william was aware of a vague feeling of apprehension when he heard that joan clive, the little girl who lived next door, was having a strange cousin to stay for three weeks. all his life, william had accepted joan's adoration and homage with condescending indifference, but he did not like to imagine a possible rival.
"what's he coming for?" he demanded with an ungracious scowl, perched uncomfortably and dangerously on the high wall that separated the two gardens and glaring down at joan. "what's he comin' for, any way?"
"'cause mother's invited him," explained joan simply, with a shake of her golden curls. "he's called cuthbert. she says he's a sweet little boy."
"sweet!" echoed william in a tone of exaggerated horror. "ugh!"
"well," said joan, with the smallest note of indignation in her voice, "you needn't play with him if you don't like."
"me? play? with him?" scowled william as if he could not believe his ears. "i'm not likely to go playin' with a kid like wot he'll be!"
joan raised aggrieved blue eyes.
"you're a horrid boy sometimes, william!" she said. "any way, i shall have him to play with soon."
it was the first time he had received anything but admiration from her.
he scowled speechlessly.
cuthbert arrived the next morning.
william was restless and ill-at-ease, and several times climbed the ladder for a glimpse of the guest, but all he could see was the garden inhabited only by a cat and a gardener. he amused himself by throwing stones at the cat till he hit the gardener by mistake and then fled precipitately before a storm of abuse. william and the gardener were enemies of very long standing. after dinner he went out again into the garden and stood gazing through a chink in the wall.
cuthbert was in the garden.
though as old and as tall as william, he was dressed in an embroidered tunic, very short knickers, and white socks. over his blue eyes his curls were brushed up into a golden halo.
he was a picturesque child.
"what shall we do?" joan was saying. "would you like to play hide and seek?"
"no; leth not play at rough gameth," said cuthbert.
with a wild spasm of joy william realised that his enemy lisped. it is always well to have a handle against one's enemies.
"what shall we do, then?" said joan, somewhat wearily.
"leth thit down an' i'll tell you fairy thorieth," said cuthbert.
a loud snort from inside the wall just by his ear startled him, and he clutched joan's arm.
"what'th that?" he said.
there were sounds of clambering feet on the other side of the wall, then william's grimy countenance appeared.
"hello, 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 passed. "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 muffled 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."
"if i tried i could nearly drown here!"
at last, through the hedge, they saw him emerge in the field across the road. he swaggered across to them aglow with his own heroism. as he entered the gate he was rewarded by the old light of adoration in joan's blue eyes, but on full sight of him it quickly turned to consternation. his appearance was beyond description. there was a malicious smile on cuthbert's face.
"do thumthing elth," he urged him. "go on, do thumthing elth."
"oh, william," said joan anxiously, "you'd better not."
but the gods had sent madness to william. he was drunk with the sense of his own prowess. he was regardless of consequences.
he pointed to a little window high up in the coal-house.
"i can climb up that an' slide down the coal inside. that's what i can do. there's nothin' i can't do. i——"
"all right," urged cuthbert, "if you can do that, do it, and i'll believe you can do anything."
for cuthbert, with unholy glee, foresaw william's undoing.
"oh, william," pleaded joan, "i know you're brave, but don't——"
but william was already doing it. they saw his disappearance into the little window, they heard plainly his descent down the coal heap inside, and in less than a minute he appeared in the doorway. he was almost unrecognisable. coal dust adhered freely to the moist consistency of the mud and lichen already clinging to his suit, as well as to his hair and face. his collar had been almost torn away from its stud. william himself was smiling proudly, utterly unconscious of his appearance. joan was plainly wavering between horror and admiration. then the moment for which cuthbert had longed arrived.
"children! come in now!"
cuthbert, clean and dainty, entered the drawing-room first and pointed an accusing finger at the strange figure which followed.
"he'th been climbing treeth an' crawling in the mud, an' rolling down the coalth. he'th a nathty rough boy."
a wild babel arose as william entered.
