WILLIAM SELLS THE TWINS
WILLIAM and Ginger, William's faithful friend and ally, were in a state
of bankruptcy. They lacked even the paltry twopence necessary to buy
sweets in these days of inflated prices, and life was unendurable. They
had approached the adult members of their respective families, only to
meet that callousness and indifference so characteristic of adults in
their dealings with the young....
They sat in the open space of ground behind Ginger's house, and
solemnly considered their assets.
_Asset_ 1.--An indiarubber ball with a hole in it, which they had
offered to the boy next door for sixpence and which he had refused.
_Asset_ 2.--A pansy root surreptitiously taken from William's father's
garden. They had taken this to the local nursery gardener and offered
it to him for fivepence-halfpenny. They had afterwards retrieved it
from the gutter whither that irascible man had flung it in indignant
fury.
_Asset_ 3.--The twins.
The twins _really_ belonged to Ginger. That is to say, they were
Ginger's cousins and were paying a visit to Ginger's family. They had
been there a week now, and to Ginger it had been a very long week. On
their arrival, he had found to his horror that he was expected to take
an interest in them, even to the extent of taking them about with him
wherever he went.
He had almost become accustomed, by now, to their continual presence,
but still he disliked them intensely. In all his daring adventures
and escapades and games he was to be hampered by the two of them,
George and John, both placid, both plump, both three-and-a-half years
old. He had to listen to William's comments on their appearance and
mental powers, comments with which he privately agreed, but which, for
the sake of the honour of his family, he was obliged to resent and
avenge....
To-day, to add insult to injury, his mother had told him to "see that
they kept clean," as their mother was coming to take them home that
afternoon. That, at any rate, was a blessing. It would be the last
day of his persecution. But the ignominy ... that a desperate bravado
should have to spend his noble energy keeping children clean....
George and John were sitting now on the ground, pulling up bits of
grass and eating them. William and Ginger watched them scornfully.
"Pity we can't make a bit of money out of them," said William.
"Umph," agreed Ginger. "They've been enough trouble."
A speculative look came into William's eye.
"'F we'd lived in historical times," he said, "we might have sold them
as slaves like wot Miss Jones told us about."
Ginger gasped at the daring idea. Then his eye fell upon them gloomily.
"No one would have bought 'em," he said. "No one wot knew them 's well
as I do."
"You silly!" said William. "They _wouldn't_ know them. They'd just see
them in a kind of particular place and think they looked nice----"
"Well, they don't!"
"--or cheap and jus' buy them."
"Well, wot for? Fancy anyone payin' money for them! ... for _those!_"
"You're so silly," said William patiently. "They'd jus' buy 'em once
when they were quite little an' jus pay once for 'em and then have 'em
all the rest of their lives to do work for 'em an' they'd never pay any
more after they'd jus' paid for 'em once--see?"
Ginger brightened.
"D'you think anyone _would?_" he said.
William replied with superior scorn.
"'F you'd been listening in History to-day you'd know that people don't
do it now. Someone or other stopped 'em."
Ginger considered this deeply.
"You never know," he said; "it might be comin' in fashion again. Things
do. We might try it. You never know. Someone might jus' like the look
of 'em or think 'em cheap or----"
Even William was horrified.
"Yes," he broke in, "an' then when you've sold 'em, what'll you say to
their mother?... Jus' you tell me that! What'll you say to their mother
when you've sold 'em?"
* * * * *
Ginger had been considering deeply. Suddenly his brow cleared.
"I know. We could watch where they took 'em to--the ones that bought
'em--an' rescue 'em 'fore anyone knows anything about it."
"Sounds all right," said William guardedly.
Ginger turned to his charges.
"You'd like to be slaves, wun't you?" he asked brightly and
persuasively.
"_Yiss!_" chorussed George and John.
"You see?" said Ginger triumphantly to William. "I'll go an' fix things
up. 'S worth tryin' anyway."
"_Sounds_ all right," said William again doubtfully; and added
gloomily, out of the vast store of his experience, "but you never know
where things ends."
A few minutes later Ginger brought two large luggage labels, each
inscribed:
[Illustration: SLAVE CHEEP]
and on the back of each label was printed:
[Illustration: 6½ᴰ]
He fastened a label to each twin's neck, to their riotous delight. Then
they sat on the open space by the roadside awaiting customers. But
it seemed to be a slack time for the slave trade. Only three people
passed, and they did not even look at the patient group of four eager
small boys.
The procedure had been explained to George and John, as far as their
infant intelligences could absorb it, and they expressed themselves
willing and anxious to be sold and rescued.
At last, when they were tired of waiting, a fourth passer-by appeared,
an old man, walking very slowly. William, taking his courage in both
hands, approached him.
"Do you want a slave?" he asked.
