Still William by Richmal Crompton

Author:Richmal Crompton
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Classics, Humour
ISBN: 9780330543521
Publisher: Macmillan Children's Books
Published: 1925-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 8

WILLIAM THE MATCH-MAKER

William was feeling disillusioned. He had received, as a birthday present, a book entitled Engineering Explained to Boys, and had read it in bed at midnight by the light of a lamp which he had ‘borrowed’ from his elder brother’s photographic apparatus for the purpose. The book had convinced William that it would be perfectly simple with the aid of a little machinery, to turn a wooden packing case into a motorboat. He spent two days on the work. He took all the elastic that he could find in his mother’s work drawer. He disembowelled all the clockwork toys that he possessed. To supplement this he added part of the works of the morning-room clock. He completely soaked himself and his clothes in oil. Finally the thing was finished and William, stern and scowling and tousled and oily, deposited the motorboat on the edge of the pond, stepped into it and pushed off boldly. It shot into the middle of the pond and promptly sank … So did William. He returned home wet and muddy and oily and embittered, to meet a father who, with a grown-up’s lack of sense of proportion, was waxing almost lyrical over the disappearance of the entrails of the morning-room clock.

It had been for William a thoroughly unpleasant day. He was still dwelling moodily on the memory of it.

‘How was I to know the book was wrong?’ he muttered indignantly as he walked down the road, his hands deep in his pockets. ‘Blamin’ me because the book was wrong!’

If William had not been in this mood of self-pity he would never have succumbed to the overtures of Violet Elizabeth. William at normal times disliked Violet Elizabeth. He disliked her curls and pink-and-white complexion and blue eyes and lisp and frills and flounces and imperiousness and tears. His ideal of little-girlhood was Joan, dark haired and dark eyed and shy. But Joan was away on her holidays and William’s sense of grievance demanded sympathy – feminine sympathy for preference.

‘Good morning, William,’ said Violet Elizabeth.

‘G’ mornin’,’ said William, without discontinuing his moody scowl at the road and his hunched-up onward march.

Violet Elizabeth joined him and trotted by his side.

‘You feelin’ sad, William?’ she said sweetly.

‘Anyone’d feel sad,’ burst out William. ‘How was I to know a book din’ know what it was talkin’ about? You’d think a book’d know, wun’t you? Blamin’ me because a book din’ know what it was talkin’ about! ’S’nough to make anyone feel sad! Well, you’d think a book about machinery’d know jus’ a bit about machinery, wun’t you? … Sinkin’ me in a mucky ole pond an’ then when you’d think they’d be a bit sorry for me, goin’ on ’s if it was my fault, ’s if I’d wrote the book!’

This somewhat involved account of his wrongs seemed to satisfy Violet Elizabeth. She slipped a hand in his and for once William, the stern unbending despiser of girls, did not repel her.

‘Paw William!’ said Violet Elizabeth sweetly.

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