"william!"
"you dreadful boy!"
"joan, come right away from him. come over here."
"what will your father say?"
"william, my carpet!"
for the greater part of the stream's bed still clung to william's boots.
doggedly william defended himself.
"i was showin' 'em how to do things. i was bein' a host. i was tryin' to make 'em happy! i——"
"william, don't stand there talking. go straight upstairs to the bathroom."
it was the end of the first battle, and undoubtedly william had lost. yet william had caught sight of the smile on cuthbert's face and william had decided that that smile was something to be avenged.
but fate did not favour him. indeed, fate seemed to do the reverse.
the idea of a children's play did not emanate from william's mother, or joan's. they were both free from guilt in that respect. it emanated from mrs. de vere carter. mrs. de vere carter was a neighbour with a genius for organisation. there were few things she did not organise till their every other aspect or aim was lost but that of "organisation." she also had what amounted practically to a disease for "getting up" things. she "got up" plays, and bazaars, and pageants, and concerts. there were, in fact, few things she did not "get up." it was the sight of joan and cuthbert walking together down the road, the sun shining on their golden curls, that had inspired her with the idea of "getting up" a children's play. and joan must be the princess and little cuthbert the prince.
mrs. de vere carter was to write the play herself. at first she decided on cinderella. unfortunately there was a dearth of little girls in the neighbourhood, and therefore it was decided at a meeting composed of mrs. de vere carter, mrs. clive, mrs. brown (william's mother), and ethel (william's sister), that william could easily be dressed up to represent one of the ugly sisters. it was, however, decided at a later meeting, consisting of william and his mother and sister, that william could not take the part. it was william who came to this decision. he was adamant against both threats and entreaties. without cherishing any delusions about his personal appearance, he firmly declined to play the part of the ugly sister. they took the news with deep apologies to mrs. de vere carter, who was already in the middle of the first act. her already low opinion of william sank to zero. their next choice was little red riding hood, and william was lured, by glowing pictures of a realistic costume, into consenting to take the part of the wolf. every day he had to be dragged by some elder and responsible member of his family to a rehearsal. his hatred of cuthbert was only equalled by his hatred of mrs. de vere carter.
"he acts so unnaturally," moaned mrs. de vere carter. "try really to think you're a wolf, darling. put some spirit into it. be—animated."
william scowled at her and once more muttered monotonously his opening lines:
"a wolf am i—a wolf on mischief bent,
to eat this little maid is my intent."
"take a breath after 'bent,' darling. now say it again."
william complied, introducing this time a loud and audible gasp to represent the breath. mrs. de vere carter sighed.
"now, cuthbert, darling, draw your little sword and put your arm round joan. that's right."
cuthbert obeyed, and his clear voice rose in a high chanting monotone.
"avaunt! begone! you wicked wolf, away!
this gentle maid shall never be your prey."
"that's beautiful, darling. now, william, slink away. slink away, darling. don't stand staring at cuthbert like that. slink away. i'll show you. watch me slink away."
mrs. de vere carter slunk away realistically, and the sight of it brought momentary delight to william's weary soul. otherwise the rehearsals were not far removed from torture to him. the thought of being a wolf had at first attracted him, but actually a wolf character who had to repeat mrs. de vere carter's meaningless couplets and be worsted at every turn by the smiling cuthbert, who was forced to watch from behind the scenes the fond embraces of cuthbert and joan, galled his proud spirit unspeakably. moreover cuthbert monopolised her both before and after the rehearsals.
"come away, joan, he'th prob'bly all over coal dutht and all of a meth."
the continued presence of unsympathetic elders prevented his proper avenging of such insults.
the day of the performance approached, and there arose some little trouble about william's costume. if the wearing of the dining-room hearth-rug had been forbidden by authority it would have at once become the dearest wish of william's heart and a thing to be accomplished at all costs. but, because authority decreed that that should be william's official costume as the wolf, william at once began to find insuperable difficulties.
