GEORGIE AND THE OUTLAWS
It seemed to the Outlaws that before George Murdoch came to live at
the Laurels they had led comparatively peaceful lives. They had not
at any rate been subjected to relentless and unceasing persecution as
they were now. It was not Georgie who persecuted them. It was their
own parents. But I will explain the connection between the advent of
Georgie Murdoch and the persecution of the Outlaws. Before Georgie came
to the Laurels the Outlaws’ parents had realised that the Outlaws were
characterised chiefly by roughness, untidiness, unpunctuality, lack of
cleanliness and various kindred vices. They mentioned these faults to
their possessors in a manner expressive of a resigned disgust several
times a day. But they always said to each other, “Well, boys will be
boys,” or, “They’re all as bad as each other,” or, “I’ve never known a
boy who wasn’t like that.” They were in fact consoled by the reflection
that the Perfect Boy did not exist.
And then George Murdoch came to live at the Laurels and Georgie Murdoch
was the Perfect Boy.
The effect upon the Outlaws’ parents was dynamic.
No longer did they view their offspring with resigned disgust and
tell themselves and each other that boys would be boys, for was not
Georgie Murdoch a walking refutation of the theory. Georgie Murdoch’s
whole existence proved conclusively that boys needn’t be boys. So with
renewed vigour and a perseverance that was worthy of a better cause
the Outlaws’ parents set to work to uproot those vices of roughness,
untidiness, unpunctuality and lack of cleanliness that hitherto they
had treated, not indeed with encouragement, but with a certain
resignation. Day after day the Outlaws heard the never-ceasing refrain,
“George Murdoch doesn’t behave like that,” “You never see Georgie
Murdoch looking like that,” “Nonsense, Georgie Murdoch can make his
hair stay tidy and his face stay clean, so why can’t you?” or, “watch
the way Georgie Murdoch eats.”...
But the time was come to describe George Murdoch in more detail.
Georgie Murdoch was ten years of age. He was neat and tidy and
methodical and clean and only spoke when he was spoken to and always
did what he was told. He hated messy things like mud and water and clay
and sand and he disliked rough games. He had very beautiful manners and
was much in request at afternoon teas. He never forgot to say, “How
do you do?” and “Yes, please,” and “No, thank you,” and “how _very_
kind of you,” and he never had been known to drop a cup or knock over
a cake stand. In summer he always dressed in white and could make one
suit do for three days. That gives you a pretty good idea of Georgie
Murdoch’s personal habits. It is hardly necessary to add that he loved
his lessons and thought that the holidays were far too long.
When first the Murdochs came to live in the village, the Outlaws were
prepared to receive Georgie with friendliness. His fame as the World’s
Most Perfect Boy had not preceded him. All they knew was that he was
about their own age and of their sex and they were ready to make the
best of him.
Mrs. Brown met him first when she went to call on his mother.
“He’s _such_ a nice little boy, William,” was her verdict on her
return, “I’ve asked him to come to tea to-morrow because I’d like
you to make friends with him. He’s just about your age, and _so_
well-mannered.”
This description was not encouraging, and whatever enthusiasm William
may previously have felt for the new-comer waned.
“Can I have some of the others to tea as well, mother?” he asked
with an air of engaging innocence. But unfortunately William’s mother
remembered the last occasion when “the others” had been asked to help
William entertain a little stranger. William and “the others,” after
a short test of the little stranger’s capacities which the little
stranger had failed to pass with credit, had gone off for the afternoon
on their own devices, leaving the little stranger to his. After
wandering round the garden once and finding in it few possibilities
of amusement the little stranger had returned home--just half an
hour after he had left it. Mrs. Brown wasn’t going to have any more
_contretemps_ like that. So she said very firmly, “_No_, William.”
“All right,” acquiesced William with an air of weary patience, “I was
only thinkin’ of _him_. I was only thinkin’ that p’raps he’d sort of
enjoy it better if there was more of us to play with.”
But Mrs. Brown again said, “_No_, William,” meaningly, and William,
who had a suspicion that she remembered their entertaining of the
last little stranger, forebore to press the point. So William was the
solitary host when George arrived. The prospect of being the solitary
host had depressed him all morning, and the sight of Georgie’s trim
little figure in its spotless white sailor suit threw him into a state
of despair that was almost homicidal in its intensity. He’d had a
horrible suspicion all along that Georgie would be like that. And a
whole afternoon with him ... a _whole_ afternoon!
