William and the Evacuees by Richmal Crompton

Author:Richmal Crompton [Crompton, Richmal]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Newnes
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER V

WILLIAM AND THE AIR RAID SHELTER

William and Ginger trudged away from the Hall dispiritedly. Just before the war Mrs. Bott had had a new artificial lake made in the grounds, and the Outlaws had adopted it as one of their favourite haunts. But the war had got on Ms. Bott’s nerves, and she had that morning forbidden them to go near it again. She had complained about her gas mask (she said that it suffocated her) and been snubbed by her air raid warden (who didn’t seem to think it mattered whether she was suffocated or not), and so it was perhaps natural that she should, in her turn, take it out of the Outlaws. In any case she hadn’t liked William’s manner when he was acting as messenger in the sub-report centre and she was at the telephone. It was the first time she had had to use the telephone there, (she was, as she put it, “all of a fluster,”) and he had informed her with, she thought, undue politeness that she was dialling the number without removing the receiver …

“I don’t want you messin’ about any more,” she had said. “Sick and tired of you, that’s what I am. Corst a pot of money, this lake did, an’ I didn’t make it to have boys muckin’ about in it.”

Mrs. Bott on occasions could display an almost overpowering amount of refinement, but in moments of irritation it was apt to desert her.

“What did you make it for, then?” asked William.

“I made it for the voo, of course,” snapped Mrs. Bott. “What else are lakes for? Not for boys muckin’ about in ’em, I can tell you that. Bad enough with all these excavated kids about, without you startin’ muckin’ about.”

Mrs. Bott’s command over the King’s English was a precarious one, and the word ‘evacuated’ had always eluded her.

“A’ right,” muttered William. “A’right. A’right. It’s a rotten ole pond, anyway.”

Mrs. Bott’s fat little face turned from pink to purple. She quivered with jelly-like rage.

“Rotten indeed!” she spluttered. “Pond indeed! D’you know how much the hartificial lake cost, you little monkey? More than your father makes in a dozen years, I’ll be bound.”

“My father’s a millionaire,” said William calmly. “He pretends not to be jus’ for fun, but he is one, all right. He—he could buy Buckingham Palace if he wanted to, but he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t like it. He could make a dozen lakes if he wanted to, but he doesn’t like lakes. He thinks they’re silly. He’s thinkin’ of havin’ a nartificial sea made one day. He——”

“Get off with you!” said Mrs. Bott angrily.

“A’right,” said William loftily. “I’m jus’ gettin’ off,” and added meaningly, “You’ll be jolly sorry for this one day.”

He stopped to collect his boats from the pond, then walked away with slow dignity, accompanied by Ginger. They turned when they reached the drive to see the fat fur-clad figure of Mrs. Bott waddling away in the distance towards the house.

“She’s an ole toad, that’s what she is,” said William.

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