CHAPTER X
WILLIAM'S NEW YEAR'S DAY
William went whistling down the street, his hands in his pockets.William's whistle was more penetrating than melodious. Sensitive peoplefled shuddering at the sound. The proprietor of the sweet-shop, however,was not sensitive. He nodded affably as William passed. William was aregular customer of his--as regular, that is, as a wholly inadequateallowance would permit. Encouraged William paused at the doorway andceased to whistle.
"'Ullo, Mr. Moss!" he said.
"'Ullo, William!" said Mr. Moss.
"Anythin' cheap to-day?" went on William hopefully.
Mr. Moss shook his head.
"Twopence an ounce cheapest," he said.
William sighed.
"That's awful _dear_," he said.
"What isn't dear? Tell me that. What isn't dear?" said Mr. Mosslugubriously.
"Well, gimme two ounces. I'll pay you to-morrow," said William casually.
Mr. Moss shook his head.
"Go on!" said William. "I get my money to-morrow. You know I get mymoney to-morrow."
"Cash, young sir," said Mr. Moss heavily. "My terms is cash. 'Owever,"he relented, "I'll give you a few over when the scales is down to-morrowfor a New Year's gift."
"Honest Injun?"
"Honest Injun."
"Well, gimme them now then," said William.
Mr. Moss hesitated.
"They wouldn't be no New Year's gift then, would they?" he said.
William considered.
"I'll eat 'em to-day but I'll _think_ about 'em to-morrow," he promised."That'll make 'em a New Year's gift."
Mr. Moss took out a handful of assorted fruit drops and passed them toWilliam. William received them gratefully.
"An' what good resolution are you going to take to-morrow?" went on Mr.Moss.
William crunched in silence for a minute, then,
"Good resolution?" he questioned. "I ain't got none."
"You've got to have a good resolution for New Year's Day," said Mr. Mossfirmly.
"Same as giving up sugar in tea in Lent and wearing blue on Oxford andCambridge Boat Race Day?" said William with interest.
"Yes, same as that. Well, you've got to think of some fault you'd liketo cure and start to-morrow."
William pondered.
"Can't think of anything," he said at last. "You think of something forme."
"You might take one to do your school work properly," he suggested.
William shook his head.
"No," he said, "that wun't be much fun, would it? Crumbs! It _wun't_!"
"Or--to keep your clothes tidy?" went on his friend.
William shuddered at the thought.
"Or to--give up shouting and whistling."
Williams crammed two more sweets into his mouth and shook his head veryfirmly.
"Crumbs, no!" he ejaculated indistinctly.
"Or to be perlite."
"Perlite?"
"Yes. 'Please' and 'thank you,' and 'if you don't mind me sayin' so,'and 'if you excuse me contradictin' of you,' and 'can I do anything foryou?' and such like."
William was struck with this.
"Yes, I might be that," he said. He straightened his collar and stoodup. "Yes, I might try bein' that. How long has it to go on, though?"
"Not long," said Mr. Moss. "Only the first day gen'rally. Folksgenerally give 'em up after that."
"What's yours?" said William, putting four sweets into his mouth as hespoke.
Mr. Moss looked round his little shop with the air of a conspirator,then leant forward confidentially.
"I'm goin' to arsk 'er again," he said.
"Who?" said William mystified.
"Someone I've arsked regl'ar every New Year's Day for ten year."
"Asked what?" said William, gazing sadly at his last sweet.
"Arsked to take me o' course," said Mr. Moss with an air of contempt forWilliam's want of intelligence.
"Take you where?" said William. "Where d'you want to go? Why can't yougo yourself?"
"Ter _marry_ me, I means," said Mr. Moss, blushing slightly as he spoke.
"Well," said William with a judicial air, "I wun't have asked the sameone for ten years. I'd have tried someone else. I'd have gone on askingother people, if I wanted to get married. You'd be sure to find someonethat wouldn't mind you--with a sweet-shop, too. She must be a softie.Does she _know_ you've got a sweet-shop?"
Mr. Moss merely sighed and popped a bull's eye into his mouth with anair of abstracted melancholy.
