CHAPTER XII
THE REFORM OF WILLIAM
To William the idea of reform was new and startling and not whollyunattractive. It originated with the housemaid whose brother was areformed burglar now employed in a grocer's shop.
"'E's got conversion," she said to William. "'E got it quitesudden-like, an' 'e give up all 'is bad ways straight off. 'E's binlike a heavenly saint ever since."
William was deeply interested. The point was all innocently driven inlater by the Sunday-school mistress. William's family had no realfaith in the Sunday-school as a corrective to William's inherentwickedness, but they knew that no Sabbath peace or calm was humanlypossible while William was in the house. So they brushed and cleanedand tidied him at 2.45 and sent him, pained and protesting, down theroad every Sunday afternoon. Their only regret was that Sunday-schooldid not begin earlier and end later.
Fortunately for William, most of his friends' parents were inspired bythe same zeal, so that he met his old cronies of the week-days--Henry,Ginger, Douglas and all the rest--and together they beguiled the monotonyof the Sabbath.
But this Sunday the tall, pale lady who, for her sins, essayed to leadWilliam and his friends along the straight and narrow path of virtue,was almost inspired. She was like some prophetess of old. She was soemphatic that the red cherries that hung coquettishly over the edge ofher hat rattled against it as though in applause.
"We must all _start afresh_," she said. "We must all be_turned_--that's what _conversion_ means."
William's fascinated eye wandered from the cherries to the distantview out of the window. He thought suddenly of the noble burglar whohad turned his back upon the mysterious, nefarious tools of his tradeand now dispensed margarine to his former victims.
Opposite him sat a small girl in a pink and white checked frock. Heoften whiled away the dullest hours of Sunday-school by putting outhis tongue at her or throwing paper pellets at her (manufacturedpreviously for the purpose). But to-day, meeting her serious eye, helooked away hastily.
"And we must all _help someone_," went on the urgent voice. "If wehave _turned_ ourselves, we must help someone else to _turn_...."
Determined and eager was the eye that the small girl turned uponWilliam, and William realised that his time had come. He was to beconverted. He felt almost thrilled by the prospect. He was soenthralled that he received absent-mindedly, and without gratitude,the mountainous bull's-eye passed to him from Ginger, and only gave ahalf-hearted smile when a well-aimed pellet from Henry's hand sent oneof the prophetess's cherries swinging high in the air.
After the class the pink-checked girl (whose name most appropriatelywas Deborah) stalked William for several yards and finally corneredhim.
"William," she said, "are you going to _turn_?"
"I'm goin' to think about it," said William guardedly.
"William, I think you ought to turn. I'll help you," she addedsweetly.
William drew a deep breath. "All right, I will," he said.
She heaved a sigh of relief.
"You'll begin _now_, won't you?" she said earnestly.
William considered. There were several things that he had wanted to dofor some time, but hadn't managed to do yet. He had not tried turningoff the water at the main, and hiding the key and seeing what wouldhappen; he hadn't tried shutting up the cat in the hen-house; hehadn't tried painting his long-suffering mongrel Jumble with the potof green paint that was in the tool shed; he hadn't tried pouringwater into the receiver of the telephone; he hadn't tried locking thecook into the larder. There were, in short, whole fields of crimeentirely unexplored. All these things--and others--must be donebefore the reformation.
"I can't begin _jus'_ yet," said William. "Say day after to-morrow."
She considered this for a minute.
"Very well," she said at last reluctantly, "day after to-morrow."
