THE CURE
BREAKFAST was not William's favourite meal. With his father shut off
from the world by his paper, and his mother by her letters, one would
have thought that he would have enjoyed the clear field thus left for
his activities. But William liked an audience--even a hostile one
consisting of his own family. True, Robert and Ethel, his elder brother
and sister, were there; but Robert's great rule in life was to ignore
William's existence. Robert would have preferred not to have had a
small freckled, snub-nosed brother. But as Fate had given him such a
brother, the next best thing was to pretend that he did not exist.
On the whole, William preferred to leave Robert alone. And Ethel was
awful at breakfast--quite capable of summoning the Head of the Family
from behind his _Daily Telegraph_ when William essayed a little gentle
teasing. This morning William, surveying his family in silence in the
intervals of making a very hearty meal, came to the conclusion, not for
the first time, that they were hardly worthy of him: Ethel, thinking
she was so pretty in that stuck-up-looking dress, and grinning over
that letter from that soft girl. Robert talking about football and
nobody listening to him, and glaring at him (William) whenever he tried
to tell him what nonsense he was talking about it. No, it _wasn't_
rounders he was thinking of--he knew 'bout football, thank you, he just
did. His mother--suddenly his mother put down her letter.
"Great-Aunt Jane's very ill," she said.
There was a sudden silence. Mr. Brown's face appeared above the _Daily
Telegraph_.
"Um?" he said.
"Great-Aunt Jane's very ill," said Mrs. Brown. "They don't seem to
think there's much chance of her getting better. They say----" She
looked again at the letter as if to make quite sure: "They say she
wants to see William. She's never seen him, you know."
There was a gasp of surprise.
Robert voiced the general sentiment.
"Good Lord!" he said, "fancy anyone wanting to see _William!_"
"When they're dying, too," said Ethel in equal horror. "One would think
they'd like to die in peace, anyway."
"It hardly seems fair," went on Robert, "to show William to anyone
who's not strong."
William glared balefully from one to the other.
"Children! Children!" murmured Mrs. Brown.
"How," said Mr. Brown, "are you going to get William over to Ireland?"
"I suppose," said Mrs. Brown, "that someone must take him."
"Good Lord! Who?"
"Yes, who?" echoed the rest of the family.
"I can't possibly leave the office for the next few weeks," said Mr.
Brown hastily.
"I simply couldn't face the crossing alone--much less with William,"
said Ethel.
"I've got my finals coming off next year," said Robert. "I don't want
to waste any time. I'm working rather hard these vacs."
"No one," said his father politely, "would have noticed it."
"I can go alone, _thank_ you," said William with icy dignity.
* * * * *
In the end William and Mrs. Brown crossed to Ireland together.
"If William drops overboard," was Robert's parting shot, "don't worry."
The crossing was fairly eventful. William, hanging over the edge of
the steamer, overbalanced, and was rescued from a watery grave by one
of the crew who happened to be standing near and who caught him by his
trousers as the overbalancing occurred. William was far from grateful.
"Pullin' an' tuggin' at me," he said, "an' I was all right. I was only
jus' lookin' over the edge. I'd have got back all right."
But the member of the crew made life hideous to Mrs. Brown.
"You know, lady," he muttered, "when I saved yer little boy's life,
I give myself such a wrench. I can feel it in my innards now, as it
were----"
Hastily she gave him ten shillings. Yet she could not stem the flow.
"I 'ope, lady," he would continue at intervals, "when that choild's
growd to be a man, you'll think sometoimes of the poor ole man wot
saved 'is life at the expense of 'is own innards, as you might say when
'e were a little 'un."
A speech like that always won half-a-crown. In the end Mrs. Brown
spent her time avoiding him and fleeing whenever she saw him coming
along the deck. When a meeting was inevitable she hastily gave him the
largest coin she could find before he could begin on his "innards."
Meanwhile a passenger had discovered William neatly balanced through
a porthole, and earned his undying hatred by hauling him in and
depositing him upside down on the floor.
"Seems to me," said William to his mother, "that all these folks have
come for is to stop other folks having a good time. What do you come on
a boat for if you can't look at the sea--that's all I want to know?"
A gale rose, and Mrs. Brown, pale and distraught, sat huddled up on
deck. William hovered round sympathetically.
"I got some chocolate creams in my other coat. Like some of them?"
"William, dear, don't bother to stay here. I'd just as soon you went
away and played."
"Oh, no," said William nobly. "I wun't leave you feelin' bad."
The boat gave a lurching heave. Mrs. Brown groaned.
"Think you goin' to _be_ sick, mother?" said William with interest.
"I--I don't know.... Wouldn't you like to go over to the other side for
a change?"
William wandered away. Soon he returned, holding in his hands two
doughnuts--masses of yellowy, greasy-looking dough, bearing the impress
of William's grimy fingers.
"I've got us one each," said William cheerfully. "You must be awful
hungry, mother."
[Illustration: SOON WILLIAM RETURNED, HOLDING IN HIS HANDS TWO
DOUGHNUTS.]
