More William Part 14

There were sounds of clambering feet on the other side of the wall, then William's grimy countenance appeared.

"h.e.l.lo, Joan!" he said, ignoring the stranger.

Joan's eyes brightened.

"Come and play with us, William," she begged.

"We don't want dirty little boyth," murmured Cuthbert fastidiously.

William could not, with justice, have objected to the epithet. He had spent the last half-hour climbing on to the rafters of the disused coach-house, and dust and cobwebs adorned his face and hair.

"He's _always_ like that," explained Joan, carelessly.

By this time William had thought of a suitable rejoinder.

"All right," he jeered, "don't look at me then. Go on tellin' fairy _thorieth_."

Cuthbert flushed angrily.

"You're a nathty rude little boy," he said. "I'll tell my mother."

Thus war was declared.

He came to tea the next day. Not all William's pleading could persuade his mother to cancel the invitation.

"Well," said William darkly, "wait till you've _seen_ him, that's all.

Wait till you've heard him _speakin'_. He can't talk even. He can't _play_. He tells fairy stories. He don't like _dirt_. He's got long hair an' a funny long coat. He's _awful_, I tell you. I don't _want_ to have him to tea. I don't want to be washed an' all just because _he's_ comin' to tea."

But as usual William's eloquence availed nothing.

Several people came to tea that afternoon, and there was a sudden silence when Mrs. Clive, Joan, and Cuthbert entered. Cuthbert was in a white silk tunic embroidered with blue, he wore white shoes and white silk socks. His golden curls shone. He looked angelic.

"Oh, the darling!"

"Isn't he adorable?"

"What a _picture_!"

"Come here, sweetheart."

Cuthbert was quite used to this sort of thing.

They were more delighted than ever with him when they discovered his lisp.

His manners were perfect. He raised his face, with a charming smile, to be kissed, then sat down on the sofa between Joan and Mrs. Clive, swinging long bare legs.

William, sitting, an unwilling victim, on a small chair in a corner of the room, brushed and washed till he shone again, was conscious of a feeling of fury quite apart from the usual sense of outrage that he always felt upon such an occasion. It was bad enough to be washed till the soap went into his eyes and down his ears despite all his protests. It was bad enough to have had his hair brushed till his head smarted. It was bad enough to be hustled out of his comfortable jersey into his Eton suit which he loathed. But to see Joan, _his_ Joan, sitting next the strange, dressed-up, lisping boy, smiling and talking to him, that was almost more than he could bear with calmness.

Previously, as has been said, he had received Joan's adoration with coldness, but previously there had been no rival.

"William," said his mother, "take Joan and Cuthbert and show them your engine and books and things. Remember you're the _host_, dear," she murmured as he pa.s.sed. "Try to make them happy."

He turned upon her a glance that would have made a stronger woman quail.

Silently he led them up to his play-room.

"There's my engine, an' my books. You can play with them," he said coldly to Cuthbert. "Let's go and play in the garden, you and me, Joan." But Joan shook her head.

"I don't thuppoth the'd care to go out without me," said Cuthbert airily. "_I'll_ go with you. Thith boy can play here if he liketh."

And William, artist in vituperation as he was, could think of no response.

He followed them into the garden, and there came upon him a wild determination to show his superiority.

"You can't climb that tree," he began.

"I can," said Cuthbert sweetly.

"Well, _climb_ it then," grimly.

"No, I don't want to get my thingth all methed. I _can_ climb it, but you can't. He can't climb it, Joan, he'th trying to pretend he can climb it when he can't. He knowth I can climb it, but I don't want to get my thingth methed."

Joan smiled admiringly at Cuthbert.

"I'll _show_ you," said William desperately. "I'll just _show_ you."

He showed them.

He climbed till the tree-top swayed with his weight, then descended, hot and triumphant. The tree was covered with green lichen, a great part of which had deposited itself upon William's suit. His efforts also had twisted his collar round till its stud was beneath his ear.

His heated countenance beamed with pride.

For a moment Cuthbert was nonplussed. Then he said scornfully:

"Don't he look a _fright_, Joan?" Joan giggled.

But William was wholly engrossed in his self-imposed task of "showing them." He led them to the bottom of the garden, where a small stream (now almost dry) disappeared into a narrow tunnel to flow under the road and reappear in the field at the other side.

"You can't crawl through that," challenged William, "you can't _do_ it. I've _done_ it, done it often. I bet _you_ can't. I bet you can't get halfway. I----"

"Well, _do_ it, then!" jeered Cuthbert.

William, on all fours, disappeared into the mud and slime of the small round aperture. Joan clasped her hands, and even Cuthbert was secretly impressed. They stood in silence. At intervals William's m.u.f.fled voice came from the tunnel.

"It's jolly muddy, too, I can _tell_ you."

"I've caught a frog! I say, I've caught a frog!"

"Crumbs! It's got away!"

"It's nearly quicksands here."