Mrs. Brown, however, gave Georgie a kindly smile of welcome as she
received him.
“How _nice_ to see you, dear,” she said, “I’m so glad you could come.
This is my little boy, William. He’s been _so_ much looking forward to
your visit. I hope you’re going to be great friends. How nice you look,
dear. I wish William could only keep as clean and tidy as that. He gets
so untidy.”
Georgie moved so as to get a better view of William. He looked him up
and down and finally said:
“Yes, he _does_ look untidy, doesn’t he?” To which momentous
announcement he added complacently, “I hardly ever seem to get untidy.”
“Well,” said Mrs. Brown, temporarily taken aback “will you play with
William till tea time, dear?... nothing _rough_, mind, William.”
“No,” agreed Georgie, “I don’t like rough games.”
William, who by this time hated Georgie with a hatred which was the
more bitter because Georgie was robbing him of a whole afternoon which
might have been spent with his beloved Outlaws, led Georgie into the
garden. They walked down to the bottom of the garden. Then William said
distantly:
“What would you like to play at?”
“Don’t mind,” said Georgie.
“Hide an’ Seek?” said William.
This puerile suggestion was intended as a subtle insult, but Georgie
took it seriously. He considered it in silence and at last said, “No,
thank you. Hide and Seek generally ends in getting so rough.”
For a moment William had not believed his ears, but Georgie added
calmly:
“It generally ends by being a _very_ nasty rough game.”
William swallowed and gazed at him helplessly. Then he suggested, more
out of curiosity than from any other reason:
“Like to play Red Indians?”
“Red Indians?” queried that astounding child as if he had not heard of
the game before.
“Yes,” said William, almost speechless with amazement. “Scoutin’ each
other through the bushes an’ makin’ a fire, an’----”
But an expression of horror had overspread Georgie’s smug countenance.
“Oh, _no_,” he said firmly, “I don’t want to get my suit dirty.”
William recovered with an effort.
“Well,” he said at last, “what _would_ you like to do?”
“Let’s go for a nice quiet walk, shall we?” said Georgie brightly.
So they went for a nice quiet walk--straight along the road to the
village. William at first made an effort to fulfil his duties as host
by pointing out the objects of interest of the neighbourhood.
“There’s a robin’s nest in that hedge,” he said.
“I know,” said Georgie.
“That’s Bunker’s Hill over there.”
“I know,” said Georgie.
“That was a Clouded Yellow,” as a butterfly flitted past.
“I know.”
“They’ve got sort of scent bags on their wings.”
“I know.”
“What sort of a bird is that flying over there?” challenged William.
“Well, what sort is it?”
“A starling.”
“I knew it was.”
William then tired of the conversation and began to while away the
tedium of the journey as best he could by more active measures.
Georgie, however, refused to take part in them. Georgie refused to
jump over the ditch with William because he said he might fall in.
He refused to walk on the fence with William because he said that he
might fall off. He refused to swing on the gate with William because
he said it might dirty his suit. He refused to climb a tree for the
same reason. He refused to race William to the end of the road because,
he said, it was rough. William was only deterred by his position as
host and by Georgie’s protective one year’s minority from forcibly
making Georgie acquainted with the contents of the ditch as the inner
prompting of his heart bade him to. Instead he leapt to and fro across
the ditch (falling in only twice), swung on the gate, walked on the
fence (over-balancing once) and trailed his toes in the dust in
solitary glory, ignoring his companion entirely.
“What _will_ your mother say?” said his companion once disapprovingly.
William received the remark with scornful silence.
When they returned to the Brown homestead Georgie was as immaculate as
when he had set out, while William bore many and visible marks of his
fallings into the ditch and on to the road and swinging on gates and
climbing trees.
“_William!_” said Mrs. Brown, “you look _awful_ ... and look at
Georgie--how clean and neat he is still.”
“Yes,” said Georgie looking at William with marked distaste, “I _told_
him not to. I _said_ you wouldn’t like it, but he wouldn’t take any
notice of me.”
* * * * *
The next day William met the Outlaws by appointment and gloomily told
them the worst.
