WILLIAM’S TRUTHFUL CHRISTMAS
William went to church with his family every Sunday morning but he did
not usually listen to the sermon. He considered it a waste of time. He
sometimes enjoyed singing the psalms and hymns. Any stone-deaf person
could have told when William was singing the psalms and hymns by the
expressions of pain on the faces of those around him. William’s singing
was loud and discordant. It completely drowned the organ and the choir.
Miss Barney, who stood just in front of him, said that it always gave
her a headache for the rest of the week. William contested with some
indignation that he had as good a right to sing in church as anyone.
Besides there was nothing wrong with his voice ... it was just like
everyone else’s....
During the Vicar’s sermon, William either stared at the curate (William
always scored in this game because the curate invariably began to grow
pink and look embarrassed after about five minutes of William’s stare)
or held a face-pulling competition with the red-haired choir boy or
amused himself with insects, conveyed to church in a match box in his
pocket, till restrained by the united glares of his father and mother
and Ethel and Robert....
But this Sunday, attracted by the frequent repetition of the word
“Christmas,” William put his stag beetle back into its box and gave his
whole attention to the Vicar’s exhortation....
“What is it that poisons our whole social life?” said the Vicar
earnestly. “What is it that spoils even the holy season that lies
before us? It is deceit. It is untruthfulness. Let each one of us
decide here and now for this season of Christmas at least, to cast
aside all deceit and hypocrisy and speak the truth one with another....
It will be the first step to a holier life. It will make this Christmas
the happiest of our lives....”
William’s attention was drawn from the exhortation by the discovery
that he had not quite closed the match box and the stag beetle was
crawling up Ethel’s coat. Fortunately Ethel was busily engaged in
taking in all the details of Marion Hatherley’s new dress across the
aisle and did not notice. William recaptured his pet and shut up the
match box ... then rose to join lustily and inharmoniously in the
first verse of “Onward, Christian Soldiers.” During the other verses
he employed himself by trying a perfectly new grimace (which he had
been practising all week) on the choir boy. It was intercepted by the
curate who shuddered and looked away hastily. The sight and sound of
William in the second row from the front completely spoilt the service
for the curate every Sunday. He was an æsthetic young man and William’s
appearance and personality hurt his sense of beauty....
But the words of the sermon had made a deep impression on William.
He decided for this holy season at least to cast aside deceit and
hypocrisy and speak the truth one with another.... William had not been
entirely without aspiration to a higher life before this. He had once
decided to be self sacrificing for a whole day and his efforts had been
totally unappreciated and misunderstood. He had once tried to reform
others and the result had been even more disastrous. But he’d never
made a real effort to cast aside deceit and hypocrisy and to speak the
truth one with another. He decided to try it at Christmas as the Vicar
had suggested.
Much to his disgust William heard that Uncle Frederick and Aunt Emma
had asked his family to stay with them for Christmas. He gathered that
the only drawback to the arrangement in the eyes of his family was
himself, and the probable effect of his personality on the peaceful
household of Uncle Frederick and Aunt Emma. He was not at all offended.
He was quite used to this view of himself.
“All right!” he said obligingly. “You jus’ go. I don’ mind. I’ll stay
at home ... you jus’ leave me money an’ my presents an’ I won’t mind a
bit.”
William’s spirits in fact soared sky-high at the prospect of such an
oasis of freedom in the desert of parental interference. But his family
betrayed again that strange disinclination to leave William to his own
devices that hampered so many of William’s activities.
“No, William,” said his mother. “We certainly can’t do that. You’ll
have to come with us but I do hope you’ll be good.”
William remembered the sermon and his good resolution.
“Well,” he said cryptically, “I guess ’f you knew what I was goin’ to
be like at Christmas you’d almost _want_ me to come.”
* * * * *
It happened that William’s father was summoned on Christmas Eve to the
sick bed of one of his aunts and so could not accompany them, but they
set off under Robert’s leadership and arrived safely.
