‘’F you keep findin’
’ bjections we shan’t ever get anything done.’
    ‘’ Bjections! ’ said Henry staring. ‘I like that! Me findin’ ’ bjections when I only jus ’ said there wasn’t anythin’ to
write a paper with. Well, look for yourself. Is there anything to write a newspaper with?’
    William looked round at the packing-cases, the leaking roof and the coil of rope.
    ‘Seems all right to start on,’ he said optimistically. ‘Anyway, we only want jus’ a bit of paper an’ a few pencils jus’ at first.’
    ‘Well, we haven’t gottem have we?’ said Henry simply.
    ‘No, but you can eas’ly run an’ gettem,’ said William.
    ‘Oh, I can, can I?’ said Henry indignantly. ‘Oh, an’ what about me getting all wet out in the rain?’
    ‘Don’t suppose it’ll do you any harm,’ said William callously.
    ‘No, an’ I don’t suppose it’d do you any harm,’ retorted Henry with spirit.
    ‘No, but I’m going to be busy gettin’ things ready here,’ said William.
    ‘So’m I,’ said Henry firmly.
    It was finally agreed, however, that both Henry and William should go in search of material for the newspaper. The expedition was rendered more interesting by a realistic pretence that the
Outlaws were a besieged army and that Henry and William were two heroes who had volunteered to creep through the enemy’s lines in search of provender for their starving comrades.
    Ginger, writhing about the floor of the barn, simulated to his own entire satisfaction the agonies of one suffering from the pangs of extreme hunger. No one took much notice of him, but he did
not mind. He was thoroughly enjoying his own performance.
    Douglas set up a rival show by making a pretence of eating one of the packing-cases which he said was a dead horse.
    William and Henry with great ostentation of secrecy crept through the hedge that represented the enemy’s lines and across the field to the road, where they separated.
    William swung along the road. It was still raining. His gait alternated between swagger and caution, according as the rôle of world famous editor or creeper through an enemy’s lines
in search of provender for his starving comrades, was uppermost in his mind.
    It was still raining. He looked up with a certain apprehension, not unmixed with interest, at the smoking chimneys of the Hall as he passed it. At the Hall lived Mr Bott of Bott’s Sauce,
with his wife and daughter. Mr and Mrs Bott were negligible in William’s eyes. Not so the daughter. Violet Elizabeth Bott was a maiden of six years, with a lisp, an angelic face and a will of
iron.
    She cultivated and used for her own purpose a scream that would have put a factory siren to shame and which was guaranteed to reduce anyone within ten yards of it to quite an expensive nervous
breakdown. It had never yet been known to fail. William dreaded and respected Violet Elizabeth Bott. She had been away on a holiday with her family for the last month, but William knew that they
had returned