WILLIAM AND UNCLE GEORGE
It was William who bought the horn-rimmed spectacles. He bought them
for sixpence from a boy who had bought them for a shilling from a boy
to whose dead aunt’s cousin’s grandfather they had belonged.
William was intensely proud of them. He wore them in school all the
morning. They made everything look vague and blurred, but he bore that
inconvenience gladly for the sake of the prestige they lent him.
Ginger borrowed them for the afternoon and got all his sums wrong
because he could not see the figures, but that was a trifling matter
compared with the joy of wearing horn-rimmed spectacles. Douglas bagged
them for the next day and Henry for the day after that. William had
many humble requests for the loan of them from other boys which he
coldly refused. The horn-rimmed spectacles were to be the badge of
superiority of the Outlaws.
On the third day one of the masters who discovered that the horn-rimmed
spectacles were the common property of William and his boon companions
and were, optically speaking, unnecessary, forbade their future
appearance in school. The Outlaws then wore them in turn on the way to
school and between lessons.
“My father,” said Douglas proudly, as he and William and Ginger
strolled through the village together, “’s got a pair of spectacles
an’s gotter wear ’em _always_.”
“Not like these,” objected William who was wearing the horn-rimmed
spectacles. “Not great thick ’uns like these.”
“Well, anyway,” said Ginger. “I’ve gotter aunt what’s got false teeth.”
“That’s nothin’,” said William. “False teeth isn’t like spectacles.
They look just like ornery teeth. You can’t _see_ they’re false teeth.”
“No, but you can _hear_ ’em,” said Ginger. “They tick.”
“Well, anyway,” said Douglas, “my cousin knows a man what’s gotter
false eye. It stays still while the other looks about.”
“Well,” said William determined not to be outdone, “my father knows a
man what’s gotter false leg.”
“I think I remember once hearin’,” said Ginger somewhat vaguely, “’bout
a man with all false arms an’ legs an’ only his body real.”
“That’s nothin’,” said William giving rein to his glorious imagination.
“I once heard of a man with a false body an’ only legs an’ arms reel.”
His companions’ united yell of derision intimated to him that he had
overstepped the bounds of credulity, and adjusting his horn-rimmed
spectacles with a careless flourish he continued unperturbed, “Or I
might have dreamed about him. I don’ _quite_ remember which.”
“I bet you _dreamed_ about him,” said Ginger indignantly. “I bet it
isn’t _possible_. How’d his stomach work ’f he hadn’t gotter real one?”
“An’ I bet it _is_ possible,” said William stoutly. “It’d work with
machinery an’ wheels an’ springs an’ things same as a clock works an’
he’d hafter wind it up every mornin’.”
The other Outlaws were impressed by William’s tone of certainty.
“Well,” said Ginger guardedly, “I don’ say it isn’t _possible_. I only
say it isn’t _prob’le_.”
The vast knowledge of the resources of the English language displayed
by this remark vaguely depressed the others, and they dropped the
subject hastily.
“I can walk like a man with a false leg,” said William, and he began to
walk along, swinging one stiff leg with a flourish.
“Well, I can click my teeth ’s if they was false,” said Ginger, and
proceeded to bite the air vigorously.
“I bet I can look ’s if I had a glass eye,” said Douglas, making
valiant if unsuccessful efforts to keep one eye still and roll the
other.
They walked on in silence, each of them wholly and frowningly absorbed
in his task, William limping stiffly, Ginger clicking valiantly, and
Douglas rolling his eyes.
A little short-sighted man who met them stopped still and stared in
amazement.
“Dear me!” he said.
“I’ve gotter false leg,” William condescended to explain, “and _he_,”
indicating Douglas, “’s gotter glass eye, an’ _he’s_ got false teeth.”
“Dear me!” gasped the little old man. “How very extraordinary!”
They left him staring after them....
Douglas, wildly cross-eyed, set off at the turning to his home. He was
labouring under the delusion that he had at last acquired the knack of
keeping one eye still while he rolled the other, though William and
Ginger informed him repeatedly that he was mistaken.
“They’re _both_ movin’.”
“They’re _not_, I tell you. One’s keepin’ still. I can feel it keepin’
still.”