“And he’s come to _live_ here,” he ended with passionate disgust, “him
and his white suits.”
“And we shall _all_ have to have him to tea,” said Ginger.
“And our mothers’ll _never_ stop talkin’ about him,” said Douglas.
“And he’ll prob’ly get worse the more we know him,” said Henry.
“Him an’ his white suits!” repeated William morosely.
All these fears proved to be well founded.
As Ginger had predicted, they all had to have him to tea, and on each
occasion Georgie remained clean and tidy and immaculate in his white
suit and said at the end to his host’s mother, “Yes, I told him not to.
I _said_ you wouldn’t like it.” And when the guest had departed the
host’s mother said to the host:
“How I _wish_ that you were a little more like Georgie Murdoch.”
Henry’s prediction was also fulfilled. For Georgie did get worse the
more they knew him. In addition to the vices of personal cleanliness
and exquisite manners he possessed that of tale-bearing. He was a
frequent visitor at the Outlaws’ houses. He would gaze at William’s
mother with a wistful smile and say, “Please, Mrs. Brown, I’m so sorry
to disturb you but I think I ought to tell you that William is paddling
in the stream after you told him not to,” or, “Please, Mrs. Flowerdew,
I’m so sorry to disturb you, but Ginger ’n’ Henry’s throwing mud at
each other down the road an’ getting in _such_ a mess. I thought you
ought to know.”
And the Outlaws couldn’t get their own back. Georgie would never fight
because it might dirty his suit, and any personal attacks upon Georgie
(however mild) were faithfully reported by the attacked in person to
the parent of the attacker.
“Please, Mrs. Brown, William’s just pushed me over and hurt me.”
“Please, Mrs. Flowerdew, Ginger’s just banged into me and made quite
a bruise on my arm.” Moreover the Outlaws seemed to have a strong
fascination for Georgie. He followed them around, watching their
pursuits from a safe and cleanly distance, generally eating chocolate
creams which he never offered to the Outlaws, and which never seemed
to leave any traces on his face. Whenever any elders were in hearing
Georgie would raise his voice and say in a tone of horror, “Oh, you
_naughty_ boy! What _will_ your mother say?” and having attracted the
elder’s attention and interference he would say sorrowfully, “I told
him not to. I _knew_ you wouldn’t like it.”
Yet such was the power of his white suit, his clean face, his sweet
smile, his beautiful manners that Georgie was always referred to by the
grown-ups of the neighbourhood as “_Such_ a dear little boy.”
The Outlaws bore it as long as they could, and then they held a meeting
to decide what could be done about it. It was not on the whole a
very successful meeting. William kept muttering, “We’ve gotter _do_
something ... him and his white suits.”
But not one of the Outlaws, usually so prolific in ideas of every sort,
could think of any sort of plan to meet the case.
“S’no good doin’ anythin’ to _him_,” said Ginger bitterly, “’f you
just _touch_ him he goes an’ tells your mother.”
“Oh, you naughty boys!” mimicked Henry shrilly. “What will your mothers
say? I told him not to, I said you wouldn’t like it.”
As an imitation it was rather good, but the Outlaws were not in a mood
to be entertained by imitations of Georgie.
“Oh, shut up!” said William. “S’ bad enough hearin’ _him_ sayin’ it.”
“Well, let’s think of something to _do_,” said Ginger again.
“I wish you wun’t keep sayin’ that,” said William irritably.
“Well I’ll stop when you’ve _thought_ of something,” said Ginger.
“Think of somethin’ yourself,” snapped William.
As you will gather from this conversation the perfect little gentleman
was having a wearing effect upon the Outlaws’ nerves. Henry, with a
sudden gleam of inspiration, suggested haunting the Murdoch homestead
by night, robed in a sheet, till the Murdochs should depart in terror
to some other part of England, taking the perfect little gentleman with
them, but it was decided, after a brief and acrimonious discussion,
that this was not feasible. It was more likely that the Murdochs would
investigate the alleged ghost and discover the concealed Outlaw, and
also it might prove difficult to gain egress from the parental home and
ingress into the Murdoch home at the rather awkward hours suitable for
“haunting.”
The only other suggestion came from Douglas who had got full marks for
Scripture the week before.
