More William | Page 2

and Jimmy and his small sister
Barbara were in the happy position of spending Christmas with
relations, but immune from parental or maternal interference.
"They've gotten out," said Jimmy, sadly. "I got 'em for presents
yesterday, an' they've gotten out. I've been feeling for 'em in the dark,
but I can't find 'em."
"What?" said William.
"Snails. Great big suge ones wiv great big suge shells. I put 'em in a tin
for presents an' they've gotten out an' I've gotten no presents for
nobody."
He relapsed into despondency.
William surveyed the hall.
"They've got out right enough!" he said, sternly. "They've got out right
enough. Jus' look at our hall! Jus' look at our clothes! They've got out
right enough."
Innumerable slimy iridescent trails shone over hats, and coats, and
umbrellas, and wall-paper.
"Huh!" grunted William, who was apt to overwork his phrases.
"They've got out right enough."

He looked at the tracks again and brightened. Jimmy was frankly
delighted.
"Oo! Look!" he cried, "Oo funny!"
William's thoughts flew back to his bedroom wall--"A Busy Day is a
Happy Day."
"Let's clean it up!" he said. "Let's have it all nice an' clean for when
they come down. We'll be busy. You tell me if you feel happy when
we've done. It might be true wot it says, but I don't like the flowers
messin' all over it."
Investigation in the kitchen provided them with a large pail of water
and a scrubbing-brush each.
For a long time they worked in silence. They used plenty of water.
When they had finished the trails were all gone. Each soaked garment
on the hat-stand was sending a steady drip on to the already flooded
floor. The wall-paper was sodden. With a feeling of blankness they
realised that there was nothing else to clean.
It was Jimmy who conceived the exquisite idea of dipping his brush in
the bucket and sprinkling William with water. A scrubbing-brush is in
many ways almost as good as a hose. Each had a pail of ammunition.
Each had a good-sized brush. During the next few minutes they
experienced purest joy. Then William heard threatening movements
above, and decided hastily that the battle must cease.
"Backstairs," he said shortly. "Come on."
Marking their track by a running stream of water, they crept up the
backstairs.
But two small boys soaked to the skin could not disclaim all knowledge
of a flooded hall.
William was calm and collected when confronted with a distracted

mother.
"We was tryin' to clean up," he said. "We found all snail marks an' we
was tryin' to clean up. We was tryin' to help. You said so last night, you
know, when you was talkin' to me. You said to help. Well, I thought it
was helpin' to try an' clean up. You can't clean up with water an' not get
wet--not if you do it prop'ly. You said to try an' make Christmas Day
happy for other folks and then I'd be happy. Well, I don't know as I'm
very happy," he said, bitterly, "but I've been workin' hard enough since
early this mornin'. I've been workin'," he went on pathetically. His eye
wandered to the notice on his wall. "I've been busy all right, but it
doesn't make me _happy_--not jus' now," he added, with memories of
the rapture of the fight. That certainly must be repeated some time.
Buckets of water and scrubbing-brushes. He wondered he'd never
thought of that before.
William's mother looked down at his dripping form.
"Did you get all that water with just cleaning up the snail marks?" she
said.
William coughed and cleared his throat. "Well," he said, deprecatingly,
"most of it. I think I got most of it."
"If it wasn't Christmas Day ..." she went on darkly.
William's spirits rose. There was certainly something to be said for
Christmas Day.
It was decided to hide the traces of the crime as far as possible from
William's father. It was felt--and not without reason--that William's
father's feelings of respect for the sanctity of Christmas Day might be
overcome by his feelings of paternal ire.
Half-an-hour later William, dried, dressed, brushed, and chastened,
descended the stairs as the gong sounded in a hall which was bare of
hats and coats, and whose floor shone with cleanliness.

"And jus' to think," said William, despondently, "that it's only jus' got
to brekfust time."
William's father was at the bottom of the stairs. William's father frankly
disliked Christmas Day.
"Good-morning, William," he said, "and a happy Christmas, and I hope
it's not too much to ask of you that on this relation-infested day one's
feelings may be harrowed by you as little as possible. And why the
deu--dickens they think it necessary to wash the hall floor before
breakfast, Heaven only