“Well, we can _see_ it, can’t we? We oughter know.”
“I don’ care what you can _see_. I know what I _do_, don’ I? It’s _my_
eye an’ I move it an’ _I_ oughter be able to tell when I’m _not_ movin’
it.... So _there!_”
He rolled both eyes at them fiercely as he departed.
William and Ginger went on together, stumping and clicking with great
determination. Suddenly they both stopped.
On the footpath just outside a door that opened straight on to the
street, stood a bath-chair. In it were a rug and a scarf.
“Here’s my bath-chair,” said William. “’S tirin’ walkin’ like this with
a false leg all the time.”
He sat down in the chair with such a jerk that his horn-rimmed
spectacles fell off. Though it was somewhat of a relief to see the
world clearly, he missed the air of distinction that he imagined they
imparted to him and, picking them up, adjusted them carefully on
his nose. The sensation of being the possessor of both horn-rimmed
spectacles and a false leg had been a proud and happy one. He wrapped
the rug around his knees.
“You’d better push me a bit,” he said to Ginger. “’S not tirin’ havin’
false teeth. You oughter be the one to push.”
But Ginger, unlike William, was not quite lost in his rôle.
“It’s not our bath-chair. Someone’ll be comin’ out an’ makin’ a fuss if
we start playin’ with it. Besides,” with some indignation, “how d’you
know havin’ false teeth isn’t tirin’? Ever tried ’em? An’ let me _tell_
you clickin’ _is_ tirin’. It’s makin’ my jaws ache somethin’ terrible.”
“Oh, come on!” said William impatiently, “do stop talkin’ about your
false teeth. Anyway it couldn’t rest your _jaws_ ridin’ in a _chair_,
could it? A _chair_ couldn’t rest your jaw _or_ your teeth, could it?
Well, it _could_ rest my false leg an’, anyway, we’ll only go a bit
an’ whosever it is won’t miss it before we bring it back, an’ anyway I
don’t suppose they mind lendin’ it to help a pore ole man with a false
leg an’ another with false teeth.”
“Not much helpin’ _me_ pushin’ _you!_” said Ginger bitterly.
“Your false teeth seems to be makin’ you very grumpy!” said William
severely. “Oh, come on! They’ll be comin’ out soon.”
Ginger began to push the bath-chair at first reluctantly, but finally
warmed to his task. He tore along at a break-neck speed. William’s
face was wreathed in blissful smiles. He held the precious horn-rimmed
spectacles in place with one hand and with the other clutched on to
the side of the bath-chair, which swayed wildly as Ginger pursued his
lightning and uneven way. They stopped for breath at the end of the
street.
“You’re a jolly good pusher!” said William.
Praise from William was rare. Ginger, in spite of his breathlessness,
looked pleased.
“Oh, that’s nothin’,” he said modestly. “I could do it ten times as
fast as that. I’m a bit tired of false teeth though. I’m goin’ to stop
clickin’ for a bit.”
William tucked in his rug and adjusted his spectacles again.
“Do I look like a pore old man?” he said proudly.
Ginger gave a scornful laugh.
“No, you don’t. You’ve gotter boy’s face. You’ve got no lines nor
whiskers nor screwedupness like an old man.”
William drew his mouth down and screwed up his eyes into a hideous
contortion.
“Do I now?” he said as clearly as he could through his distorted mask
of twisted muscles.
Ginger looked at him dispassionately.
“You look like a kinder monkey now,” he said.
William took the long knitted scarf that was at the bottom of the
bath-chair and wound it round and round his head and face till only
his horn-rimmed spectacles could be seen.
“Do I now?” he said in a muffled voice.
Ginger stared at him in critical silence for a minute and said:
“Yes, you do now. At least you look’s if you might be _anything_ now.”
“All right,” said William in his far-away muffled voice. “Pretend I’m
an old man. Wheel me back now ... _slowly_, mind! ’cause I’m an old
man.”
They began the return journey. Ginger walked very slowly, chiefly
because it was uphill and he was still out of breath. William leant
back feebly in his chair enjoying the rôle of aged invalid, his
horn-rimmed spectacles peering out with an air of deep wisdom from a
waste of woollen muffler.