“I think Joseph must have been a bit like Georgie,” he said. “I--I
s’pose we couldn’t take him right away somewhere and leave him in a pit
same as what they did, an’ take his coat home an’ say a wild animal ate
him?”
The Outlaws considered this alluring suggestion, but feared that it
would be impracticable.
“There aren’t any pits or wild animals like that in England in these
days,” said William mournfully.
The Outlaws sighed, thinking--not for the first time--that the vaunted
benefits of civilisation were more than nullified by its hampering
elements.
“Well, we aren’t any nearer _doin’_ anythin’,” said Ginger.
“There dun’t seem anythin’ to do,” said William, whose gloom had been
deepened by the thought of the simplicity of Joseph’s brethren’s
problem compared with theirs.
“An’ he’s gettin’ worse an’ _worse_,” groaned Douglas.
“They’re havin’ a garden party next week,” contributed Henry, “an’
we’ll all have to go.”
“An’ watch him in his white suit,” put in William bitterly.
“Handin’ cakes an’ telling tales,” put in Ginger to complete the
picture.
“What do they want goin’ havin’ _garden_ parties for?” said William
fiercely.
Henry, who was rather “up” in the Murdoch news owing to the fact that
Mrs. Murdoch had been to tea with his mother the day before, answered
him.
“Well, they’ve got a sort of cousin what’s famous comin’ to stay with
them an’ they want to sort of show him off,” he said, translating
freely from the conversation he had overheard the day before, “so
they’re goin’ to ask everyone to meet him at a garden party.”
“How’d he get famous?” said William with mournful interest.
“Writin’ plays,” said Henry.
William groaned.
“He’ll be worse than ever,” he said, referring not to the writer of
plays but to the perfect little gentleman.
The meeting broke up without having arrived at any satisfactory plan,
though Henry still cherished the haunting idea and Douglas still
considered that something might be done in the pit and wild beast line.
The next day the famous cousin arrived at the Murdoch’s and was proudly
paraded through the village by Georgie resplendent in a new white
suit and a smile that was more smug and complacent than ever. Close
observers might have noticed that the famous cousin looked bored.
The next few days, however, were--outside their homes--days of respite
for the Outlaws. For Georgie was too busy with the famous cousin to be
able to spare any time for the Outlaws, and the Outlaws could wallow in
the mud, climb trees, and turn somersaults in the road to their heart’s
content without hearing the shrill little refrain, “Oh, you _naughty_
boys! what _will_ your mothers say ... I _told_ them not to do it ... I
_said_ you wouldn’t like it.”
I said “outside their homes.” For inside their homes things were if
possible worse. For the interest of the whole village was, thanks to
the visit of the famous cousin, now concentrated upon the Murdochs.
“I met little Georgie Murdoch out with his cousin to-day. He introduced
me _so_ nicely. I only wish that I thought _you’d_ ever be half so
polite,” or, “I met little Georgie Murdoch in the village this morning.
He’d gone to post a letter for his cousin. He looked _so_ nice and
clean. How I wish _you_ could keep like that.”
As the days of the garden party approached the gloom of the Outlaws
deepened.
But they knew that no excuses would avail them. They would have to go
there and watch Georgie being “more sick’nin’ than ever,” as Henry put
it, parading his famous cousin, showing off his beautiful manners and
basking in the admiration of all the guests.... And after that he’d be
more unbearable even than he had been before.
Fate seemed to be on the side of the Murdochs. The day of the garden
party was warm and sunny and cloudless so that the garden party
(contrary to its English custom) really could be a garden party and
little Georgie could wear one of his white suits.
William set off to the festivity with his mother, engulfed in gloom
and his Sunday suit and looking more as if bound for a funeral than a
garden party.
They found a large crowd already assembled and in the middle of it was
Georgie wearing his newest and whitest suit and smiling his smuggest
smile, and with his golden curls glinting in the sunshine....
“Isn’t he a dear little boy?” heard William on all sides, and “He’s
_such_ a little gentleman,” and then from his mother the inevitable, “I
wish _you_ could behave like that, William.”
William looked about him and soon picked out Ginger and Henry
and Douglas all in similar plight. Their mothers too were gazing
rapturously at Georgie and telling their sons how they wished that they
could ever behave like that or ever look like that or ever speak like
that or ever keep as clean and tidy as that. And the Outlaws (who were
quite used to it by this time) bore it in scornful silence.