Uncle Frederick and Aunt Emma were very stout and good-natured-looking,
but Uncle Frederick was the stouter and more good-natured-looking
of the two. They had not seen William since he was a baby. That
explained the fact of their having invited William and his family to
spend Christmas with them. They lived too far away to have heard even
rumours of the horror with which William inspired the grown-up world
around him. They greeted William kindly.
“So this is little William,” said Uncle Frederick, putting his hand on
William’s head. “And how is little William?”
William removed his head from Uncle Frederick’s hand in silence then
said distantly:
“V’ well, thank you.”
“And so grateful to your Uncle and Aunt for asking you to stay with
them, aren’t you, William?” went on his mother.
William remembered that his career of truthfulness did not begin till
the next day so he said still more distantly, “Yes.”
That evening Ethel said to her mother in William’s presence:
“Well, he’s not been so _bad_ to-day, considering.”
“You wait,” said William unctiously. “You wait till to-morrow when I
start castin’ aside deceit an’ ... an’. To-day’ll be _nothin’_ to it.”
* * * * *
William awoke early on Christmas day. He had hung up his stocking
the night before and was pleased to see it fairly full. He took out
the presents quickly but not very optimistically. He had been early
disillusioned in the matter of grown-ups’ capacity for choosing
suitable presents. Memories of prayer books and history books and socks
and handkerchiefs floated before his mental vision.... Yes, as bad as
ever! ... a case containing a pen and pencil and ruler, a new brush and
comb, a purse (empty) and a new tie ... a penknife and a box of toffee
were the only redeeming features. On the chair by his bedside was a
book of Church History from Aunt Emma and a box containing a pair of
compasses, a protractor and a set square from Uncle Frederick....
William dressed, but as it was too early to go down he sat down on
the floor and ate all his tin of toffee. Then he turned his attention
to his Church History book. He read a few pages but the character and
deeds of the saintly Aidan so exasperated him that he was driven to
relieve his feeling by taking his new pencil from its case and adorning
the saint’s picture by the addition of a top hat and spectacles. He
completed the alterations by a moustache and by changing the book the
saint held into an attaché case. He made similar alterations to every
picture in the book.... St. Oswald seemed much improved by them and
this cheered William considerably. Then he took his penknife and began
to carve his initials upon his brush and comb....
* * * * *
William appeared at breakfast wearing his new tie and having brushed
his hair with his new brush or rather with what was left of his
new brush after his very drastic initial carving. He carried under
his arm his presents for his host and hostess. He exchanged “Happy
Christmas” gloomily. His resolve to cast away deceit and hypocrisy
and speak the truth one with another lay heavy upon him. He regarded
it as an obligation that could not be shirked. William was a boy of
great tenacity of purpose. Having once made up his mind to a course he
pursued it regardless of consequences....
“Well, William, darling,” said his mother. “Did you find your presents?”
“Yes,” said William gloomily. “Thank you.”
“Did you like the book and instruments that Uncle and I gave you?” said
Aunt Emma brightly.
“No,” said William gloomily and truthfully. “I’m not int’rested in
Church History an’ I’ve got something like those at school. Not that
I’d want ’em,” he added hastily, “if I hadn’t ’em.”
“_William!_” screamed Mrs. Brown in horror. “How can you be so
ungrateful!”
“I’m not ungrateful,” explained William wearily. “I’m only bein’
truthful. I’m casting aside deceit an’ ... an’ hyp-hyp-what he said.
I’m only sayin’ that I’m not int’rested in Church History nor in those
inst’ments. But thank you very much for ’em.”
There was a gasp of dismay and a horrified silence during which William
drew his paper packages from under his arm.
“Here are your Christmas presents from me,” he said.
The atmosphere brightened. They unfastened their parcels with
expression of anticipation and Christian forgiveness upon their faces.
William watched them, his face “registering” only patient suffering.