Mrs. Brown gave one glance and turned towards the sea.
* * * * *
In Great-Aunt Jane's drawing-room were assembled Uncle John and Aunt
Lucy and Cousin Francis. Francis was about the same age as William, but
inordinately fat and clad in white. He had fair curls and was the apple
of his parents' eyes. They had heard of William but none of them had
seen him. There was a murmur of excitement as the sound of the taxi was
heard, then William and his mother entered. Mrs. Brown was still pale.
William followed her, scowling defiantly at the world in general.
"If you have any brandy----" said Mrs. Brown faintly.
"Brandy?" said William cheerfully. "I never thought of that. I got you
nearly everything else, didn't I? I wanted to tempt her to eat," he
explained to the company. "I thought of choc'lates an' cakes an' cocoa
an' pork-pies--I _kept_ askin' her to try pork-pie--there was some
lovely ones on the boat--but I never thought of brandy. Have a good
drink of it, mother," he encouraged her, "an' then try an' have a go at
the chocolates."
Mrs. Brown shivered slightly and sipped the brandy.
"This, William," said Aunt Lucy, "is your cousin Francis."
Cousin Francis held out his hand. "How do you do, William?"
William took the proffered hand. "How do you do?" he said loudly, and
added _sotto voce_, "Fatty."
Thus was war declared.
Mrs. Brown was feeling better.
"How is Great-Aunt Jane?" she said.
"Sinking," said Uncle John in a voice of deepest gloom. "Sinking
fast--sinking fast."
William's expression grew animated.
"Where is she?" he said. "Is she out in the sea?"
"Little boys," said Uncle John still gloomily, "should be seen and not
heard."
At this point the nurse entered.
"She can see the little boy now," she said, "if he's come."
"Let the dear children go together," suggested Aunt Lucy.
"Excellent," said Uncle John in his hushed, sepulchral voice.
"Excellent--together."
William and Francis went upstairs behind the nurse.
The bedroom was large and dim. At the far end lay Great-Aunt Jane,
propped up in a high old-fashioned bed. The nurse took them across.
"I only wanted to see William," said Great-Aunt Jane feebly. "The other
need not have come. So this is Margaret's youngest, is it? I've seen
the others, Robert and Ethel. But I hadn't seen this one. I didn't want
to die without seeing all my family. He's not as beautiful as Francis,
but he's less fat. Do you trail clouds of glory, William? Francis
trails clouds of glory."
"Clouds of fat more like," said William, who was beginning to be bored
by the whole affair. Great-Aunt Jane closed her eyes.
"I'm going to rest a little," she said. "You can stay here and get me
anything I want while nurse goes to have her tea."
The nurse went.
Great-Aunt Jane fell asleep.
William and Francis were left alone in the dim bedroom, sitting on
chairs, one on each side of the big bed as the nurse had placed them.
The silence grew oppressive. William fidgeted, then opened hostilities.
"Hello, Fatty!" he whispered over Great-Aunt Jane's recumbent form.
"'F you call me that again," whispered Francis, "I'll tell my mother."
"'F you went telling tales of me, I'd pull your long hair off."
Francis searched in his mind silent for a few minutes for a suitable
term of opprobrium.
"Freckles!" he hissed across the bed at last.
"Softy!" returned William.
This was warfare after his own heart.
"'F I got hold of you, I could throw you out of the window."
"You couldn't. You'd just roll about. You couldn't throw anything.
You're too fat."
"I told you what I'd do if you called me that again."
"Tell-tale! Tell-tale! Silly ole tell-tale!"
Still the deadly insults were being hurled across the bed in whispers,
and still Great-Aunt Jane slept.
"I could bash your old freckled face in," whispered Francis.
"I could knock your ole long-haired head off."
"I could pull your ears out."
"Come on, then. Have a try."
"Come on yourself!"
Worked up to fighting pitch, they stole round their corners of the bed
to the open space at the foot. Then they hurled themselves upon each
other.
[Illustration: "GO IT, WILLIAM!" GREAT-AUNT JANE CRIED.... "ANOTHER,
ANOTHER!"...]
They fought with fierce satisfaction, tearing at each other's hair,
punching each other's heads, squirming and rolling on the floor.
Suddenly they became aware of a spectator. Great-Aunt Jane was sitting
up in bed, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright.
"Go it, William!" she said. "Get one in on his nose. That's right,
Fatty; well fended! Go on, William. Another, another! No biting, Fatty.
Go----Oh, dear!"
There were footsteps on the stairs.
"Quick!" said Great-Aunt Jane.
They darted to their seats, smoothing their hair as they went.
The nurse entered.
"Whatever----" she began, then looked round the peaceful room. "Oh, it
must have been in the street!"
Great-Aunt Jane opened her eyes.
"I feel much better," she said. "_Ever_ so much better."
"You _look_ better," said the nurse. "I hope the children were good."
"Good as gold!" said Great-Aunt Jane, with the ghost of a wink at
William.