"Eh?" said the old man.
"Do you want a slave?"
"What?" said the old man.
"Do--you--want--a--slave?" repeated William slowly.
"Speak up! Speak up!" said the old man irritably. "Can't you see I'm
deaf? What do you want? What do you want?"
William, whose nerves were suffering from the repetition of the
question, cleared his throat and shouted again hoarsely:
"_Do--you--want--a--slave?_"
The old man snorted.
"Want a shave? Want a shave?" he said angrily. "No, I _don't_ want a
shave. You impudent little boy! You little rascal!"
He made a feint at William with his stick, then went off, muttering to
himself.
William, slightly shaken by the encounter, returned to his friends.
"It's no good doin' it this way," he said despondently. "We shall have
to take 'em round to people's houses, like wot they do brushes an'
things."
The twins gave a scream of delight at the suggestion. Then they trotted
off happily--George holding Ginger's hand and John William's, both
wearing their labels.
"Let's go a good way off," said Ginger; "somewhere where they won't
know us."
They walked down a few streets, till William said: "We'll go into the
first house round the corner." William was looking pale, but resolved.
Having embarked upon the dangerous venture, he was determined to carry
it through. They came to the next house round the corner, and walked up
an overshadowed, neglected drive. They slackened speed considerably as
they neared the door.
"You'd better do the talkin'," said Ginger faintly, with a propitiatory
air. "You're better at talkin' than wot I am."
"Oh, I am, am I!" said William irritably. "Yes, you think so, _don't_
you? Oh, yes, you think so when it's a kind of talkin' you don't want
to do! Oh, yes! Huh!"
They stood apprehensively on the front doorstep and gazed at the
milk-jug that was standing there.
"Looks as if they was out," said Ginger.
"Oh, yes," said William, scathing but relieved. "You don't mind doin'
the talkin' now, do you? You don't think I'm better at talkin' than wot
you are _now_, do you? You don't mind talkin' to a milk-jug. Oh, no!"
"You think you're so clever," said Ginger bitterly. "Who thought of
makin' 'em slaves first of all, anyway. Jus' tell me _that_."
"Well, wot good's it done?" retorted William. "Nobody'll buy 'em.
Takin' 'em to an ole empty house, wot good's _that_ done? You tell me
_that!_"
The argument would have pursued its normal course to physical violence
had not George raised his voice plaintively.
"Wanner be a save," he pleaded.
With a heroic gesture and lips firmly shut, William raised his hand
to the bell and pulled hard. "That'll show 'em!" he said, darkly. The
echoes of the bell died slowly away within the house. No sound of
human habitation broke the tense silence on the front doorstop.
"Well," said William weakly, "that's _shown_ 'em, anyway!"
Then he peered suddenly into the milk-jug.
"Crumbs!" he exclaimed. "A bob!"
Slowly he withdrew the coin, and turned his eyes towards the twins.
"It'll jus' pay for 'em," he said. "They're cheap to-day."
Ginger was taken aback.
"But--but you don't know they want 'em."
"Want 'em! Of course they want 'em," said William scornfully. "Anyone'd
want 'em. Two slaves--cheap at that! I bet they'd have fetched pounds
and pounds in historical times. 'S only 'cause they're a bit out of
fashion that they've bin sold at sixpence-halfpenny."
At this moment a milk-boy appeared, staggering up the drive, and
William hastily put the coin into his pocket.
"'Ello, kids!" said the milk-boy.
At other moments William might have made a practical protest against
the appellation. But he felt his present position to be too precarious
for active aggression. He merely replied coldly:
"'Ello, Milky!"
"If you belong 'ere," went on the milk-boy cheerfully, having filled
the jug, "tell 'em they've forgot the money. So long! Be good!"
With a certain relief they watched his figure disappear round the
gateway. John at once raised his voice.
"Wanner be a _save_," he demanded tearfully.
"Wanner be a _save_," joined in George.
[Illustration: "HERE, HAVE A DRINK OF NICE MILK," SAID WILLIAM. THE
TWINS OBEYED. THEY FOUGHT FOR THE MILK-JUG, BUT BOTH MANAGED TO DRINK A
FAIR AMOUNT.]
William looked round desperately.
"Here, have a drink of nice milk," he said.
They obeyed. They fought for the milk-jug, and spilt some upon their
labels and some upon their coats, but they both managed to drink a fair
amount. Finally, they put down the empty jug between them and beamed
complacently upon the world again.
"Let's leave 'em and go an' spend the shilling," said William. "An'
then come back an' rescue them."
"Oh, _yiss!_" said the twins.
William and Ginger went slowly down the drive. At the end they turned
round. The twins were sitting side by side on the doorstop, smiling and
waving fat hands. Their labels were milky and slightly awry, but still
they adhered to their persons. William and Ginger turned into the road.