“It’s very kind of you,” said Aunt Emma still struggling with the
string.
“It’s not kind,” said William still treading doggedly the path of
truth. “Mother said I’d got to bring you something.”
Mrs. Brown coughed suddenly and loudly but not in time to drown the
fatal words of truth....
“But still--er--very kind,” said Aunt Emma though with less enthusiasm.
At last she brought out a small pincushion.
“Thank you very much, William,” she said. “You really oughtn’t to have
spent your money on me like this.”
“I din’t,” said William stonily. “I hadn’t any money, but I’m very glad
you like it. It was left over from Mother’s stall at the Sale of Work,
an’ Mother said it was no use keepin’ it for nex’ year because it had
got so faded.”
Again Mrs. Brown coughed loudly but too late. Aunt Emma said coldly:
“I see. Yes. Your mother was quite right. But thank you all the same,
William.”
Uncle Frederick had now taken the wrappings from his present and held
up a leather purse.
“Ah, this is a really useful present,” he said jovially.
“I’m ’fraid it’s not very useful,” said William. “Uncle Jim sent it to
father for his birthday but father said it was no use ’cause the catch
wouldn’ catch so he gave it to me to give to you.”
Uncle Frederick tried the catch.
“Um ... ah ...” he said. “Your father was quite right. The catch won’t
catch. Never mind, I’ll send it back to your father as a New Year
present ... what?”
As soon as the Brown family were left alone it turned upon William in a
combined attack.
“I _warned_ you!” said Ethel to her mother.
“He ought to be hung,” said Robert.
“William, how _could_ you?” said Mrs. Brown.
“When I’m bad, you go on at me,” said William with exasperation, “an’
when I’m tryin’ to lead a holier life and cast aside hyp--hyp--what
he said, you go on at me. I dunno what I _can_ be. I don’t mind bein’
hung. I’d as soon be hung as keep havin’ Christmas over an’ over again
simply every year the way we do....”
* * * * *
William accompanied the party to church after breakfast. He was
slightly cheered by discovering a choir boy with a natural aptitude for
grimaces and an instinctive knowledge of the rules of the game. The
Vicar preached an unconvincing sermon on unselfishness and the curate
gave full play to an ultra-Oxford accent and a voice that was almost
as unmusical as William’s. Aunt Emma said it had been a “beautiful
service.” The only bright spot to William was when the organist boxed
the ears of the youngest choir boy who retaliated by putting out his
tongue at the organist at the beginning of each verse of the last
hymn....
William was very silent during lunch.... He simply didn’t know what
people saw in Christmas. It was just like ten Sundays rolled into
one.... An’ they didn’t even give people the sort of presents they’d
like.... No one all his life had ever given him a water pistol or a
catapult or a trumpet or bows and arrows or anything really useful....
And if they didn’t like truth an’ castin’ aside deceit an’--an’ the
other thing they could do without ... but he was jolly well goin’ to
go on with it. He’d made up his mind and he was jolly well goin’ to go
on with it.... His silence was greatly welcomed by his family. He ate
plentifully, however, of the turkey and plum pudding and felt strangely
depressed afterwards ... so much that he followed the example of the
rest of the family and went up to his bedroom....
There he brushed his hair with his new brush, but he had carved his
initials so deeply and spaciously that the brush came in two with
the first flourish. He brushed his shoes with the two halves with
great gusto in the manner of the professional shoe black.... Then
having nothing else to do, he turned to his Church History again. The
desecrated pictures of the Saints met his gaze and realising suddenly
the enormity of the crime in grown up eyes he took his penknife and cut
them all out. He made paper boats of them, and deliberately and because
he hated it he cut his new tie into strips to fasten some of the boats
together. He organised a thrilling naval battle with them and was
almost forgetting his grudge against life in general and Christmas in
particular....