"Look at them," said the nurse, smiling. "Both purple in the face with
holding their breaths. They'd better go now."
Again Great-Aunt Jane winked at William. Downstairs Uncle John was
standing, gloomy as ever, by the fireplace.
"How is she?" he said, as they entered.
"I think she's risin' a bit," said William.
* * * * *
"What did you say he did this morning?" said Great-Aunt Jane to the
nurse.
"He got up early," said the nurse, "and found a mouse in the mousetrap.
He put it into a cardboard box and almost covered the creature in
cheese, and made holes in the lid and put it into his pocket. He
wanted to keep it. Then the thing gnawed its way out at breakfast and
stampeded the whole table. It ran over Francis, and he yelled, and his
father nearly fainted. William was much annoyed. He said he'd meant to
teach it tricks."
"It was yesterday, wasn't it," said Great-Aunt Jane, "that he dared
Fatty to walk on the edge of the rain tub, and he overbalanced and fell
in?"
"Yes--and Fatty got in a temper and bit him, and they fought and rolled
down the bank together into the pond."
"And Tuesday----"
"Tuesday he brought the scarecrow in from the field in the evening and
put it in front of the fire where his uncle usually stands, and it
was rather dark, and they hadn't lit up yet, and his aunt came in and
talked to it for quite a long time before she discovered. She's rather
short-sighted, you know."
"There was a terrible scuffle going on somewhere last night," said
Great-Aunt Jane eagerly.
"Oh, yes--his Uncle John went downstairs about eleven for a book he'd
forgotten, and William heard him and thought he was a burglar, and
attacked him from behind. They fell downstairs on the top of each
other, and then William got his uncle rolled up in the hall rug with a
pair of gloves in his mouth and his eye-glasses broken before he found
out who he was--he's a curious boy!"
Great-Aunt Jane was sitting up and looking quite bright.
[Illustration: "THERE WAS A TERRIBLE SCUFFLING GOING ON SOMEWHERE, LAST
NIGHT."]
"He certainly lends an interest to life. I feel ever so much better
since he came. You might send him up now, if he's in, nurse, will you?"
On her way down the nurse met Uncle John.
"How long is this young ruffian going to be here?" he said furiously.
William had successfully dispelled the air of hallowed gloom from the
house. "He's sent my nerves to pieces already--what his effect on that
poor sufferer must be----"
"He seems to be strengthening _hers_," said the nurse. "She's just sent
for him."
"That means a few minutes' peace for the rest of the house, at any
rate," he said.
William entered the sick room sullenly. He was thoroughly bored with
life. Even his enemy, Fatty, was not to be found. Fatty retired every
afternoon with his mother to lie down.
"Good afternoon, William," said Great-Aunt Jane, "are you enjoying your
visit?"
"Well," said William vaguely, striving to temper truth with politeness,
"I wun't mind going home now. I've had enough." He sat down on her bed
and became confidential. "We've been here for weeks an' weeks----"
"Four days," amended Great-Aunt Jane.
"Well, four days, then," said William, "an' there's nothing left to do,
an' they make a fuss if I make a noise; an' I've got a lizard in a box
at home and I'm tryin' to teach it tricks, an' it'll have forgot me if
I stay here much longer. It was just gettin' to know me. I could tell
by its eyes. An' they might forget to feed it or _anything_--there's
nothing to _do_ here, an' mother's not been well since the sea made her
sick, an' I keep sayin'--why wait till she's all right to go back--case
the sea makes her sick again; better go back while she's feelin' bad
and get it all over again without the fuss of gettin' all right an'
then gettin' bad again; an' I keep sayin', _why_ are we stoppin' here
and stoppin' here an' stoppin' here--an' everyone sayin' '_Sh!_' when
you make a noise, or sing, or anything. I say--_why?_"
Great-Aunt Jane's sunken lips were quivering, her eyes twinkling.
"And why are you stoppin' an' stoppin' an' stoppin'?"
"She says 'cause you're not out of danger, and we must stop till we
know which way it is. Well," he waxed still more confidential, "what I
say is, shurely you _know_ which way you're goin' to be. Can't you tell
us? Then if you're goin' to get better we'll go, an' if you're not----"
"Yes, what then?" said Great-Aunt Jane.
"Then we'll go, too. You don't want me hangin' round when you're
dyin'," he said coaxingly. "I'd like as not make a noise, or something,
and disturb you--and that lizard might have got out if I go waitin'
here much more--like wot that mouse did."
Great-Aunt Jane drew a deep breath of utter content.
"You're too priceless to be true, William," she said.
"Can't you tell me which way?" said William ingratiatingly.
"Yes," said Great-Aunt Jane, "I'm going to get better."
"Oh, crumbs!" he said joyfully. "Can I go and tell mother to pack?"
"You've turned the corner," said the doctor to Great-Aunt Jane an hour
later, "we needn't worry about you any more. All these relations of
yours can pack up and go."
"William's packed already," said the nurse. "That boy is a cure!"
Great-Aunt Jane laughed.
"Yes, he's a cure, all right," she said.