William took out the shilling.
"I say," said Ginger, "I--I suppose it's honest?"
"Honest!" said William scornfully. "'S more than honest. We've _give_
them a penny. The slaves was sixpence halfpenny each--proper price--an'
we've only took a shilling."
The shilling was successful. It provided them with liquorice, bull's
eyes, two surprise packets, and an indiarubber ball. In their bliss
they forgot the flight of time. It was Ginger who remembered it first.
"I say," he said, "we'd better be doin' that rescuin' quick. Their
mother'll be here soon."
They set off down the road. Both walked jauntily, as though to hide
some secret apprehension.
"Hope we'll be able to rescue them," said William, with an attempt at
lightness.
"Oh, that'll be all right," said Ginger, with an unconvincing
carelessness of tone.
In both their minds was a horrible vision in which the twins' mother
played the part of avenging fury.
They walked up the drive. The twins were not on the doorstep. A broken
milk-jug alone marked the scene of their parting from the twins. Their
hearts sank yet farther as they surveyed it.
"Well," said Ginger, moistening his lips, "we'd better start rescuin'."
Drawing a deep breath, he rang the bell. Again the echoes died away in
distant regions. Again there came no sounds of human habitation. There
was horror on William's freckled face. His naturally wild hair was at
its wildest. The vision of the outraged parent of the twins seemed to
fill the whole world.
"They're sure to be somewhere," said Ginger, still with his gallant but
ineffectual attempt at lightness.
"Oh, yes!" agreed William gloomily. "_You_ can tell her that!"
They searched the garden. They threw stones at the windows. They
called: "Georgie!" and "Johnnie!" hoarsely, and with a pathetic appeal
they had never used to those infants before. Then they turned very
slowly towards the gate.
"What can we do now?" said Ginger.
"Nothin'," said William shortly.
Very, very slowly they began to walk down the road.
"You can do the talkin' to their mother," said William. "I was goin'
to do the talkin' before, wasn't I? Well, _you_ can do it now."
"Oh, yes," said Ginger, with weary sarcasm. "A lot of talkin' you did,
didn't you? Anyway, there won't need to be much talkin'--not from us!
_She'll_ do the talkin' all right!"
After a short silence, Ginger spoke again:
"Anyway," he said in a feeble voice, "we got a jolly lot of things for
that bob!"
It was a feeble remark, and was treated by William with the
contemptuous silence it deserved.
As they turned the corner of the road, a lady wearing a tall toque came
into sight, walking hurriedly towards them.
"It's her!" said Ginger, with a groan.
"Where are the twins?" she demanded sternly.
To William it seemed as if his heart descended through his boots into
the centre of the earth.
"Where are the twins?" she said again.
It was William who answered.
"We don't know," he said desperately. "We've sold 'em. We've sold 'em
as slaves."
* * * * *
The twins, left to themselves on the doorstep, replete with excitement
and milk, fell happily asleep upon each other's shoulders.... The
minutes passed by.
They awoke to find a young man looking at them in bewilderment. With
him were two ladies, one tall and thin, one short and fat.
"Where do you live, little boys?" said the tall lady.
George smiled at her.
"Here," he said brightly. "We're saves."
The young man raised a hand to his brow.
"Good Lord!" he groaned. "Surely they don't go with the house--fixtures
or something."
The tall lady was looking at them with a dark frown.
"It's strange," she said; "there must be some meaning in it."
The young man took out a latchkey, stumbled over the milk-jug, and
entered the hall, followed by the tall lady, the short lady, John and
George.
"They can't go with the house," said the young man plaintively. "I took
it furnished--but, good heavens, furniture _can't_ include--these!"
"Did you know the man you took it from?" said the short one.
"No; we fixed everything up by letter, and he cleared out this morning."
"There's some _meaning_ in it if only we knew," said the tall one
again, mysteriously.
"We're saves," said John. "Willum comin' soon."
"Good Lord! Another!" groaned the young man.
"'Slaves 6½d.,'" she read out. "It must be a code. They may be
a--er--plant, don't you call it? A confidence trick ... burglar's trap.
I think we ought to take them straight to Dr. Barnardo's Homes."
"But perhaps they aren't waifs," said the stout one. "Are you waifs,
darlings?"
"No; saves," said George. "An' Willum comin' soon."
"I see it all," said the stout one suddenly, "it's as clear as
daylight. William's the burglar. He's sent them to help him effect an
entrance."
"Oo, I'm hungry," said John.
His plaint broke suddenly into a loud howl, in which George joined.
Their united efforts produced a noise that made the tall lady lean back
against the wall with eyes closed and a hand on her head, and sent the
young man flying into the kitchen.