He was roused to the sense of the present by sounds of life and
movement downstairs, and, thrusting his saintly paper fleet into his
pyjama case, he went down to the drawing-room. As he entered there came
the sound of a car drawing up at the front door and Uncle Frederick
looked out of the window and groaned aloud.
[Illustration: “DON’T YOU THINK IT’S VERY LIKE ME?” ASKED LADY ATKINSON.
“IT’S NOT AS FAT AS YOU ARE,” SAID WILLIAM, CRITICALLY.
“I’M NOT IMPOLITE. I’M BEING TRUTHFUL.”]
“It’s Lady Atkinson,” he said, “Help! Help!”
“Now, Frederick dear,” said Aunt Emma hastily, “Don’t talk like that
and _do_ try to be nice to her. She’s one of _the_ Atkinsons, you
know,” she explained with empressement to Mrs. Brown in a whisper as
the lady was shown in.
Lady Atkinson was stout and elderly and wore a very youthful hat and
coat.
“A happy Christmas to you all!” she said graciously. “The boy?
Your nephew? William? How do you do, William? He--_stares_ rather,
doesn’t he? Ah, yes,” she greeted every one separately with infinite
condescension.
“I’ve brought you my Christmas present in person,” she went on in the
tone of voice of one giving an unheard-of treat. “Look!”
She took out of an envelope a large signed photograph of herself.
“There now ... what do you think of that?”
Murmurs of surprise and admiration and gratitude.
Lady Atkinson drank them in complacently.
“It’s very good isn’t it? You ... little boy ... don’t you think it’s
very like me?”
William gazed at it critically.
“It’s not as fat as you are,” was his final offering at the altar of
truth.
“_William!_” screamed Mrs. Brown, “how can you be so impolite!”
“Impolite?” said William with some indignation. “I’m not tryin’ to be
polite! I’m bein’ truthful. I can’t be everything. Seems to me I’m the
only person in the world what _is_ truthful an’ no one seems to be
grateful to me. It _isn’t_ ’s fat as what she is,” he went on doggedly,
“an’ it’s not got as many little lines on its face as what she has an’
it’s different lookin’ altogether. It looks pretty an’ she doesn’t----”
Lady Atkinson towered over him, quivering with rage.
“You _nasty_ little boy!” she said thrusting her face close to his.
“You--NASTY--little--boy!”
Then she swept out of the room without another word.
The front door slammed.
She was gone.
Aunt Emma sat down and began to weep.
“She’ll never come to the house again,” she said.
“I always said he ought to be hung,” said Robert gloomily. “Every day
we let him live he complicates our lives still worse.”
“I shall tell your father, William,” said Mrs. Brown, “_directly_ we
get home.”
“The kindest thing to think,” said Ethel, “is that he’s mad.”
“Well,” said William, “I don’ know what I’ve done ’cept cast aside
deceit an’--an’ the other thing what he said in church an’ speak the
truth an’ that. I don’ know why every one’s so mad at me jus’ ’cause of
that. You’d think they’d be glad!”
“She’ll never set foot in the house again,” sobbed Aunt Emma.
Uncle Frederick, who had been vainly trying to hide his glee, rose.
“I don’t think she will, my dear,” he said cheerfully. “Nothing like
the truth, William ... absolutely nothing.”
He pressed a half-crown into William’s hand surreptitiously as he went
to the door....
* * * * *
A diversion was mercifully caused at this moment by the arrival of the
post. Among it there was a Christmas card from an artist who had a
studio about five minutes’ walk from the house. This little attention
comforted Aunt Emma very much.
“How kind of him!” she said, “and we never sent him anything. But
there’s that calendar that Mr. Franks sent to us and it’s not written
on. Perhaps William could be trusted to take it to Mr. Fairly with our
compliments while the rest of us go for a short walk.” She looked at
William rather coldly.
William who was feeling the atmosphere indoors inexplicably hostile
(except for Uncle Frederick’s equally inexplicable friendliness) was
glad of an excuse for escaping.