"it's a dirty ole thing, all dust and bits of black hair come off it on me. i don't think it looks like a wolf. well, if i've gotter be a wolf folks might just as well know what i am. this looks like as if it came off a black sheep or sumthin'. you don't want folks to think i'm a sheep 'stead of a wolf, do you? you don't want me to be made look ridiclus before all these folks, do you?"
he was slightly mollified by their promise to hire a wolf's head for him. he practised wolf's howlings (though these had no part in mrs. de vere carter's play) at night in his room till he drove his family almost beyond the bounds of sanity.
mrs. de vere carter had hired the village hall for the performance, and the proceeds were to go to a local charity.
on the night of the play the hall was packed, and mrs. de vere carter was in a flutter of excitement and importance.
"yes, the dear children are splendid, and they look beautiful! we've all worked so hard. yes, entirely my own composition. i only hope that william brown won't murder my poetry as he does at rehearsals."
the curtain went up.
the scene was a wood, as was evident from a few small branches of trees placed here and there at intervals on the stage.
joan, in a white dress and red cloak, entered and began to speak, quickly and breathlessly, stressing every word with impartial regularity.
"a little maid am i—red riding-hood.
my journey lies along this dark, thick wood.
within my basket is a little jar
of jam—a present for my grand-mamma."
then cuthbert entered—a prince in white satin with a blue sash. there was a rapt murmur of admiration in the audience as he made his appearance.
william waited impatiently and uneasily behind the scenes. his wolf's head was very hot. one of the eye-holes was beyond his range of vision; through the other he had a somewhat prescribed view of what went on around him. he had been pinned tightly into the dining-room hearth-rug, his arms pinioned down by his side. he was distinctly uncomfortable.
at last his cue came.
red riding-hood and the prince parted after a short conversation in which their acquaintance made rapid strides, and at the end of which the prince said casually as he turned to go:
"so sweet a maid have i never seen,
ere long i hope to make her my wife and queen."
red riding-hood gazed after him, remarking (all in the same breath and tone):
"how kind he is, how gentle and how good!
but, see what evil beast comes through the wood!"
here william entered amid wild applause. on the stage he found that his one eye-hole gave him an excellent view of the audience. his mother and father were in the second row. turning his head round slowly he discovered his sister ethel sitting with a friend near the back.
"william," hissed the prompter, "go on! 'a wolf am i——'"
but william was engrossed in the audience. there was mrs. clive about the middle of the room.
"'a wolf am i'—go on, william!"
william had now found the cook and housemaid in the last row of all and was turning his eye-hole round in search of fresh discoveries.
the prompter grew desperate.
"'a wolf am i—a wolf on mischief bent.' say it, william."
william turned his wolf's head towards the wings. "well, i was goin' to say it," he said irritably, "if you'd lef' me alone."
the audience tittered.
"well, say it," said the voice of the invisible prompter.
"well, i'm going to," said william. "i'm not goin' to say that again wot you said 'cause they all heard it. i'll go on from there."
the audience rocked in wild delight. behind the scenes mrs. de vere carter wrung her hands and sniffed strong smelling-salts. "that boy!" she moaned.
then william, sinking his voice from the indignant clearness with which it had addressed the prompter, to a muffled inaudibility, continued:
"to eat this little maid is my intent."
but there leapt on the stage again the radiant white and blue figure of the prince brandishing his wooden sword.
"avaunt! begone! you wicked wolf, away!
this gentle maid shall never be your prey."
at this point william should have slunk away. but the vision revealed by his one available eye-hole of the prince standing in a threatening attitude with one arm round joan filled him with a sudden and unaccountable annoyance. he advanced slowly and pugnaciously towards the prince; and the prince, who had never before acted with william in his head (which was hired for one evening only) fled from the stage with a wild yell of fear. the curtain was lowered hastily.
there was consternation behind the scenes. william, glaring from out his eye-hole and refusing to remove his head, defended himself in his best manner.