Then William noticed the famous cousin. He was standing in the
background watching Georgie, not with the radiant pleasure with which
the mothers watched him, but with an expression more akin to that with
which the Outlaws watched him. This caused William a passing interest
which however he soon forgot in his deep passionate loathing of the
perfect little gentleman.
Gradually the Outlaws eluded the maternal escorts and foregathered on
the outskirts of the throng.
“Let’s get out of this,” said Ginger gloomily.
They wandered down a small path that led off from the lawn and finally
reached the rather muddy pond which the Murdochs dignified by the name
of “lake.” The Outlaws gazed at it gloomily. In ordinary circumstances
it would have suggested a dozen enthralling games, but the Outlaws,
encased in Sunday suits, and more or less clean and tidy, felt that
any straying from the paths of strict decorum upon this occasion would
be simply playing into the hands of the enemy. They wandered morosely
into a small summer-house that stood near the banks of the pond, and
there they held a further consultation. Feeling against William was
running high. What after all was the use of a leader who could not cope
with an emergency like this...?
“’Straordinary,” said Ginger aloofly, “’Straordinary that you can’t
think of anythin’ to _do_.”
William glared at Ginger. He couldn’t for the moment even fight old
Ginger, which would have been something of a relief to his feelings. So
he merely retorted coldly, “’Straordinary you can’t think of anythin’
to do yourself.”
And Henry said gloomily, “And he gets sickniner an’ sickniner.”
“He certainly does,” said a strange voice.
The Outlaws looked up to see the famous cousin lolling negligently
against the side of the doorway of the summer-house.
“You are referring, I presume,” he said, “to our little host, Georgie
the Terrible.”
“Yes, we are,” said William belligerently, “an’----an’ I don’t care if
you _tellem_.”
“Oh, I shan’t tell them,” said the famous cousin carelessly. “I’ve
thought far worse things about Georgie than you could ever put into
words.”
“Uh?” said William, surprised.
“You only see him occasionally. For this week I’ve seen him every day.”
“Uh?” said William again.
“I’ve suffered,” went on the famous cousin, “more deeply than you
can ever have suffered. Georgie is, as it were, branded into my very
soul. I have often wondered why--My hands, of course, are tied. I
am the guest of Georgie’s parents. Battery and assault upon Georgie
would therefore ill become me. But _you_----” he looked at them
scornfully--“that one--two--three--four boys your size can continue to
allow Georgie to exist as he is passes my comprehension.”
“’S’all very well talkin’ like that,” said William indignantly, “but
he’s such a little _sneak_! We can’t do anythin’ to him that he doesn’t
go an’ tell our mothers an’ then we get into trouble an’ he gets more
sickenin’ than ever.”
“Sickniner an’ _sickniner_,” murmured Henry again dejectedly.
“I see,” said the stranger judicially, “I fully appreciate the
difficulty.... Er--may I join the conference?”
He entered the summer-house and sat down next William.
“Have you,” he said, “discussed any plan of action?”
“Lots,” said William. “Douglas wanted to put him in a pit an’ say wild
beasts had eaten him.”
“Same as they did Joseph in the Bible,” explained Douglas.
“Ingenious,” commented the stranger, “but impracticable.... Now we want
to approach the matter in a scientific frame of mind. Before fixing on
a plan of action you should always study the enemy’s weaknesses. Has
the egregious Georgie any weaknesses?”
“_Has_ he?” said William bitterly, “he tells tales an’ won’t play games
an’----”
The famous cousin raised his hand.
“Pardon me,” he said, “those are vices, not weaknesses. In my sojourn
with Georgie I have noticed two weaknesses. He will never own to
ignorance even on the most abstruse subjects, and he is passionately
fond of chocolate creams. Did you know that?”
“Y--yes. S’pose so,” said William, “but I don’t see how it will help.”
“Ah ... you must somehow _make_ it help. A good general always utilises
his enemy’s weak points.... I can’t of course suggest or connive at
any plan of action, but I’ll help you. I’ll tell you what I’ll do.