He set off with the calendar wrapped in brown paper. On the way his
outlook on life was considerably brightened by finding a street
urchins’ fight in full swing. He joined in it with gusto and was soon
acclaimed leader of his side. This exhilarating adventure was ended by
a policeman who scattered the combatants and pretended to chase William
down a side street in order to vary the monotony of his Christmas
“beat.”
William, looking rather battered and dishevelled, arrived at Mr.
Fairly’s studio. The calendar had fortunately survived the battle
unscathed and William handed it to Mr. Fairly who opened the door.
Mr. Fairly showed him into the studio with a low bow. Mr. Fairly was
clothed in correct artistic style ... baggy trousers, velvet coat and
a flowing tie. He had a pointed beard and a theatrical manner. He had
obviously lunched well--as far as liquid refreshment was concerned at
any rate. He was moved to tears by the calendar.
“How kind! How very kind.... My dear young friend, forgive this
emotion. The world is hard. I am not used to kindness. It unmans me....”
He wiped away his tears with a large mauve and yellow handkerchief.
William gazed at it fascinated.
“If you will excuse me, my dear young friend,” went on Mr. Fairly,
“I will retire to my bedroom where I have the wherewithal to write
and endite a letter of thanks to your most delightful and charming
relative. I beg you to make yourself at home here.... Use my house, my
dear young friend, as though it were your own....”
He waved his arms and retreated unsteadily to an inner room, closing
the door behind him.
William sat down on a chair and waited. Time passed, William became
bored. Suddenly a fresh aspect of his Christmas resolution occurred to
him. If you were speaking the truth one with another yourself, surely
you might take everything that other people said for truth.... He’d
said, “Use this house, my dear young friend, as though it were your
own.”... Well, he would. The man prob’ly meant it ... well, anyway, he
shouldn’t have said it if he didn’t.... William went across the room
and opened a cupboard. It contained a medley of paints, two palettes,
two oranges and a cake. The feeling of oppression that had followed
William’s Christmas lunch had faded and he attacked the cake with
gusto. It took about ten minutes to finish the cake and about four
to finish the oranges. William felt refreshed. He looked round the
studio with renewed interest. A lay figure sat upon a couch on a small
platform. William approached it cautiously. It was almost life-size and
clad in a piece of thin silk. William lifted it. It was quite light.
He put it on a chair by the window. Then he went to the little back
room. A bonnet and mackintosh (belonging to Mr. Fairly’s charwoman)
hung there. He dressed the lay figure in the bonnet and mackintosh. He
found a piece of black gauze in a drawer and put it over the figure’s
face as a veil and tied it round the bonnet. He felt all the thrill
of the creative artist. He shook hands with it and talked to it. He
began to have a feeling of deep affection for it. He called it Annabel.
The clock struck and he remembered the note he was waiting for.... He
knocked gently at the bedroom door. There was no answer. He opened the
door and entered. On the writing table by the door was a letter:
“DEAR FRIEND,
Many thanks for your beautiful calendar. Words fail me....”
Then came a blot--mingled ink and emotion--and that was all. Words had
failed Mr. Fairly so completely that he lay outstretched on the sofa
by the window sleeping the sleep of the slightly inebriated. William
thought he’d better not wake him up. He returned to the studio and
carried on his self-imposed task of investigation. He found some acid
drops in a drawer adhering to a tube of yellow ochre. He separated them
and ate the acid drops but their strong flavour of yellow ochre made
him feel sick and he returned to Annabel for sympathy....
Then he thought of a game. The lay figure was a captured princess and
William was the gallant rescuer. He went outside, opened the front door
cautiously, crept into the hall, hid behind the door, dashed into the
studio, caught up the figure in his arms and dashed into the street
with it. The danger and exhilaration of a race for freedom through the
streets with Annabel in his arms was too enticing to be resisted. As a
matter of fact the flight through the streets was rather disappointing.
He met no one and no one pursued him....