* * * * *
The next morning William leapt out of bed with an expression of sternresolve. "I'm goin' to be p'lite," he remarked to his bedroom furniture."I'm goin' to be p'lite all day."
He met his father on the stairs as he went down to breakfast.
"Good mornin', Father," he said, with what he fondly imagined to be acourtly manner. "Can I do anything for you to-day?"
His father looked down at him suspiciously.
"What do you want now?" he demanded.
William was hurt.
"GOOD MORNIN', FATHER," SAID WILLIAM WITH WHAT HE FONDLYIMAGINED TO BE A COURTLY MANNER.]
"I'm only bein' p'lite. It's--you know--one of those things you takeon New Year's Day. Well, I've took one to be p'lite."
His father apologised. "I'm sorry," he said. "You see, I'm not used toit. It startled me."
At breakfast William's politeness shone forth in all its glory.
"Can I pass you anything, Robert?" he said sweetly.
His elder brother coldly ignored him. "Going to rain again," he said tothe world in general.
"If you'll 'scuse me contradicting of you Robert," said William, "Iheard the milkman sayin' it was goin' to be fine. If you'll 'scuse mecontradictin' you."
"Look here!" said Robert angrily, "Less of your cheek!"
"Seems to me no one in this house understands wot bein' p'lite is," saidWilliam bitterly. "Seems to me one might go on bein' p'lite in thishouse for years an' no one know wot one was doin'."
His mother looked at him anxiously.
"You're feeling quite well, dear, aren't you?" she said. "You haven'tgot a headache or anything, have you?"
"No. I'm bein' _p'lite_," he said irritably, then pulled himself upsuddenly. "I'm quite well, thank you, Mother dear," he said in a tone ofcloying sweetness.
"Does it hurt you much?" inquired his brother tenderly.
"No thank you, Robert," said William politely.
After breakfast he received his pocket-money with courteous gratitude.
"Thank you very much, Father."
"Not at all. Pray don't mention it, William. It's quite all right," saidMr. Brown, not to be outdone. Then, "It's rather trying. How long doesit last?"
"What?"
"The resolution."
"Oh, bein' p'lite! He said they didn't often do it after the first day."
"He's quite right, whoever he is," said Mr. Brown. "They don't."
"He's goin' to ask her again," volunteered William.
"Who ask who what?" said Mr. Brown, but William had departed. He wasalready on his way to Mr. Moss's shop.
Mr. Moss was at the door, hatted and coated, and gazing anxiously downthe street.
"Goo' mornin' Mr. Moss," said William politely.
Mr. Moss took out a large antique watch.
"He's late!" he said. "I shall miss the train. Oh, dear! It will be thefirst New Year's Day I've missed in ten years."
William was inspecting the sweets with the air of an expert.
"Them pink ones are new," he said at last. "How much are they?"
"Eightpence a quarter. Oh, dear, I shall miss the train."
"They're very small ones," said William disparagingly "You'd thinkthey'd be less than that--small ones like that."
"Will you--will you do something for me and I'll _give_ you a quarter ofthose sweets."
William gasped. The offer was almost too munificent to be true.
"I'll do _anythin'_ for that," he said simply.
"Well, just stay in the shop till my nephew Bill comes. 'E'll be 'ere intwo shakes an' I'll miss my train if I don't go now. 'E's goin' to keepthe shop for me till I'm back an' 'e'll be 'ere any minute now. Jus'tell 'im I 'ad to run for to catch my train an' if anyone comes into theshop before 'e comes jus' tell 'em to wait or to come back later. Youcan weigh yourself a quarter o' those sweets."
Mr. Moss was certainly in a holiday mood. William pinched himself justto make sure that he was still alive and had not been translatedsuddenly to the realms of the blest.
Mr. Moss, with a last anxious glance at his watch, hurried off in thedirection of the station.
William was left alone. He spent a few moments indulging in roseate daydreams. The ideal of his childhood--perhaps of everyone's childhood--wasrealised. He had a sweet-shop. He walked round the shop with a consciousswagger, pausing to pop into his mouth a Butter Ball--composed, as thelabel stated, of pure farm cream and best butter. It was all his--allthose rows and rows of gleaming bottles of sweets of every size andcolour, those boxes and boxes of attractively arranged chocolates.Deliberately he imagined himself as their owner. By the time he hadwalked round the shop three times he believed that he was the owner.
