CHAPTER VIII
THE OUTLAWS
It was a half-holiday and William was in his bedroom making carefulpreparations for the afternoon. On the mantel-piece stood in readinesshalf a cake (the result of a successful raid on the larder) and a bottleof licorice water. This beverage was made by shaking up a piece oflicorice in water. It was much patronised by the band of Outlaws towhich William belonged and which met secretly every half-holiday in adisused barn about a quarter of a mile from William's house.
So far the Outlaws had limited their activities to wrestling matches,adventure seeking, and culinary operations. The week before, they hadcooked two sausages which William had taken from the larder on cook'snight out and had conveyed to the barn beneath his shirt and next hisskin. Perhaps "cooked" is too euphemistic a term. To be quite accurate,they had held the sausages over a smoking fire till completelyblackened, and then consumed the charred remains with the utmost relish.
William put the bottle of licorice water in one pocket and the half cakein another and was preparing to leave the house in his usual stealthyfashion--through the bathroom window, down the scullery roof, and downthe water-pipe hand over hand to the back garden. Even when unencumberedby the presence of a purloined half cake, William infinitely preferredthis mode of exit to the simpler one of walking out of the front-door.As he came out on to the landing, however, he heard the sound of theopening and shutting of the hall door and of exuberant greetings in thehall.
"Oh! I'm _so_ glad you've come, dear. And is this the baby! The _duck_!Well, den, how's 'oo, den? Go--o--oo."
This was William's mother.
"Oh, crumbs!" said William and retreated hastily. He sat down on his bedto wait till the coast was clear. Soon came the sound of footstepsascending the stairs.
"Oh, William," said his mother, as she entered his room, "Mrs. Butler'scome with her baby to spend the afternoon, and we'd arranged to go outtill tea-time with the baby, but she's got such a headache, I'minsisting on her lying down for the afternoon in the drawing-room. Butshe's so worried about the baby not getting out this nice afternoon."
"Oh!" said William, without interest.
"Well, cook's out and Emma has to get the tea and answer the door, andEthel's away, and I told Mrs. Butler I was _sure_ you wouldn't mindtaking the baby out for a bit in the perambulator!"
William stared at her, speechless. The Medusa's classic expression ofhorror was as nothing to William's at that moment. Then he moistenedhis lips and spoke in a hoarse voice.
"_Me?_" he said. "_Me?_ _Me_ take a baby out in a pram?"
"Well, dear," said his mother deprecatingly, "I know it's your halfholiday, but you'd be out of doors getting the fresh air, which is thegreat thing. It's a nice baby and a nice pram and not heavy to push, andMrs. Butler would be _so_ grateful to you."
"Yes, I should think she'd be that," said William bitterly. "She'd havea right to be that if I took the baby out in a pram."
"Now, William, I'm sure you'd like to help, and I'm sure you wouldn'tlike your father to hear that you wouldn't even do a little thing likethat for poor Mrs. Butler. And she's got such a headache."
"_A little thing like that!_" repeated William out of the bitterness ofhis soul.
But the Fates were closing round him. He was aware that he would know nopeace till he had done the horrible thing demanded of him. Sorrowfullyand reluctantly he bowed to the inevitable.
"All right," he muttered, "I'll be down in a minute."
He heard them fussing over the baby in the hall. Then he heard his elderbrother's voice.
"You surely don't mean to say, mother," Robert was saying with thecrushing superiority of eighteen, "that you're going to trust that childto--William."
"Well," said William's mother, "someone has to take him out. It's such alovely afternoon. I'm sure it's very kind of William, on hishalf-holiday, too. And she's got _such_ a headache."
"Well, of course," said Robert in the voice of one who washes his handsof all further responsibility, "you know William as well as I do."
"Oh, dear!" sighed William's mother. "And everything so nicely settled,Robert, and you must come and find fault with it all. If you don't wantWilliam to take him out, will you take him out yourself?"
Robert retreated hastily to the dining-room and continued theconversation from a distance.
"I don't want to take him out myself--thanks very much, all the same!All I say is--you know William as well as I do. I'm not finding faultwith anything. I simply am stating a fact."
Then William came downstairs.
"Here he is, dear, all ready for you, and you needn't go far away--justup and down the road, if you like, but stay out till tea-time. He's adear little baby, isn't he? And isn't it a nice Willy-Billy den, to takeit out a nice ta-ta, while it's mummy goes bye-byes, den?"
William blushed for pure shame.
He pushed the pram down to the end of the road and round the corner. Incomparison with William's feelings, the feelings of some of the earlymartyrs must have been pure bliss. A nice way for an Outlaw to spend theafternoon! He dreaded to meet any of his brother-outlaws, yet,irresistibly and as a magnet, their meeting-place attracted him. Hewheeled the pram off the road and down the country lane towards thefield which held their sacred barn. He stopped at the stile that ledinto the field and gazed wistfully across to the barn in the distance.The infant sat and sucked its thumb and stared at him. Finally it beganto converse.