He staggered up the steps to Aunt Emma’s house still carrying Annabel.
There, considering the matter for the first time in cold blood, he
realised that his rescue of Annabel was not likely to be received
enthusiastically by his home circle. And Annabel was not easy to
conceal. The house seemed empty but he could already hear its inmates
returning from their walk. He felt a sudden hatred of Annabel for being
so large and unhidable. He could not reach the top of the stairs before
they came in at the door. The drawing-room door was open and into it he
rushed, deposited Annabel in a chair by the fireplace with her back to
the room, and returned to the hall. He smoothed back his hair, assumed
his most vacant expression and awaited them. To his surprise they crept
past the drawing-room door on tiptoe and congregated in the dining-room.
“A caller!” said Aunt Emma. “Did you see?” “Yes, in the dining-room,”
said Mrs. Brown. “I saw her hat through the window.”
“Curse!” said Uncle Frederick.
“The maids must have shown her in before they went up to change. I’m
simply _not_ going to see her. On Christmas day, too! I’ll just wait
till she gets tired and goes or till one of the maids comes down and
can send her away!”
“Sh!” said Uncle Frederick, “She’ll hear you.”
Aunt Emma lowered her voice.
“I don’t think she’s a lady,” she said. “She didn’t look it through the
window.”
“Perhaps she’s collecting for something,” said Mrs. Brown.
“Well,” said Aunt Emma sinking her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
“If we stay in here and keep very quiet she’ll get tired of waiting and
go.”
William was torn between an interested desire to be safely out of
the way when the dénouement took place and a disinterested desire to
witness the dénouement. The latter won and he stood at the back of the
group with a sphinx-like expression upon his freckled face....
[Illustration: “I’LL HAVE ONE MORE TRY,” SAID UNCLE FREDERICK, AND
ENTERED THE ROOM. “GOOD AFTERNOON,” HE BELLOWED.]
They waited in silence for some minutes then Aunt Emma said, “Well,
she’ll stay for ever it seems to me if someone doesn’t send her away.
Frederick, go and turn her out.”
They all crept into the hall. Uncle Frederick went just inside and
coughed loudly. Annabel did not move. Uncle Frederick came back.
“Deaf!” he whispered. “Stone deaf! Someone else try.”
Ethel advanced boldly into the middle of the room. “Good afternoon,”
she said clearly and sweetly.
Annabel did not move. Ethel returned.
[Illustration: ANNABEL DID NOT MOVE.]
“I think she must be asleep,” said Ethel.
“She looks drunk to me,” said Aunt Emma, peeping round the door.
“I shouldn’t wonder if she was dead,” said Robert. “It’s just the
sort of thing you read about in books. Mysterious dead body found in
drawing-room. I bet I can find a few clues to the murder if she is
dead.”
“_Robert!_” reproved Mrs. Brown in a shrill whisper.
“Perhaps you’d better fetch the police, Frederick,” said Aunt Emma.
“I’ll have one more try,” said Uncle Frederick.
He entered the room.
“Good afternoon,” he bellowed.
Annabel did not move. He went up to her.
“Now look here, my woman----” he began laying his hand on her
shoulder....
Then the dénouement happened.
Mr. Fairly burst into the house like a whirlwind still slightly
inebriated and screaming with rage.
“Where’s the thief? Where is he? He’s stolen my figure. He’s eaten my
tea. I shall have to eat my supper for my tea and my breakfast for
my supper.... I shall be a meal wrong always.... I shall never get
right. And it’s all his fault. Where is he? He’s stolen my charwoman’s
clothes. He’s stolen my figure. He’s eaten my tea. Wait till I get
him!” He caught sight of Annabel, rushed into the drawing-room, caught
her up in his arms and turned round upon the circle of open-mouthed
spectators. “I _hate_ you!” he screamed, “and your nasty little
calendars and your nasty little boys! Stealing my figure and eating my
tea.... I’ll light the fire with your nasty little calendar. I’d like
to light the fire with your nasty little boy!”