Suddenly a woman who was passing stopped.
“Uncle George!” she said in a tone of welcome and surprise.
She was tall and thin and grey-haired and skittish-looking and gaily
dressed.
* * * * *
“Well, this _is_ a pleasant surprise,” she said. “When you didn’t
answer our letter we thought you really weren’t going to come to see
us. We really did. And now I find you on your way to our house. _What_
a treat for us! I’d have known you anywhere, _dear_ Uncle George, even
if I hadn’t recognised the bath-chair and the muffler that I knitted
for you on your last birthday. How _sweet_ of you to wear it! And
you’re looking _so_ well!” She dropped a vague kiss upon the woollen
muffler and then turned to Ginger. “This little boy can go. I can take
you on to the house.” She slipped a coin into Ginger’s hand. “Now run
away, little boy! I’ll look after him.”
Ginger, after one bewildered look, fled, and the lady began to push
William’s chair along briskly. William was so entirely taken aback
that he could for the moment devise no plan of action, and meekly
allowed himself to be propelled down the village street. With an
instinctive desire to conceal his identity he had pulled the rug up to
his elbows and arranged the flowing ends of the all-enveloping scarf to
cover the front of his coat. Wistfully he watched Ginger’s figure which
was fast disappearing in the distance. Then the tall female bent down
and shouted into his ear.
“And how _are_ you, dear Uncle George?”
William looked desperately round for some chance of escape, but saw
none. Feeling that some reply was necessary, and not wishing to let his
voice betray him he growled.
“_So_ glad,” yelled the tall lady into the muffler. “_So_ glad. If you
_think_ you’re better, you _will_ be better you know, as I always used
to tell you.”
To his horror, William saw that he was being taken in through a large
gateway and up a drive. He felt as though he had been captured by some
terrible enemy. Would he ever escape? What would the dreadful woman do
to him when she found out? He couldn’t breathe, and he could hardly
see, and he didn’t know what was going to happen to him.... He growled
again rather ferociously, and she leant down to the presumptive region
of his ear and shouted.
“_Much_ better, dear Uncle George!... _Ever_ so much better ... it’s
only a question of _will_ power.”
She left him on a small lawn and went through an opening in the box
hedge. William could hear her talking to some people on the other side.
“He’s _come!_ Uncle George’s _come!_” she said in a penetrating whisper.
“Oh, _dear!_” said another voice. “He’s _so_ trying! What shall we do?”
“He’s _wealthy_. Anyway we may as well try to placate him a bit.”
“Hush! He’ll hear you.”
“Oh, no, he’s been as deaf as a post for years.”
“How did you meet him, Frederica, darling?”
“I met him _quite_ by accident,” said Frederica darling in her shrill
and cheerful voice. “He was being brought here by a boy.”
“And did you recognise him? It’s ten years since you saw him last.”
“I recognised the bath-chair. It’s the one poor, dear Aunt Ferdinanda
used to have, and the darling was wearing that scarf I knitted for
him. Oh, but I think I’d have recognised the old man anyway. He hasn’t
changed a bit; though he’s dreadfully muffled up. You know he was
always so frightened of fresh air ... and he’s shrunk a bit, I think
... you know, old people do--and I’m afraid he’s as touchy as ever. He
was _quite_ huffy on the way here because I said that if he’d _will_ to
be well he _would_ be well. That always annoyed him, but I must be true
to my principles, mustn’t I?”
“Hadn’t someone better go to him? Won’t it annoy him to be left alone?”
“Oh, I don’t know. He’s not sociable, you know--and as deaf as a post
and----”
“Perhaps you’d better explain to the boys, Frederica----”
“Oh, _yes!_ It’s your great Uncle George, you know--_ever_ so old,
and we’ve not seen him for _ten_ years, and he’s just come to live
here with his _male_ attendant, you know--taken a furnished house,
and though we asked him to come to see us (he’s most _eccentric_,
you know--simply won’t see _anyone_ at his own house) he never even
answered and we thought he must be still annoyed. I told him the last
time I saw him, ten years ago, that if only he’d think he could walk,
he’d be _able_ to walk, and it annoyed him, but I must be true to my
principles--anyway to my surprise I found him on his _way_ to our house
this afternoon and----”
Frederica paused for breath.