I’ll offer a two pound box of chocolate creams as a prize for some
competition. That brings in one weakness. I leave it to your ingenuity
to make good use of the other. Georgie would, I believe, do anything
for chocolate creams--I wish you good luck. Good day.”
The famous cousin disappeared leaving the Outlaws gaping and mystified.
But his visit had heartened them. The knowledge that one grown up at
least saw Georgie the Perfect Little Gentleman as he really was gave
them a fresh confidence in the righteousness of their cause. Their
despondency dropped from them.
“Let’s go back to the others,” said William briskly, “an’ see what he’s
goin’ to say about the chocolate creams.”
They emerged on the lawn and made their way to the group around Mrs.
Murdoch. Beside Mrs. Murdoch stood Georgie still immaculately clean and
smugly smiling, with curls that glinted in the sun.
“Isn’t it _too_ kind of my cousin,” Mrs. Murdoch was saying. “Yes,
he loves children. He’s _passionately_ attached to Georgie. He wants
the children to do a little _scene_--he’s passionately interested in
literature, of course, being one himself--a little scene from English
history--any part of English history--my cousin’s _passionately_ fond
of English history--and he’s offered a two pound box of chocolate
creams as a prize to the child who acts the best.... Collect your
little friends, Georgie, darling.” Georgie’s eyes were still gleaming
from the mention of chocolate creams, “and you might go down to the
summer-house to talk things over and then come back and act your little
scene to us here.”
Georgie, the Outlaws and a few odds and ends of children who do not
really come into the story, drifted down to the summer-house. The
Outlaws looked at Georgie. Georgie’s eyes still gleamed. Then they
looked at William, and with a great relief at their hearts they read in
William’s sphinx-like face that at last he was justifying his position
as leader. He had a plan.
[Illustration: THE OUTLAWS EMERGED ON THE LAWN AND MADE THEIR WAY
DISGUSTEDLY TOWARDS THE GROUP AROUND MRS. MURDOCH.]
[Illustration: “MY COUSIN’S OFFERED A BOX OF CHOCOLATE CREAMS AS A
PRIZE TO THE ONE WHO ACTS BEST,” MRS. MURDOCH WAS SAYING. GEORGIE’S
EYES GLEAMED.]
First of all William kindly but firmly gathered together the odds and
ends and despatched them to the kitchen garden.
“There’s too many of us for one scene,” he explained, “so we’ll do one
scene and you do another scene. An’ we’d better get right away from
each other so’s not to disturb each other ... so you just go’n make
up your scene in the kitchen garden where nobody’ll disturb you an’
we’ll stay an’ make up ours here. Georgie’ll show you the way to the
kitchen garden.”
And while Georgie was showing them the way to the kitchen garden
William unfolded his plan to the Outlaws. The odds and ends had fully
intended to discuss the scenes from English history in the kitchen
garden, but they discovered a bed of ripe strawberries, and considering
a strawberry in the hand worth two scenes from English history in the
bush, decided to leave the Past to its peaceful sleep and concentrate
wholly upon the Present.... So they don’t come into the story any more.
Georgie returned to the Outlaws in the summer-house. Upon his face was
a resolute determination to win that box of chocolate creams at all
costs.
“What’ll we act?” he said eagerly.
“Well,” said William thoughtfully, “he was down here talkin’ to us
a few minutes ago an’ he said that his favourite period in English
history was King John.”
“We’ll do King John then,” said Georgie firmly.
“He said that his favourite part of King John was where he came back
from losing his things in the Wash.”
“We’ll do that then,” said Georgie hastily.
“Who’ll be King John?” said William.
“_I’ll_ be King John,” said Georgie.
“All right,” said William with unexpected amenity, “an’ shall Ginger
an’ me be your two heralds an’ Douglas and Henry your servants or
somethin’?”
“Yes,” said Georgie, and added, “You needn’t _do_ anythin’ but jus’
stand there--any of you. I’ll do the actin’.”
“All right,” agreed William, still with disarming humility. “You know
all about the story, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course I do.”
“About how King John went into the Wash tryin’ to find his things----”
“Yes, I know all that.”
“An’ the Wash was a kind of a bog----”
“Yes, I know.”
“An’ he came out all muddy but couldn’t find his things ’cause they’d
sunk in the mud.”
“Yes, I know.”