"well i di'n't tell him to run away, did i? i di'n't mean him to run away. i only looked at him. well, i was goin' to slink in a minit. i only wanted to look at him. i was goin' to slink."
"oh, never mind! get on with the play!" moaned mrs. de vere carter. "but you've quite destroyed the atmosphere, william. you've spoilt the beautiful story. but hurry up, it's time for the grandmother's cottage scene now."
not a word of william's speeches was audible in the next scene, but his attack on and consumption of the aged grandmother was one of the most realistic parts of the play, especially considering the fact that his arms were imprisoned.
"not so roughly, william!" said the prompter in a sibilant whisper. "don't make so much noise. they can't hear a word anyone's saying."
at last william was clothed in the nightgown and nightcap and lying in the bed ready for little red riding-hood's entrance. the combined effect of the rug and the head and the thought of cuthbert had made him hotter and crosser than he ever remembered having felt before. he was conscious of a wild and unreasoning indignation against the world in general. then joan entered and began to pipe monotonously:
"dear grandmamma, i've come with all quickness
to comfort you and sooth your bed of sickness,
here are some little dainties i have brought
to show you how we cherish you in our thought."
here william wearily rose from his bed and made an unconvincing spring in her direction.
but on to the stage leapt cuthbert once more, the vision in blue and white with golden curls shining and sword again drawn.
"ha! evil beast——"
it was too much for william. the heat and discomfort of his attire, the sight of the hated cuthbert already about to embrace his joan, goaded him to temporary madness. with a furious gesture he burst the pins which attached the dining-room hearth-rug to his person and freed his arms. he tore off the white nightgown. he sprang at the petrified cuthbert—a small wild figure in a jersey suit and a wolf's head.
mrs. de vere carter had filled red riding-hood's basket with packages of simple groceries, which included, among other things, a paper bag of flour and a jar of jam.
william seized these wildly and hurled handfuls of flour at the prostrate, screaming cuthbert. the stage was suddenly pandemonium. the other small actors promptly joined the battle. the prompter was too panic-stricken to lower the curtain. the air was white with clouds of flour. the victim scrambled to his feet and fled, a ghost-like figure, round the table.
"take him off me," he yelled. "take him off me. take william off me." his wailing was deafening.
the next second he was on the floor, with william on top of him. william now varied the proceedings by emptying the jar of jam on to cuthbert's face and hair.
they were separated at last by the prompter and stage manager, while the audience rose and cheered hysterically. but louder than the cheering rose the sound of cuthbert's lamentation.
"he'th a nathty, rough boy! he puthed me down. he'th methed my nith clotheth. boo-hoo!"
mrs. de vere carter was inarticulate.
"that boy ... that boy ... that boy!" was all she could say.
william was hurried away by his family before she could regain speech.
"you've disgraced us publicly," said mrs. brown plaintively. "i thought you must have gone mad. people will never forget it. i might have known...."
when pressed for an explanation william would only say:
"well, i felt hot. i felt awful hot, an' i di'n't like cuthbert."
he appeared to think this sufficient explanation, though he was fully prepared for the want of sympathy displayed by his family.
"well," he said firmly, "i'd just like to see you do it, i'd just like to see you be in the head and that ole rug an' have to say stupid things an'—an' see folks you don't like, an' i bet you'd do something."
but he felt that public feeling was against him, and relapsed sadly into silence. from the darkness in front of them came the sound of cuthbert's wailing as mrs. clive led her two charges home.
"poor little cuthbert!" said mrs. brown. "if i were joan, i don't think i'd ever speak to you again."
"huh!" ejaculated william scornfully.
but at william's gate a small figure slipped out from the darkness and two little arms crept round william's neck.
"oh, william," she whispered, "he's going to-morrow, and i am glad. isn't he a softie? oh, william, i do love you, you do such 'citing things!"
