More William | Page 6

on them and took something out of his
pocket. After a few contortions he turned round again, holding the
handkerchief tightly. "Now, you look close,"--he went over to
them--"an' you'll see the shil--I mean, penny," he looked scornfully at
Robert, "has changed to an egg. It's a real egg. If anyone thinks it isn't a
real egg----"
But it was a real egg. It confirmed his statement by giving a resounding
crack and sending a shining stream partly on to the carpet and partly on
to Aunt Evangeline's black silk knee. A storm of reproaches burst out.
"First that horrible insect," almost wept Aunt Evangeline, "and then this
messy stuff all over me. It's a good thing I don't live here. One day a
year is enough.... My nerves!..."
"Dear, dear!" said Aunt Jane.
"Fancy taking a new-laid egg for that," said Ethel severely.

William was pale and indignant.
"Well, I did jus' what the book said to do. Look at it. It says: 'Take an
egg. Conceal it in the pocket.' Well, I took an egg an' I concealed it in
the pocket. Seems to me," he said bitterly, "seems to me this book isn't
'Things a Boy Can Do.' It's 'Things a Boy Can't Do.'"
Mr. Brown rose slowly from his chair.
"You're just about right there, my son. Thank you," he said with
elaborate politeness, as he took the book from William's reluctant
hands and went over with it to a small cupboard in the wall. In this
cupboard reposed an airgun, a bugle, a catapult, and a mouth-organ. As
he unlocked it to put the book inside, the fleeting glimpse of his
confiscated treasures added to the bitterness of William's soul.
"On Christmas Day, too!"
While he was still afire with silent indignation Aunt Lucy returned
from church.
"The vicar _didn't_ preach," she said. "They say that this morning's
sermon was beautiful. As I say, I don't want William to reproach
himself, but I feel that he has deprived me of a very great treat."
"Nice Willum!" murmured Jimmy sleepily from his corner.
As William undressed that night his gaze fell upon the flower-bedecked
motto: "A Busy Day is a Happy Day."
"It's a story," he said, indignantly. "It's jus' a wicked ole story."


CHAPTER II
RICE-MOULD

"Rice-mould," said the little girl next door bitterly. "Rice-mould!
Rice-mould! every single day. I hate it, don't you?"
She turned gloomy blue eyes upon William, who was perched
perilously on the ivy-covered wall. William considered thoughtfully.
"Dunno," he said. "I just eat it; I never thought about it."
"It's hateful, just hateful. Ugh! I've had it at dinner and I'll have it at
supper--bet you anything. I say, you are going to have a party to-night,
aren't you?"
William nodded carelessly.
"Are you going to be there?"
"Me!" ejaculated William in a tone of amused surprise. "I should think
so! You don't think they could have it without me, do you? Huh! Not
much!"
She gazed at him enviously.
"You are lucky! I expect you'll have a lovely supper--not rice mould,"
bitterly.
"Rather!" said William with an air of superiority.
"What are you going to have to eat at your party?"
"Oh--everything," said William vaguely.
"Cream blanc-mange?"
"Heaps of it--buckets of it."
The little girl next door clasped her hands.
"Oh, just think of it! Your eating cream blanc-mange and me
eating--_rice-mould_!" (It is impossible to convey in print the intense

scorn and hatred which the little girl next door could compress into the
two syllables.)
Here an idea struck William.
"What time do you have supper?"
"Seven."
"Well, now," magnanimously, "if you'll be in your summer-house at
half-past, I'll bring you some cream blanc-mange. Truly I will!"
The little girl's face beamed with pleasure.
"Will you? Will you _really_? You won't forget?"
"Not me! I'll be there. I'll slip away from our show on the quiet with it."
"Oh, how lovely! I'll be thinking of it every minute. Don't forget.
Good-bye!"
She blew him a kiss and flitted daintily into the house.
William blushed furiously at the blown kiss and descended from his
precarious perch.
He went to the library where his grown-up sister Ethel and his elder
brother Robert were standing on ladders at opposite ends of the room,
engaged in hanging up festoons of ivy and holly across the wall. There
was to be dancing in the library after supper. William's mother watched
them from a safe position on the floor.
[Illustration: "IF YOU'LL BE IN YOUR SUMMER-HOUSE AT
HALF-PAST, I'LL BRING YOU SOME CREAM BLANC-MANGE.
TRULY I WILL!" SAID WILLIAM.]
"Look here, mother," began William. "Am I or am I not coming to the
party to-night?"

William's mother sighed.
"For goodness' sake, William, don't open that discussion again. For the
tenth time to-day, you are not!"
"But