* * * * *
The next day dawned bright and fair. William arose with a distinctsense that something important had happened. Then he thought of thereformation. He saw himself leading a quiet and blameless life,walking sedately to school, working at high pressure in school, doinghis homework conscientiously in the evening, being exquisitely politeto his family, his instructors, and the various foolish people whovisited his home for the sole purpose (apparently) of making inaneremarks to him. He saw all this, and the picture was far fromunattractive--in the distance. In the immediate future, however, therewere various quite important things to be done. There was a wholenormal lifetime of crime to be crowded into one day. Looking out ofhis window he espied the gardener bending over one of the beds. Thegardener had a perfectly bald head. William had sometimes idlyimagined the impact of a pea sent violently from a pea-shooter withthe gardener's bald head. Before there had been a lifetime ofexperiment before him, and he had put off this one idly in favour ofsomething more pressing. Now there was only one day. He took up hispea-shooter and aimed carefully. The pea did not embed itself deeplyinto the gardener's skull as William had sometimes thought it would.It bounced back. It bounced back quite hard. The gardener also bouncedback with a yell of anger, shaking his fist at William's window. ButWilliam had discreetly retired. He hid the pea-shooter, assumed hisfamous expression of innocence, and felt distinctly cheered. Thequestion as to what exactly would happen when the pea met the baldnesswas now for ever solved. The gardener retired grumbling to the pottingshed, so, for the present, all was well. Later in the day the gardenermight lay his formal complaint before authority, but later in the daywas later in the day. It did not trouble William. He dressed brisklyand went down to breakfast with a frown of concentration upon hisface. It was the last day of his old life.
THE PEA DID NOT EMBED ITSELF INTO THE GARDENER'S SKULLAS WILLIAM HAD SOMETIMES THOUGHT IT WOULD. IT BOUNCED BACK. THEGARDENER ALSO BOUNCED BACK.]
No one else was in the dining-room. It was the work of a few minutesto remove the bacon from beneath the big pewter cover and substitutethe kitten, to put a tablespoonful of salt into the coffee, and to puta two-days'-old paper in place of that morning's. They were all thingsthat he had at one time or another vaguely thought of doing, but forwhich he had never yet seemed to have time or opportunity. Warming tohis subject he removed the egg from under the egg cosy on his sister'splate and placed in its stead a worm which had just appeared in thewindow-box in readiness for the early bird.
He surveyed the scene with a deep sigh of satisfaction. The onlydrawback was that he felt that he could not safely stay to watchresults. William possessed a true strategic instinct for the rightmoment for a retreat. Hearing, therefore, a heavy step on the stairs,he seized several pieces of toast and fled. As he fled he heardthrough the open window violent sounds proceeding from the enragedkitten beneath the cover, and then the still more violent soundsproceeding from the unknown person who removed the cover. The kitten,a mass of fury and lust for revenge, came flying through the window.William hid behind a laurel bush till it had passed, then set off downthe road.
School, of course, was impossible. The precious hours of such a day asthis could not be wasted in school. He went down the road full of hisnoble purpose. The wickedness of a lifetime was somehow or other to becrowded into this day. To-morrow it would all be impossible. To-morrowbegan the blameless life. It must all be worked off to-day. He skirtedthe school by a field path in case any of those narrow souls paid toemploy so aimlessly the precious hours of his youth might be there.They would certainly be tactless enough to question him as he passedthe door. Then he joined the main road.
The main road was empty except for a caravan--a caravan gaily paintedin red and yellow. It had little lace curtains at the window. It wasaltogether a most fascinating caravan. No one seemed to be near it.William looked through the windows. There was a kind of dresser withcrockery hanging from it, a small table and a little oil stove. Thefurther part was curtained off but no sound came from it, so that itwas presumably empty too. William wandered round to inspect thequadruped in front.
It appeared to be a mule--a mule with a jaundicedview of life. It rolled a sad eye towards William, then with a deepsigh returned to its contemplation of the landscape. William gazedupon caravan and steed fascinated. Never, in his future life of noblemerit, would he be able to annex a caravan. It was his last chance. Noone was about. He could pretend that he had mistaken it for his owncaravan or had got on to it by mistake or--or anything. Consciencestirred faintly in his breast, but he silenced it sternly. Consciencewas to rule him for the rest of his life and it could jolly well lethim alone _this_ day. With some difficulty he climbed on to thedriver's seat, took the reins, said "Gee-up" to the melancholy mule,and the whole equipage with a jolt and faint rattle set out along theroad.