"Blab--blab--blab--blab--blub--blub--blub!"
"Oh, you shut up!" said William crushingly.
Annoyed at the prolonged halt, it seized its pram cover, pulled it offits hooks, and threw it into the road. While William was picking it up,it threw the pillow on to his head. Then it chuckled. William began toconceive an active dislike of it. Suddenly the Great Idea came to him.His face cleared. He took a piece of string from his pocket and tied thepram carefully to the railings. Then, lifting the baby cautiously andgingerly out, he climbed the stile with it and set off across the fieldstowards the barn. He held the baby to his chest with both arms claspedtightly round its waist. Its feet dangled in the air. It occupied thetime by kicking William in the stomach, pulling his hair, and puttingits fingers in his eyes.
"It beats me," panted William to himself, "what people see in babies!Scratchin' an' kickin' and blindin' folks and pullin' their hair allout!"
When he entered the barn he was greeted by a sudden silence.
"Look here!" began one outlaw in righteous indignation.
"It's a kidnap," said William, triumphantly. "We'll get a ransom on it."
They gazed at him in awed admiration. This was surely the cream ofoutlawry. He set the infant on the ground, where it toddled for a fewsteps and sat down suddenly and violently. It then stared fixedly at thetallest boy present and smiled seraphically.
"Dad--dad--dad--dad--dad!"
Douglas, the tallest boy, grinned sheepishly. "It thinks I'm itsfather," he explained complacently to the company.
"Well," said Henry, who was William's rival for the leadership of theOutlaws, "What do we do first? That's the question."
"In books," said the outlaw called Ginger, "they write a note to itspeople and say they want a ransom."
"We won't do that--not just yet," said William hastily.
"Well, it's not much sense holdin' somethin' up to ransom and nottellin' the folks that they've got to pay nor nothin', is it?" saidGinger with the final air of a man whose logic is unassailable.
"N----oo," said William. "But----" with a gleam of hope--"who's got apaper and pencil? I'm simply statin' a fact. Who's got a paper andpencil?"
No one spoke.
"Oh, yes!" went on William in triumph. "Go on! Write a note. Write anote without paper and pencil, and we'll all watch. Huh!"
"Well," said Ginger sulkily, "I don't s'pose they had paper and pencilsin outlaw days. They weren't invented. They wrote on--on--on leaves orsomething," he ended vaguely.
"Well, go on. Write on leaves," said William stil
l more triumphant."We're not stoppin' you are we? I'm simply statin' a fact. Write onleaves."
They were interrupted by a yell of pain from Douglas. Flattered by theparental relations so promptly established by the baby, he had venturedto make its further acquaintance. With vague memories of his mother'streatment of infants, he had inserted a finger in its mouth. The infanthappened to possess four front teeth, two upper and two lower, and theyclosed like a vice upon Douglas' finger. He was now examining the marks.
"Look! Right deep down! See it? Wotcher think of that! Nearly to thebone! Pretty savage baby you've brought along," he said to William.
"I jolly well know that," said William feelingly. "It's your own faultfor touching it. It's all right if you leave it alone. Just don't touchit, that's all. Anyway, it's mine, and I never said you could go foolingabout with it, did I? It wouldn't bite _me_, I bet!"
"Well, what about the ransom?" persisted Henry.
"Someone can go and tell its people and bring back the ransom,"suggested Ginger.
There was a short silence. Then Douglas took his injured finger from hismouth and asked pertinently:
"Who?"
"William brought it," suggested Henry.
"Yes, so I bet I've done my share."
"Well, what's anyone else goin' to do, I'd like to know? Go round toevery house in this old place and ask if they've had a baby taken offthem and if they'd pay a ransom for it back? That's sense, isn't it? Youknow where you got it from, don't you, and you can go and get itsransom."
"I can, but I'm not goin' to," said William finally. "I'm simply statin'a fact. I'm not goin' to. And if anyone says I daren't," (glancing roundpugnaciously) "I'll fight 'em for it."
No one said he daren't. The fact was too patent to need stating. Henryhastily changed the subject.
"Anyway, what have we brought for the feast?"
William produced his licorice water and half cake, Douglas two slices ofraw ham and a dog biscuit, Ginger some popcorn and some cold boiledpotatoes wrapped up in newspaper, Henry a cold apple dumpling and asmall bottle of paraffin-oil.
"I knew the wood would be wet after the rain. It's to make the fireburn. That's sense, isn't it?"
"Only one thing to cook," said Ginger sadly, looking at the slices ofham.
"We can cook up the potatoes and the dumpling. They don't look halfenough cooked. Let's put them on the floor here, and go out foradventures first. All different ways and back in a quarter of an hour."
