More William | Page 8

pears on the
sideboard--"tons of pears an'--an' green stuff to put on the walls, and
they give three-halfpence to the poor heathen! Huh!"
He opened the door and heard his sister's voice from the library. "He's
probably in mischief somewhere. He'll be a perfect nuisance all the
evening. Mother, couldn't you make him go to bed an hour earlier?"
William had no doubt as to the subject of the conversation. _Make him
go to bed early!_ He'd like to see them! He'd just like to see them! And
he'd show them, anyway. Yes, he would show them. Exactly what he
would show them and how he would show them, he was not as yet very
clear. He looked round the room again. There were no eatables in it so
far except the piled-up plate of huge pears on the sideboard.
He looked at it longingly. They'd probably counted them and knew just
how many there ought to be. Mean sort of thing they would do. And
they'd be in counting them every other minute just to see if he'd taken
one. Well, he was going to score off somebody, somehow. Make him
go to bed early indeed! He stood with knit brows, deep in thought, then
his face cleared and he smiled. He'd got it! For the next five minutes he
munched the delicious pears, but, at the end, the piled-up pyramid was
apparently exactly as he found it, not a pear gone, only--on the inner
side of each pear, the side that didn't show, was a huge semicircular
bite. William wiped his mouth with his coat sleeve. They were jolly
good pears. And a blissful vision came to him of the faces of the guests
as they took the pears, of the faces of his father and mother and Robert
and Ethel. Oh, crumbs! He chuckled to himself as he went down to the
kitchen again.
"I say, cook, could you make a small one--quite a small one--for
threepence-halfpenny?"
Cook laughed.
"I was only pulling your leg, Master William. I've got one made and
locked up in the larder."

"That's all right," said William. "I--wanted them to have a cream
blanc-mange, that's all."
"Oh, _they'll_ have it all right; they won't leave much for you. I only
made one!"
"Did you say locked in the larder?" said William carelessly. "It must be
a bother for you to lock the larder door each time you go in?"
"Oh, no trouble, Master William, thank you," said cook sarcastically;
"there's more than the cream blanc-mange there; there's pasties and
cakes and other things. I'm thinking of the last party your ma gave!"
William had the grace to blush. On that occasion William and a friend
had spent the hour before supper in the larder, and supper had to be
postponed while fresh provisions were beaten up from any and every
quarter. William had passed a troubled night and spent the next day in
bed.
"Oh, then! That was a long time ago. I was only a kid then."
"Umph!" grunted cook. Then, relenting, "Well, if there's any cream
blanc-mange left I'll bring it up to you in bed. Now that's a promise.
Here, Emma, put these sandwiches in the larder. Here's the key! Now
mind you lock it after you!"
"Cook! Just come here for a minute."
It was the voice of William's mother from the library. William's heart
rose. With cook away from the scene of action great things might
happen. Emma took the dish of sandwiches, unlocked the pantry door,
and entered. There was a crash of crockery from the back kitchen.
Emma fled out, leaving the door unlocked. After she had picked up
several broken plates, which had unaccountably slipped from the
shelves, she returned and locked the pantry door.
William, in the darkness within, heaved a sigh of relief. He was in,
anyway; how he was going to get out he wasn't quite sure. He stood for

a few minutes in rapt admiration of his own cleverness. He'd scored off
cook! Crumbs! He'd scored off cook! So far, at any rate. The first thing
to do was to find the cream blanc-mange. He found it at last and sat
down with it on the bread-pan to consider his next step.
Suddenly he became aware of two green eyes staring at him in the
darkness. The cat was in too! Crumbs! The cat was in too! The cat,
recognising its inveterate enemy, set up a vindictive wail. William grew
cold with fright. The rotten old cat was going to give the show away!
"Here, Pussy! Good ole Pussy!" he whispered hoarsely. "Nice ole
Pussy! Good ole Pussy!"
The cat gazed at him in surprise. This form of address from William
was unusual.
"Good ole Pussy!" went on William feverishly. "Shut up,