With a final snort of fury, he turned, still clasping Annabel in his
arms and staggered down the front steps. Weakly, stricken and (for the
moment) speechless, they watched his departure from the top of the
steps. He took to his heels as soon as he was in the road. But he was
less fortunate than William. As he turned the corner and vanished from
sight, already two policemen were in pursuit. He was screaming defiance
at them as he ran. Annabel’s head wobbled over his shoulder and her
bonnet dangled by a string.
Then, no longer speechless, they turned on William.
“I _told_ you,” said Robert to them when there was a slight lull in the
storm, “You wouldn’t take my advice. If it wasn’t Christmas day I’d
hang him myself.”
“But you won’t let me _speak!_” said William plaintively. “Jus’ listen
to me a minute. When I got to his house he said, he said mos’ distinct,
he said, ’Please use this----’”
“William,” interrupted Mrs. Brown with dignity. “I don’t know what’s
happened and I don’t _want_ to know but I shall tell your father _all_
about it _directly_ we get home.”
* * * * *
Uncle Frederick saw them off at the station the next day.
“Does your effort at truth continue to-day as well?” he said to William.
“I s’pose it’s Boxing Day too,” said William. “He din’ mention Boxing
Day. But I s’pose it counts with Christmas.”
“I won’t ask you whether you’ve enjoyed yourself then,” said Uncle
Frederick. He slipped another half-crown into William’s hand. “Buy
yourself something with that. Your Aunt chose the Church History book
and the instruments. I’m really grateful to you about--Well, I think
Emma’s right. I don’t think she’ll ever come again.”
The train steamed out. Uncle Frederick returned home. He had been too
optimistic. Lady Atkinson was in the drawing-room talking to his wife.
“Of course,” she was saying, “I’m not annoyed. I bear no grudge because
I believe the boy’s _possessed!_ He ought to be ex--exercised.... You
know, what you do with evil spirits.”
* * * * *
It was the evening of William’s return home. His father’s question as
to whether William had been good had been answered as usual in the
negative and, refusing to listen to details of accusation or defence,
(ignoring William’s, “But he _said_ mos’ distinct, he said. Please
use this--” and the rest of the explanation always drowned by the
others) he docked William of a month’s pocket money. But William was
not depressed. The ordeal of Christmas was over. Normal life stretched
before him once more. His spirits rose. He wandered out into the lane.
There he met Ginger, his bosom pal, with whom on normal days he fought
and wrestled and carried out deeds of daring and wickedness, but who
(like William) on festivals and holy days was forced reluctantly to
shed the light of his presence upon his own family. From Ginger’s face
too a certain gloom cleared as he saw William.
“Well,” said William, “’v you enjoyed it?”
“I had a pair of braces from my aunt,” said Ginger bitterly. “A pair of
_braces!_”
“Well, I had a tie an’ a Church History book.”
“I put my braces down the well.”
“I chopped up my tie into little bits.”
“Was it nice at your aunt’s?”
William’s grievances burst out.
“I went to church an’ took what that man said an’ I’ve been speaking
the truth one with another an’ leadin’ a higher life an’ well, it jolly
well din’t make it the happiest Christmas of my life what he said it
would.... It made it the worst. Every one mad at me all the time. I
think I was the only person in the world speakin’ the truth one with
another an’ they’ve took off my pocket money for it. An’ you’d think
’f you was speakin’ the truth yourself you might take what any one
else said for truth an’ I keep tellin ’em that he said mos’ distinct,
‘Please use this house as if it were your own,’ but they won’ listen to
me! Well, I’ve done with it. I’m goin’ back to deceit an’--an’--what’s
a word beginnin’ with hyp----?”
“Hypnotism?” suggested Ginger after deep thought.
“Yes, that’s it,” said William. “Well, I’m goin’ back to it first thing
to-morrow mornin’.”