"Where's the larder?" he cried desperately. "Food! Food at any price!
He said he'd get in necessities. Do something ... anything.... They'll
have fits or something!"
"Oh, I can't bear it," moaned the tall lady faintly.
The young man came running back with a pot of honey and a pot of jam.
He handed one to each of the twins, and the yells subsided. The tall
lady opened her eyes, and the young man mopped his brow.
"I can't stand any more of this," he said. "I've come here to work
quietly. If they go with the house, I shan't be able to work any way at
all."
"Dear nephew," said the tall lady, "we will never desert you."
"It's awfully good of you, aunt," he said hastily. "But I shouldn't
dream of presuming on your kindness. You were only coming to settle me
in, you know."
"Before I go," she said with firmness, "I must solve the mystery of
these dear children."
She took up their labels again, and studied them with knitted brows.
"I've come to the definite conclusion," she said at last, "that it's a
code.... It's some kind of message."
"But who from?" said the other.
"Give me time," she answered with dignity. "I must decipher the code
first."
They all looked at the twins. George smiled through a thick covering of
honey. John smiled through a thick covering of jam. They sat in pools
of jam and honey.
"He'll make me pay for that," said the young man. "He'll say I'm
responsible."
"You are, dear, legally," said the stout one brightly. "Now, I'm going
to talk to these dear children, and get to the bottom of this. Now,
darlings, who's William?"
"Willum's nice!" said George.
"Yes, darling, but what does he do? Who is he?"
"Willum sells us!" said John proudly.
"He doesn't sell little boys, surely!" said the tall lady, aghast.
George and John nodded their heads.
"Yiss, he does."
"He's not your father, is he?"
"Oh, no," they chorussed. "He's Willum. He sells us."
* * * * *
"A kidnapper!" said the stout lady sharply. "That's it. A kidnapper! We
must get to the bottom of this. We must confront the man...."
"I still think," said the other dreamily, "that it's a--plant--or a
code."
"Do you know where William lives?" asked the stout lady of George.
"Oh, yiss!" said George proudly.
"I will confront this man," she said dramatically, "and you must
support me."
The young man groaned.
"It's all like a nightmare," he said. "It'll knock me off work for
months."
"Couldn't you use it?" suggested the stout lady. "It would make a most
sensational plot ... the mysterious children ... the code ... the----"
"Thank you," said the young man coldly, "I don't go in for sensational
plots."
The procession set out--first, John and the stout lady, then George and
the thin lady, then the young man, wearing a set agonised expression.
"And I came here for quiet and rest," he muttered pathetically.
"Take us to William's house, darling," said the stout lady to John.
"We ought to have brought some sort of a weapon," said her sister
grimly.
"Vivian will protect us," said the other bravely.
Vivian groaned again in the gathering dusk.
The twins had led the procession on to the common with every sign of
confidence, but now they stopped.
"Want more _dam_," said John.
"Wanner go _home_," said George.
"We'll just go down this path and see if it leads anywhere," said the
short lady uncertainly. "Vivian will stay with the children."
They returned in a few minutes.
"Nothing to be seen--absolutely nothing. It's most unfortunate. Vivian,
where are the children?"
Vivian, who was leaning against a tree, his eyes dreamily fixed on the
distance, roused himself.
"What children?... Oh, damn! I'd forgotten them.... Here, aren't they?
Just messing about ... they were.... I'd just got an idea when you
disturbed me."
"But the children?" gasped the stout one, staring wildly round the dim
landscape. The young man ran his fingers through his hair. The thin
lady gave a little scream.
"It was all a plot. They've led us to a lonely spot, and now someone's
going to murder us."
"They'll be all right," said the young man, miserably. "Children always
are. I'm getting a cold. Let's go home."
"Don't be foolish," said the stout one sternly. "I will not move from
this spot till I have found the children. If necessary I will search
all night and you with me."
They began to trudge wearily in single file along the narrow path.
"Oo, someone's coming," screamed the thin lady. "Let us be brave....
Offer no resistance.... They're sure to be desperate.... Vivian, for my
sake, don't be rash.... Don't kill anyone."
But it was another little procession that was approaching them, as
weary-looking as their own. At the head walked a woman in a tall toque.
At the end walked a small boy with freckles and untidy hair and a
dejected expression. They peered into each other's faces.
"Have you seen two little boys?" they all began simultaneously.
"John," said the twins' mother.
"George," said the stout lady.
Then the thin lady and the twins' mother had hysterics.
* * * * *
It was William who found them in a dry ditch near by. They were fast
asleep, with blissful smiles upon their mouths, besmeared with jam and
honey. They awoke and stared in amazement at the crowd of friends and
relations.
"Nice William!" murmured George sleepily.
"Wanner be a save adain," said John. "Want more dam!"