At this point a small boy appeared in the doorway. William scowled athim.
"Well," he said ungraciously, "what d'you want?" Then, suddenlyremembering his resolution, "_Please_ what d'you want?"
"Where's Uncle?" said the small boy with equal ungraciousness. "'Causeour Bill's ill an' can't come."
William waved him off.
"That's all right," he said. "You tell 'em that's all right. That'squite all right. See? Now, you go off!"
The small boy stood, as though rooted to the spot. William pressed intoone of his hands a stick of liquorice and into the other a packet ofchocolate.
"Now, you go _away_! I don't _want_ you here. See? You _go away_ youlittle--assified cow!"
William's invective was often wholly original.
The small boy made off, still staring and clutching his spoils. Williamstarted to the door and yelled to the retreating figure, "if you don'tmind me sayin' so."
He had already come to look upon the Resolution as a kind of god whomust at all costs be propitiated. Already the Resolution seemed to havebestowed upon him the dream of his life--a fully-equipped sweet-shop.
He wandered round again and discovered a wholly new sweetmeat calledCokernut Kisses. Its only drawback was its instability. It melted awayin the mouth at once. So much so that almost before William was aware ofit he was confronted by the empty box. He returned to the more solidcharms of the Pineapple Crisp.
He was interrupted by the entrance of a thin lady of uncertain age.
"Good morning," she said icily. "Where's Mr. Moss?"
William answered as well as the presence of five sweets in his mouthwould allow him.
"I can't hear a word you say," she said--more frigidly than ever.
William removed two of his five sweets and placed them temporarily onthe scale.
"Gone," he said laconically, then murmured vaguely, "thank you," as thethought of the Resolution loomed up in his mind.
"Who's in charge?"
"Me," said William ungrammatically.
She looked at him with distinct disapproval.
"Well, I'll have one of those bars of chocolates."
William looking round the shop, realised suddenly that his owndepredations had been on no small scale. But there was a chance ofmaking good any loss that Mr. Moss might otherwise have sustained.
He looked down at the twopenny bars.
"Shillin' each," he said firmly.
She gasped.
"They were only twopence yesterday."
"They're gone up since," said William brazenly, adding a vague, "ifyou'll kin'ly 'scuse me sayin' so."
"Gone up----?" she repeated indignantly.
"Have you heard from the makers they're gone up?"
"Yes'm," said William politely.
"When did you hear?"
"This mornin'--if you don't mind me saying so."
William's manner of fulsome politeness seemed to madden her.
"Did you hear by post?"
"Yes'm. By post this mornin'."
She glared at him with vindictive triumph.
"I happen to live opposite, you wicked, lying boy, and I know that thepostman did not call here this morning."
William met her eye calmly.
"No, they came round to see me in the night--the makers did. You cou'n'tof heard them," he added hastily. "It was when you was asleep. If you'll'scuse me contradictin' of you."
It is a great gift to be able to lie so as to convince other people. Itis a still greater gift to be able to lie so as to convince oneself.William was possessed of the latter gift.
"I shall certainly not pay more than twopence," said his customerseverely, taking a bar of chocolate and laying down twopence on thecounter. "And I shall report this shop to the Profiteering Committee.It's scandalous. And a pack of wicked lies!"
William scowled at her.
"They're a _shillin'_," he said. "I don't want your nasty ole tuppences.I said they was a _shillin'_."
He followed her to the door. She was crossing the street to her house."You--you ole _thief_!" he yelled after her, though, true to hisResolution, he added softly with dogged determination, "if you don'tmind me sayin' so."
"I'll set the police on you," his late customer shouted angrily backacross the street. "You wicked, blasphemous boy!"
William put out his tongue at her, then returned to the shop and closedthe door.