William did not know how to drive, but it did not seem to matter. Themule ambled along and William, high up on the driver's seat, the reinsheld with ostentatious carelessness in one hand, the whip poisedlightly in the other was in the seventh heaven of bliss. He wasdriving a caravan. He was driving a caravan. He was driving a caravan.The very telegraph posts seemed to gape with envy and admiration ashe passed. What ultimately he was going to do with his caravan heneither knew nor cared. All that mattered was, it was a bright sunnymorning, and all the others were in school, and he was driving a redand yellow caravan along the high road. The birds seemed to be singinga paeon of praise to him. He was intoxicated with pride. It was _his_caravan, _his_ road, _his_ world. Carelessly he flicked the mule withthe whip. There are several explanations of what happened then. Themule may not have been used to the whip; a wasp may have just stunghim at that particular minute; a wandering demon may have entered intohim. Mules are notoriously accessible to wandering demons. Whateverthe explanation, the mule suddenly started forward and galloped atfull speed down the hill. The reins dropped from William's hands; heclung for dear life on to his seat, as the caravan, swaying andjolting along the uneven road, seemed to be doing its utmost to flinghim off. There came a rattle of crockery from within. Then suddenlythere came another sound from within--a loud, agonised scream. It wasa female scream. Someone who had been asleep behind the curtain hadjust awakened.
William's hair stood on end. He almost forgot to cling to the seat.For not one scream came but many. They rent the still summer air,mingled with the sound of breaking glass and crockery. The mulecontinued his mad career down the hill, his reins trailing in thedust. In the distance was a little gipsy's donkey cart full of potsand pans. William found his voice suddenly and began to warn the mule.
WILLIAM'S HAIR STOOD ON END. HE ALMOST FORGOT TO CLINGTO THE SEAT. FOR NOT ONE SCREAM CAME BUT MANY, MINGLED WITH THE SOUNDOF BREAKING GLASS AND CROCKERY.]
"Look out, you ole softie!" he yelled. "Look out for the donk, you oleass."
But the mule refused to be warned. He neatly escaped the donkey carthimself, but he crashed the caravan into it with such force that thecaravan broke a shaft and overturned completely on to the donkeycart, scattering pots and pans far and wide. From within the caravancame inhuman female yells of fear and anger. William had fallen on toa soft bank of grass. He was discovering, to his amazement, that hewas still alive and practically unhurt. The mule was standing meeklyby and smiling to himself. Then out of the window of the caravanclimbed a woman--a fat, angry woman, shaking her fist at the world ingeneral. Her hair and face were covered with sugar and a fork wasembedded in the front of her dress. Otherwise she, too, had escapedundamaged.
The owner of the donkey cart arose from the _melee_ of pots and pansand turned upon her fiercely. She screamed at him furiously in reply.Then along the road could be seen the figure of a fat man carrying afishing rod. He began to run wildly towards the caravan.
"_Ach! Gott in Himmel_!" he cried as he ran, "my beautiful caravan!Who has this to it done?"
He joined the frenzied altercation that was going on between thedonkey man and the fat woman. The air was rent by their angry shouts.A group of highly appreciative villagers collected round them. Thenone of them pointed to William, who sat, feeling still slightlyshaken, upon the bank.
"It was 'im wot done it," he said, "it was 'im that was a-drivin' ofit down the 'ill."
With one wild glance at the scene of devastation and anger, Williamturned and fled through the wood.
"_Ach! Gott in Himmel!_" screamed the fat man, beginning to pursuehim. The fat woman and the donkey man joined the pursuit. To Williamit was like some ghastly nightmare after an evening's entertainment atthe cinematograph.
