William the Outlaw by Unknown

Author:Unknown
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 0000000000000
Published: 2023-08-06T00:00:00+00:00

When he descended he found his father in the hall hanging up his coat and hat.

‘You’re back early, Father, aren’t you?’ said William innocently.

‘With your usual intelligence, my son,’ said William’s father, ‘you have divined aright. . . . Where’s Mr What’s-his-name?’

‘Having tea in the drawing-room, Father,’ said William.

Mr Brown went into the morning-room. William followed him.

‘Have you – met him?’ said Mr Brown.

‘Yes,’ said William.

‘Er – do you like him?’

‘He’s very deaf,’ said William.

‘Deaf?’

‘Yes . . . you’ve gotta shout ever so hard to make him hear.’

‘Good Heavens!’ groaned Mr Brown.

‘An’ he shouts very hard, too, like what deaf people do, you know, with not hearin’ themselves – but he dun’t like you sayin’ anythin’ about him bein’ deaf, but he likes you jus’ shoutin’. They’re havin’ their tea now. He’s given ’em quite sore throats already.’

Mr Brown groaned again but at that minute entered Mrs Brown and the guest. She performed a rapid introduction and departed. William had already disappeared. He had gone round to the front lawn and was sitting there leaning against the house cracking nuts. Just above his head was the open window of the morning-room. It was not possible from that position to overhear a conversation carried on in normal voices in the morning-room, but William hoped that he had assured that this conversation would be carried on in abnormal voices. His hopes were justified. His father’s voice raised to a bellow reached him.

‘Won’t you sit down?’

And Mr Cranthorpe-Cranborough’s in a hoarse shout:

‘Thanks so much.’

‘Now about this school—’ yelled his father.

‘Exactly,’ bellowed Mr Cranthorpe-Cranborough. ‘I hope to open it in the spring. I should like to include your son among the first numbers – special terms of course.’

There was a pause, then William’s father spoke in a voice of thunder.

‘Very good of you.’

‘Not at all,’ bellowed Mr Cranthorpe-Cranborough.

‘He’s – perhaps I’d better prepare you . . .’ boomed Mr Brown’s voice making the very window panes rattle in their frames, ‘he – he doesn’t quite conform to type. He’s a bit – individualistic.’

Mr Cranthorpe-Cranborough drew in his breath, then with a mighty effort bellowed:

‘But he ought to conform to type. It’s only a matter of training – I’m most anxious to include your son on our roll when we open next spring.’

Purple in the face Mr Brown yelled:

‘Very good of you.’

William, whose conscience never allowed him to do any more eavesdropping than was absolutely necessary to his plans, arose and thoughtfully cracking his last nut, walked round the house. At the side door he came across his mother and Ethel clinging together in terror.

‘What has happened,’ his mother was saying hysterically, ‘why are they shouting at each other like that? What has happened?’

‘They must be quarrelling!’ groaned Ethel. A reechoing bellow from Mr Brown (who was really only saying, ‘Very good of you’ again) made the house shake and Ethel screamed, ‘They’ll be fighting in a minute. . . . What shall we do?’

Mrs Brown noticed William and made an effort to control herself.

‘Where are you going, William?’

William, his hands deep in his pockets, answered nonchalantly.

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