Here he discovered that the door, when opened, rang a bell, and, afterfilling his mouth with Liquorice All Sorts, he spent the next fiveminutes vigorously opening and shutting the door till something wentwrong with the mechanism of the bell. At this he fortified himself witha course of Nutty Footballs and, standing on a chair, began ruthlesslyto dismember the bell. He was disturbed by the entry of anothercustomer. Swallowing a Nutty Football whole, he hastened to his postbehind the counter.
The newcomer was a little girl of about nine--a very dainty little girl,dressed in a white fur coat and cap and long white gaiters. Her hairfell in golden curls over her white fur shoulders. Her eyes were blue.Her cheeks were velvety and rosy. Her mouth was like a baby's. Williamhad seen this vision on various occasions in the town, but had never yetaddressed it. Whenever he had seen it, his heart in the midst of hisbody had been even as melting wax. He smiled--a self-conscious, sheepishsmile. His freckled face blushed to the roots of his short stubby hair.She seemed to find nothing odd in the fact of a small boy being incharge of a sweet-shop. She came up to the counter.
"Please, I want two twopenny bars of chocolate."
Her voice was very clear and silvery.
Ecstasy rendered William speechless. His smile grew wider and morefoolish. Seeing his two half-sucked Pineapple Crisps exposed upon thescales, he hastily put them into his mouth.
She laid four pennies on the counter.
William found his voice.
"You can have lots for that," he said huskily. "They've gone cheap.They've gone ever so cheap. You can take all the boxful for that," hewent on recklessly. He pressed the box into her reluctant hands."An'--what else would you like? You jus' tell me that. Tell me what elseyou'd like?"
"Please, I haven't any more money," gasped a small, bewildered voice.
"_Money_ don't matter," said William. "Things is cheap to-day. Things isawful cheap to-day. _Awful_ cheap! You can have--anythin' you like forthat fourpence. Anythin' you like."
"'Cause it's New Year's Day?" said the vision, with a gleam ofunderstanding.
"Yes," said William, "'cause it's that."
"Is it your shop?"
"Yes," said William with an air of importance. "It's all my shop."
She gazed at him in admiration and envy.
"I'd love to have a sweet-shop," she said wistf
ully.
"Well, you take anythin' you like," said William generously.
She collected as much as she could carry and started towards the door."_Sank_ you! Sank you ever so!" she said gratefully.
William stood leaning against the door in the easy attitude of thegood-natured, all-providing male.
"It's all right," he said with an indulgent smile. "Quite all right.Quite all right." Then, with an inspiration born of memories of hisfather earlier in the day. "Not at all. Don't menshun it. Not at all.Quite all right."
"_MONEY_ DON'T MATTER," SAID WILLIAM. "THINGS IS CHEAPTO-DAY. AWFUL CHEAP!"]
He stopped, simply for lack of further expressions, and bowed withwould-be gracefulness as she went through the doorway.
As she passed the window she was rewarded by a spreading effusive smilein a flushed face.
She stopped and kissed her hand.
William blinked with pure emotion.
He continued his smile long after its recipient had disappeared. Thenabsent-mindedly he crammed his mouth with a handful of Mixed Dew Dropsand sat down behind the counter.
As he crunched Mixed Dew Drops he indulged in a day dream in which herescued the little girl in the white fur coat from robbers and piratesand a burning house. He was just leaping nimbly from the roof of theburning house, holding the little girl in the white fur coat in hisarms, when he caught sight of two of his friends flattening their nosesat the window. He rose from his seat and went to the door.
"'Ullo, Ginger! 'Ullo, Henry!" he said with an unsuccessful effort toappear void of self-consciousness.
They gazed at him in wonder.
"I've gotta shop," he went on casually. "Come on in an' look at it."
They peeped round the door-way cautiously and, reassured by the sight ofWilliam obviously in sole possession, they entered, openmouthed. Theygazed at the boxes and bottles of sweets. Aladdin's Cave was nothing tothis.
"Howd' you get it, William?" gasped Ginger.
"Someone gave it me," said William. "I took one of them things to bep'lite an' someone gave it me. Go on," he said kindly. "Jus' helpyourselves. Not at all. Jus' help yourselves an' don't menshun it."