The Outlaws generally spent part of the afternoon dispersed in search ofadventure. So far they had wooed the Goddess of Danger chiefly bytrespassing on the ground of irascible farmers in hopes of a chase whichwere generally fulfilled.
They deposited their store on the ground in a corner of the barn, andwith a glance at the "kidnap," who was seated happily upon the floorengaged in chewing its hat-strings, they went out, carefully closing thedoor.
After a quarter of an hour Ginger and William arrived at the doorsimultaneously from opposite directions.
"Any luck?"
"No."
"Same here. Let's start the old fire going."
They opened the door and went in. The infant was sitting on the flooramong the stores, or rather among what was left of the stores. There wasparaffin-oil on its hair, face, arms, frock and feet. It was drenched inparaffin-oil. The empty bottle and its hat lay by its side. Mingled withthe paraffin-oil all over its person was cold boiled potato. It washolding the apple-dumpling in its hand.
"Ball!" it announced ecstatically from behind its mask of potato andparaffin-oil.
They stood in silence for a minute. Then, "Who's going to make that fireburn now?" said Ginger, glaring at the empty bottle.
"Yes," said William slowly, "an' who's goin' to take that baby home? I'msimply statin' a fact. Who's goin' to take that baby home?"
There was no doubt that when William condescended to adopt a phrase fromany of his family's vocabularies, he considerably overworked it.
"Well, it did it itself. It's no one else's fault, is it?"
"No, it's not," said William. "But that's the sort of thing folks neversee. Anyway, I'm goin' to wash its face."
"What with?"
William took out his grimy handkerchief and advanced upon his prey. Hisbottle of licorice water was lying untouched in the corner. He took outthe cork.
"Goin' to wash it in that dirty stuff?"
"It's made of water--clean water--I made it myself, so I bet I ought toknow, oughtn't I? That's what folks wash in, isn't it?--clean water?"
"Yes," bitterly, "and what are we goin' to drink, I'd like to know?You'd think that baby had got enough of our stuff--our potatoes and ourapple-dumpling, an' our oil--without you goin' an' givin' it ourlicorice water as well."
William was passing his handkerchief, moistened with licorice water,over the surface of the baby's face. The baby had caught a corner of itfirmly between its teeth and refused to release it.
"If you'd got to take this baby home like this," he said, "you wouldn'tbe thinking much about drinking licorice water. I'm simply statin'----"
"Oh, shut up saying that!" said Ginger in sudden exasperation. "I'm sickof it."
At that moment the door was flung open and in walked slowly a large cowclosely followed by Henry and Douglas.
Henry's face was one triumphant beam. He felt that his prestige,eclipsed by William's kidnapping coup, was restored.
"I've brought a cow," he announced, "fetched it all the way from FarmerLitton's field--five fields off, too, an' it took some fetching, too."
"Well, what for?" said William after a moment's silence.
Henry gave a superior laugh.
"What for! You've not read much about outlaws, I guess. They alwaysdrove in cattle from the surroundin' districks."
"Well, what for?" said William again, giving a tug at his handkerchief,which the infant still refused to release.
"Well--er--well--to kill an' roast, I suppose," said Henry lamely.
"Well, go on," said William. "Kill it an' roast it. We're not stoppin'you, are we? Kill it an' roast it--an' get hung for murder. I s'poseit's murder to kill cows same as it is to kill people--'cept forbutchers."
The cow advanced slowly and deprecatingly towards the "kidnap," whopromptly dropped the handkerchief and beamed with joy.
"Bow-wow!" it said excitedly.
"Anyway, let's get on with the feast," said Douglas.
"Feast!" echoed Ginger bitterly. "Feast! Not much feast left! That babyWilliam brought's used all the paraffin-oil and potatoes, and it'ssquashed the apple-dumpling, and William's washed its face in thelicorice water."
Henry gazed at it dispassionately and judicially.
"Yes--it looks like as if someone had washed it in licorice water--andas if it had used up all the oil and potatoes. It doesn't look like asif it would fetch much ransom. You seem to have pretty well mucked itup."
"Oh, shut up about the baby," said William picking up his damp and nowprune-coloured handkerchief. "I'm just about sick of it. Come on withthe fire."
They made a little pile of twigs in the field and began the process oflighting it.
"I hope that cow won't hurt the 'kidnap,'" said Douglas suddenly. "Goand see, William; it's your kidnap."
"Well, an' it's Henry's cow, and I'm sorry for that cow if it triesplayin' tricks on that baby."
But he rose from his knees reluctantly, and threw open the barn door.The cow and the baby were still gazing admiringly at each other. Fromthe cow's mouth at the end of a long, sodden ribbon, hung the chewedremains of the baby's hat. The baby was holding up the dog biscuit andcrowed delightfully as the cow bent down its head and cautiously andgingerly smelt it. As William entered, the cow turned round and switchedits tail against the baby's head. At the piercing howl that followed,the whole band of outlaws entered the barn.