Meanwhile the donkey and the mule fraternised over the _debris_ andthe villagers helped themselves to all they could find. But the fatman was very fat, and the fat woman was very fat, and the donkey manwas very old, and William was young and very fleet, so in less thanten minutes they gave up the pursuit and returned panting andquarrelling to the road. William sat on the further outskirts of thewood and panted. He felt on the whole exhilarated by the adventure. Itwas quite a suitable adventure for his last day of unregeneration. Buthe felt also in need of bodily sustenance, so he purchased a bun and abottle of lemonade at a neighbouring shop and sat by the roadside torecover. There were no signs of his pursuers.
He felt reluctant to return home. It is always well to follow amorning's absence from school by an afternoon's absence from school. Areturn in the afternoon is ignominious and humiliating. Williamwandered round the neighbourhood experiencing all the thrill of theoutlaw. Certainly by this time the gardener would have complained tohis father, probably the schoolmistress would have sent a note.Also--someone had been scratched by the cat.
William decided that all things considered it was best to make a dayof it.
WILLIAM'S SPIRITS SANK A LITTLE AS HE APPROACHED THEGATE. HE COULD SEE THROUGH THE TREES THE FAT CARAVAN-OWNERGESTICULATING AT THE DOOR.]
He spent part of the afternoon in throwing stones at a scarecrow. Hisaim was fairly good, and he succeeded in knocking off the hat andfinally prostrating the wooden framework. Followed--an exciting chaseby an angry farmer.
It was after tea-time when he returned home, walking with carelessbravado as of a criminal who has drunk of crime to its very depth andflaunts it before the world. His spirits sank a little as heapproached the gate. He could see through the trees the fatcaravan-owner gesticulating at the door. Helped by the villagers, hehad tracked William. Phrases floated to him through the summer air.
"Mine beautiful caravan.... _Ach.... Gott in Himmel_!"
He could see the gardener smiling in the distance. There was a smallblue bruise on his shining head. William judged from the smile that hehad laid his formal complaint before authority. William noticed thathis father looked pale and harassed. He noticed, also, with a thrillof horror, that his hand was bound up, and that there was a longscratch down his cheek. He knew the cat had scratched _somebody_,but ... Crumbs!
A small boy came down the road and saw William hesitating at the opengateway.
"_You'll_ catch it!" he said cheerfully. "They've wrote to say youwasn't in school."
William crept round to the back of the house beneath the bushes. Hefelt that the time had come to give himself up to justice, but hewanted, as the popular saying is, to be sure of "getting his money'sworth." There was the tin half full of green paint in the tool shed.He'd had his eye on it for some time. He went quietly round to thetool shed. Soon he was contemplating with a satisfied smile a greenand enraged cat and a green and enraged hen. Then, bracing himself forthe effort, he delivered himself up to justice. When all was said anddone no punishment could be really adequate to a day like that.
* * * * *
Dusk was falling. William gazed pensively from his bedroom window. Hewas reviewing his day. He had almost forgotten the stormy anddecidedly unpleasant scene with his father. Mr. Brown's rhetoric hadbeen rather lost on William, because its pearls of sarcasm had been sofar above his head. And William had not been really loth to retire atonce to bed. After all, it had been a very tiring day.
Now his thoughts were going over some of its most exquisitemoments--
the moments when the pea and the gardener's head met andrebounded with such satisfactory force; the moment when he swung alongthe high road, monarch of a caravan and a mule and the whole wideworld; the moment when the scarecrow hunched up and collapsed sorealistically; the cat covered with green paint.... After all it washis last day. He saw himself from to-morrow onward leading a quiet andblameless life, walking sedately to school, working at high pressurein school, doing his homework conscientiously in the evening, beingexquisitely polite to his family and instructors--and the visionfailed utterly to attract. Moreover, he hadn't yet tried turning offthe water at the main, or locking the cook into the larder, or--orhundreds of things.
There came a gentle voice from the garden.
"William, where are you?"
William looked down and met the earnest gaze of Deborah.
"Hello," he said.
"William," she said. "You won't forget that you're going to startto-morrow, will you?"
William looked at her firmly.
"I can't jus' to-morrow," he said. "I'm puttin' it off. I'm puttin' itoff for a year or two."