They needed no second bidding. With the unerring instinct of childhood(not unsupported by experience) that at any minute their Eden might beinvaded by the avenging angel in the shape of a grown-up, they made fulluse of their time. They went from box to box, putting handfuls of sweetsand chocolates into their mouths. They said nothing, simply becausespeech was, under the circumstances, a physical impossibility. Showing aforesight for the future, worthy of the noble ant itself, so often heldup as a model to childhood, they filled pockets in the intervals ofcramming their mouths.
A close observer might have noticed that William now ate little. Williamhimself had been conscious for some time of a curious and inexplicablefeeling of coldness towards the tempting dainties around him. He was,however, loth to give in to the weakness, and every now and then henonchalantly put into his mouth a Toasted Square or a Fruity Bit.
It happened that a loutish boy of about fourteen was passing the shop.At the sight of three small boys rapidly consuming the contents, hebecame interested.
"What yer doin' of?" he said indignantly, standing in the doorway.
"You get out of my shop," said William valiantly.
"_Yer_ shop?" said the boy. "Yer bloomin' well pinchin' things out o'someone else's shop, _I_ can see. 'Ere, gimme some of them."
"You get _out_!" said William.
"Get out _yerself_!" said the other.
"If I'd not took one to be p'lite," said William threateningly, "I'dknock you down."
"Yer would, would yer?" said the other, beginning to roll up hissleeves.
"Yes, an' I would, too. You get out." Seizing the nearest bottle, whichhappened to contain Acid Drops, he began to fire them at his opponent'shead. One hit him in the eye. He retired into the street. William, nowa-fire for battle, followed him, still hurling Acid Drops with all hismight. A crowd of boys collected together. Some gathered Acid Drops fromthe gutter, others joined the scrimmage. William, Henry, and Gingercarried on a noble fight against heavy odds.
It was only the sight of the proprietor of the shop coming briskly downthe side-walk that put an end to the battle. The street boys made off(with what spoils they could gather) in one direction and Ginger andHenry in another. William, clasping an empty Acid Drop bottle to hisbosom, was left to face Mr. Moss.
Mr. Moss entered and looked round with an air of bewilderment.
"Where's Bill?" he said.
"He's ill," said William. "He couldn't come. I've been keepin' shop foryou. I've done the best I could." He looked round the rifled shop andhastened to propitiate the owner as far as possible. "I've got somemoney for you," he added soothingly, pointing to the four pennies thatrepresented his morning's takings. "It's not much," he went on withsome truth, looking again at the rows of emptied boxes and half-emptiedbottles and the _debris_ that is always and everywhere the inevitableresult of a battle. But Mr. Moss hardly seemed to notice it.
"Thanks, William," he said almost humbly. "William, she's took me. She'sgoin' ter marry me. Isn't it grand? After all these years!"
"I'm afraid there's a bit of a mess," said William, returning to themore important matter.
Mr. Moss waved aside his apologies.
"It doesn't matter, William," he said. "Nothing matters to-day. She'stook me at last. I'm goin' to shut shop this afternoon and go over toher again. Thanks for staying, William."
"Not at all. Don't menshun it," said William nobly. Then, "I think I'vehad enough of that bein' p'lite. Will one mornin' do for this year,d'you think?"
"Er--yes. Well, I'll shut up. Don't you stay, William. You'll want to begetting home for lunch."
Lunch? Quite definitely William decided that he did not want any lunch.The very thought of lunch brought with it a feeling of active physicaldiscomfort which was much more than mere absence of hunger. He decidedto go home as quickly as possible, though not to lunch.
"Goo'-bye," he said.
"Good-bye," said Mr. Moss.
"I'm afraid you'll find some things gone," said William faintly; "someboys was in."
"That's all right, William," said Mr. Moss, roused again from his rosydreams. "That's quite all right."
But it was not "quite all right" with William. Reader, if you had beenleft, at the age of eleven, in sole charge of a sweet shop for a wholemorning, would it have been "all right" with you? I trow not. But wewill not follow William through the humiliating hours of the afternoon.We will leave him as, pale and unsteady, but as yet master of thesituation, he wends his homeward way.