More William | Page 7

think I can," he said grimly.
But William had thrown dignity to the winds, and fled.
He went down the hall to the kitchen, where cook hastily interposed herself between him and the table that was laden with cakes and jellies and other delicacies.
"Now, Master William," she said sharply, "you clear out of here!"
"I don't want any of your things, cook," said William, magnificently but untruthfully. "I only came to see how you were getting on. That's all I came for."
"We're getting on very well indeed, thank you, Master William," she said with sarcastic politeness, "but nothing for you till to-morrow, when we can see how much they've left."
She returned to her task of cutting sandwiches. William, from a respectful distance, surveyed the table with its enticing burden.
"Huh!" he ejaculated bitterly, "think of them sitting and stuffing, and stuffing, and stuffing away at our food all night! I don't suppose they'll leave much--not if I know the set that lives round here!"
"Don't judge them all by yourself, Master William," said cook unkindly, keeping a watchful eye upon him. "Here, Emma, put that rice-mould away in the pantry. It's for to-morrow's lunch."
Rice-mould! That reminded him.
"Cook," he said ingratiatingly, "are you going to make cream blanc-mange?"
"I am not, Master William," she said firmly.
"Well," he said, with a short laugh, "it'll be a queer party without cream blanc-mange! I've never heard of a party without cream blanc-mange! They'll think it's a bit funny. No one ever gives a party round here without cream blanc-mange!"
"Don't they indeed, Master William," said cook, with ironic interest.
"No. You'll be making one, p'raps, later on--just a little one, won't you?"
"And why should I?"
"Well, I'd like to think they had a cream blanc-mange. I think they'd enjoy it. That's all I'm thinking of."
"Oh, is it? Well, it's your ma that tells me what to make and pays me for it, not you."
This was a novel idea to William.
He thought deeply.
"Look here!" he said at last, "if I gave you,"--he paused for effect, then brought out the startling offer--"sixpence, would you make a cream blanc-mange?"
"I'd want to see your sixpence first," said cook, with a wink at Emma.
William retired upstairs to his bedroom and counted out his money--twopence was all he possessed. He had expended the enormous sum of a shilling the day before on a grass snake. It had died in the night. He must get a cream blanc-mange somehow. His reputation for omnipotence in the eyes of the little girl next door--a reputation very dear to him--depended on it. And if cook would do it for sixpence, he must find sixpence. By fair means or foul it must be done. He'd tried fair means, and there only remained foul. He went softly downstairs to the dining-room, where, upon the mantel-piece, reposed the missionary-box. He'd tell someone next day, or put it back, or something. Anyway, people did worse things than that in the pictures. With a knife from the table he extracted the contents--three-halfpence! He glared at it balefully.
"Three-halfpence!" he said aloud in righteous indignation. "This supposed to be a Christian house, and three-halfpence is all they can give to the poor heathen. They can spend pounds and pounds on,"--he glanced round the room and saw a pyramid of 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