"What are you doing to the poor little thing?" said Douglas to William.
"It's Henry's cow," said William despairingly. "It hit it. Oh, go on,s
hut up! Do shut up."
The howls redoubled.
"You brought it," said Henry accusingly, raising his voice to be heardabove the baby's fury and indignation. "Can't you stop it? Not muchsense taking babies about if you don't know how to stop 'em crying!"
FROM THE COW'S MOUTH HUNG THE CHEWED REMAINS OF THE HAT.THE COW AND THE BABY GAZED ADMIRINGLY AT EACH OTHER.]
The baby was now purple in the face.
The Outlaws stood around and watched it helplessly.
"P'raps it's hungry," suggested Douglas.
He took up the half cake from the remains of the stores and held it outtentatively to the baby. The baby stopped crying suddenly.
"Dad--dad--dad--dad--dad," it said tearfully.
Douglas blushed and grinned.
"Keeps on thinking I'm its father," he said with conscious superiority."Here, like some cake?"
The baby broke off a handful and conveyed it to its mouth.
"It's eating it," cried Douglas in shrill excitement. After thoroughlymasticating it, however, the baby repented of its condescension andejected the mouthful in several instalments.
William blushed for it.
"Oh, come on, let's go and look at the fire," he said weakly.
They left the barn and returned to the scene of the fire-lighting. Thecow, still swinging the remains of the baby's hat from its mouth, wasstanding with its front feet firmly planted on the remains of what hadbeen a promising fire.
"Look!" cried William, in undisguised pleasure. "Look at Henry's cow!Pretty nice sort of cow you've brought, Henry. Not much sense takingcows about if you can't stop them puttin' folks' fires out."
After a heated argument, the Outlaws turned their attention to the cow.The cow refused to be "shoo'd off." It simply stood immovable and staredthem out. Ginger approached cautiously and gave it a little push. Itswitched its tail into his eye and continued to munch the baby'shat-string. Upon William's approaching it lowered its head, and Williamretreated hastily. At last they set off to collect some fresh wood andlight a fresh fire. Soon they were blissfully consuming two blackenedslices of ham, the popcorn, and what was left of the cake.
After the "feast," Ginger and William, as Wild Indians, attacked thebarn, which was defended by Douglas and Henry. The "kidnap" crawledround inside on all fours, picking up any treasures it might come across_en route_ and testing their effect on its palate.
Occasionally it carried on a conversation with its defenders, bringingwith it a strong perfume of paraffin oil as it approached.
"Blab--blab--blab--blab--blub--blub--Dad--dad--dad--dad--dad.Go--o--o--o."
William had insisted on a place on the attacking side.
"I couldn't put any feelin'," he explained, "into fightin' for thatbaby."
When they finally decided to set off homewards, William gazed hopelesslyat his charge. Its appearance defies description. For many yearsafterwards William associated babies in his mind with paraffin-oil andpotato.
"Just help me get the potato out of its hair," he pleaded; "never mindthe oil and the rest of it."
"THAT'S MY PRAM!" SAID WILLIAM TO THE CARGO, AS THEYEMERGED JOYFULLY FROM THE DITCH.]
"My hat! doesn't it smell funny!--and doesn't it look funny--all oil andpotato and bits of cake!" said Ginger.
"Oh! shut up about it," said William irritably.
The cow followed them down to the stile and watched them sardonically asthey climbed it.
"Bow-wow!" murmured the baby in affectionate farewell.
William looked wildly round for the pram, but--the pram was gone--onlythe piece of string dangled from the railings.
"Crumbs!" said William, "Talk about bad luck! I'm simply statin' a fact.Talk about bad luck!"
At that minute the pram appeared, charging down the hill at full speedwith a cargo of small boys. At the bottom of the hill it overturned intoa ditch accompanied by its cargo. To judge from its appearance, it hadpassed the afternoon performing the operation.
"That's my pram!" said William to the cargo, as it emerged, joyfully,from the ditch.
"Garn! S'ours! We found it."
"Well, I left it there."
"Come on! We'll fight for it," said Ginger, rolling up his sleeves in abusinesslike manner. The other Outlaws followed his example. The pram'scargo eyed them appraisingly.
"Oh, all right! Take your rotten old pram!" they said at last.
Douglas placed the baby in its seat and William thoughtfully put up thehood to shield his charge as far as possible from the curious gaze ofthe passers-by. His charge was now chewing the pram cover and talkingexcitedly to itself. With a "heart steeled for any fate" William turnedthe corner into his own road. The baby's mother was standing at hisgate.
"There you are!" she called. "I was getting quite anxious. Thank you_so_ much, dear."
BUT THAT IS WHAT SHE SAID BEFORE SHE SAW THE BABY!