“An’ he came to his two servants called Dam an’ Blarst----”
“Called----?”
“_Fancy_ you not knowin’ about King John’s servants bein’ called Dam
an’ Blarst!”
“I _did_ know,” said Georgie, “I’ve known it for _ever_ so long....
What did you say they were called?”
“Dam and Blarst.”
“Dam and Blarst. Of _course_ I knew.”
“Well, let’s get you ready for bein’ King John.... S’no good goin’ on
as King John lookin’ like that when you’re s’posed to’ve just come out
of a bog looking for your things ... no one’d give anyone a prize for
_that_.”
“I’m not going to get myself all muddy, so there!”
“All right,” said William, “_I_’ll be King John. I don’t care.”
“No, I’m going to be King John,” persisted Georgie.
“Well, you can’t be King John,” said William firmly, “if you don’t get
yourself a bit muddy like what he was when he come back from losin’ his
things in the Wash. It’ll easy come off afterwards. Jus’ take off your
shoes an’ stockings an’ paddle about a bit at the edge of the pond. You
needn’t mess up anythin’ but jus’ your feet.”
There was a silence in which Georgie’s love of chocolate creams fought
with his instincts of cleanliness and put them to flight.
“All right,” he said, “I don’t mind muddying my feet just a _bit_.”
He took off his shoes and stockings. William and Ginger took off theirs
too.
“Just to help you Georgie,” they said, “and to stop you fallin’ in or
anythin’.”
They held him firmly on either side, and walked him down to the pond.
“Jus’ because we wun’t like you to fall an’ mess up your suit,” said
William.
“Be careful, Georgie,” said Ginger, “don’ go too far.”
“Be careful, Georgie,” said William, “mind you don’t fall.”
At last they returned to the bank.
“Nice sort of _help_ you were,” said Georgie indignantly, “why, you
made me go in _lots_ further than I meant to and, look, you’ve got mud
all over my trousers.”
“Sorry, Georgie,” said William meekly, “that was where I splashed you
by mistake, wasn’t it? Shall I be King John if you don’t like it?”
“No, I’m goin’ to be King John,” said Georgie. “Well, shall we go and
do it now?”
William looked at him doubtfully. Georgie was gloriously muddy as far
as his lower regions were concerned but his face and blouse were still
spotlessly clean and his curls still glinted in the sun.
“It’s not _quite_ right yet, Georgie,” he said gently. “Don’ you
remember how in History King John _dived_ into the Wash after his
things?”
“Yes, I know,” said Georgie, “I know all about that.”
“Well, s’no good you goin’ actin’ King John an’ not lookin’ as if you’d
jus’ dived into a bog,” said William.
“I tell you,” said Georgie indignantly, “I’m not goin’ to put any more
nasty mud on me.”
“All right,” said William kindly, “let Ginger be King John ... _he_
won’t mind.”
“No, _I’m_ goin’ to be King John,” said Georgie.
“We’ll jus’ put a bit of mud on your hair then,” said William
persuasively, “it’ll soon wash off an’ it would be awfully nice if you
got the prize, Georgie.”
“All right,” said Georgie relenting, “but only a _little_, mind.”
“Oh, yes, Georgie,” said William, “only a _little_....”
[Illustration: “YOU’RE ONLY PUTTING A _LITTLE_ ON, AREN’T YOU?” GEORGIE
ASKED ANXIOUSLY.
“OH, YES, GEORGIE,” WILLIAM REASSURED HIM--“ONLY A LITTLE.”]
They plastered his head and face with mud from the pond and dropped a
goodly portion of it upon his blouse. Fortunately Georgie could not
see his upper half very well.
“You’re only putting a _little_ on, aren’t you?” he asked anxiously.
“Oh, yes, Georgie,” William reassured him, “only a little. Now you
look _lovely_. You look jus’ like King John after he’d been tryin’ to
find his things in the Wash--divin’ in for ’em an’ all....”
Certainly the perfect little gentleman was unrecognisable. His suit was
covered with mud, his hair was caked with mud, his face was streaked
with mud. He had waded in mud. His smile, though still there, was
almost invisible. No longer did his curls glint in the sun.
“Now let’s start, shall we?” said William, his spirits rising as he
gazed at his handiwork. “First of all I’ll go on with Ginger--we’re
your heralds you know--and we’ll say you’re coming; ‘Make way for King
John’ or somethin’ like that. Then you come on with Henry and Douglas
and you speak to ’em. You know what King John said to ’em in History,
don’t you?”
“Yes, of course I do,” said Georgie. “What did he say?”
“He just looked at ’em an’ said, ‘Oh Dam and Blarst (their names, you
know) I cannot find my things.’”
“Of course I knew he said that.”
“Well, you jus’ say that to ’em and----shall we start? I say, Georgie,
you do make a _fine_ King John.”
“Oh, I bet I’ll win the prize all right,” said Georgie complacently
from beneath his mud.
The grown-ups sat in an expectant semicircle, smiling indulgently.
“I do so _love_ to see little children acting,” said one. “They’re
always so sweet and natural.”
“I wish you’d seen Georgie last Christmas,” murmured Georgie’s mother,
“as Prince Charming in a little children’s pantomime we got up. I had
his photograph taken. I’ll show it to you afterwards.”
Just then William and Ginger appeared. They had replaced their
stockings and shoes and looked for William and Ginger unusually neat
and tidy.
“Well, dears,” said Mrs. Murdoch smiling, “have you chosen your little
scene yet?”
“No,” said William, “we can’t get on with it with Georgie messin’ about
the pond all the time.”
At that moment Georgie, imagining that William and Ginger had heralded
his approach with all ceremony, came proudly into view from behind
the bushes, followed by Douglas and Henry. The mud from the pond was
a peculiarly concentrated kind of mud and Georgie had wallowed in it
from head to foot. One could only guess at his white suit and glinting
curls. But through it shone Georgie’s eyes in rapturous anticipation of
a two pound box of chocolate creams.
William and Ginger gazed at him in well simulated horror.
“Oh, Georgie, you _naughty_ boy!” said William.
“What _will_ your mother say?” said Ginger.
Douglas and Henry stepped forward.
“We _told_ him not to,” said Douglas.
“We _knew_ you wouldn’t like it,” said Henry to the speechless Mrs.
Murdoch.
Georgie felt that something had gone wrong somewhere but he was
determined to do his part at any rate to win those chocolate creams.
He looked at Henry and Douglas. “Oh, Dam and Blarst----” he began, but
the uproar drowned the rest.
With a scream of horror audible a mile away Mrs. Murdoch seized the
perfect little gentleman by the arm and hurried him indoors.
* * * * *
Georgie explained as best he could. He explained that he was meant to
be King John returning from the Wash and that Dam and Blarst were his
two servants. But explanations were unavailing. No explanation could
wipe out from the memories of those present that astounding picture of
Georgie Murdoch standing in the middle of the lawn caked with black mud
from head to foot and saying, “Oh, damn and blast!”
The party broke up after that. No festive atmosphere could have
survived that shock. The Outlaws, clean and neat and sphinx-like and
silent, accompanied their parents home.
“_Well_,” said the parents, “I’d never have believed _that_ of Georgie
Murdoch!”
“_Caked_ with mud!”
“And such _language_!”
“It shows that you never can _tell_.”
A close observer might have gathered that at heart the Outlaws’ parents
were almost as jubilant over Georgie’s downfall as were the Outlaws
themselves.
The famous cousin, who was by the gate as William took his leave,
managed to press a ten-shilling note into William’s hand.
“To be divided amongst your accomplices,” he murmured. “You
surpassed my highest expectation. As artist to artist I tend you my
congratulations.”
That, of course, is quite a good place to stop, but, there remains more
to be said.
The next day Georgie appeared once more, cleaner and neater than
ever and clad in a new white suit, walking decorously down the
village street and smiling complacently. But it was no use. Georgie’s
reputation was gone. It had so to speak vanished in a night. Georgie
might have paraded his clean white-clad figure and smug smile and
golden curls before the eyes of the village for a hundred years and yet
never wiped out the memory of that mud-caked little horror uttering
horrible oaths before the assembled aristocrats of the village.
At the end of the month the Murdochs sold their house and removed. They
told their new neighbours that there hadn’t been a boy in the place fit
for Georgie to associate with.
History does not relate what happened to the chocolate creams.
Perhaps the famous cousin ate them.