“We’d better go to him, dear. He might be feeling lonely.”
* * * * *
William was far from lonely. He was listening with mingled interest and
apprehension to the conversation on the other side of the hedge and
revolving in his mind the question whether they’d see him if he crawled
across the lawn to the gate--or perhaps it would be better to make a
dash for it, tear off the rug and muffler and run for all he was worth
to the gate and down the road.
He had almost decided to do that when they all suddenly appeared
through the opening in the hedge. William gave a gasp as he saw
them. First came Frederica--the tall and agile lady who had captured
him--next a very old lady with a Roman nose, and expression of grim
determination and a pair of lorgnettes--next came a young curate--next
a muscular young man in a college blazer, and last a little girl.
William knew the little girl.
Her name was Emmeline, and she went to the same school as William--and
William detested her. William now allowed himself the slight
satisfaction of putting out his tongue at her beneath his expanse of
muffler.
But his heart sank as they surrounded him. They all surveyed him with
the greatest interest. He looked about desperately once more for some
way of escape, but his opportunity had gone. Like the psalmist’s
enemies, they closed him in on every side. Nervously he pulled up
his rug, spread out his muffler and crouched yet further down in his
bath-chair.
[Illustration: “YOU REMEMBER MOTHER, DEAR UNCLE GEORGE, DON’T YOU?”
FREDERICA SCREAMED INTO THE MUFFLER.
WILLIAM MERELY GROWLED.]
“You remember Mother, dear Uncle George, don’t you?” screamed Frederica
into the muffler.
The dignified dame raised the lorgnettes and held out a majestic hand.
William merely growled. He was beginning to find the growl effective.
They all hastily took a step back.
“Sulking!” explained Frederica in her penetrating whisper. “_Sulking!_
Just because I told him on the way here that if he _willed_ to be well
he _would_ be well. It always annoyed him, but I must be true to my
principles, mustn’t I?--even if it makes him _sulk_--even if he cuts me
out of his will I must----”
[Illustration: THEY ALL SURVEYED THE OCCUPANT OF THE BATH-CHAIR WITH
GREAT INTEREST.]
“Hush, Frederica! He’ll hear you!”
“No, dear, he’s almost stone deaf.”
She leant down again to his ear.
“Is your DEAFNESS any better, Uncle George?” she screamed.
She seemed to regard Uncle George as her own special property.
William growled again.
The circle drew another step farther back. The old lady looked anxious.
“I’m afraid he’s ill,” she said. “I hope it’s nothing infectious!
James, I think you’d better examine him.”
Frederica drew one of the bashful and unwilling young men forward.
“This is your great-nephew, James,” she shouted. “DEAR Uncle George.
He’s a MEDICAL STUDENT, and he’d SO love to talk to you.”
The rest withdrew to the other end of the lawn and watched proceedings
from a distance. It would be difficult to say whether James or William
felt the more desperate.
“Er--how are you, Uncle George,” said James politely, then, remembering
Uncle George’s deafness, changed his soft bass to a shrill tenor. “HOW
ARE YOU?”
William did not answer. He was wondering how long it would be before
one of them tore off his rug and muffler, and horn-rimmed spectacles,
and hoping that it would not be either of the young men who would
administer punishment.
“Er--may I--er--feel your pulse?” went on James, then remembered and
yelled “PULSE.”
William sat on his hands and growled. James mopped his brow.
“If I could see your tongue--er--TONGUE--you seem to be in
pain--perhaps--TONGUE--allow me.”
He took hold of the muffler about William’s head. William gave a sudden
shake and a fierce growl and James started back as though he had been
bitten. William was certainly perfecting the growl.
It was gaining a note of savage, almost blood-curdling ferocity. James
gazed at him apprehensively, then, as another growl began to arise from
the depth of William’s chair, hastily rejoined the others.
“I’ve--er--examined him,” he said, making a gesture as though to loosen
his collar, and still gazing apprehensively in the direction of Uncle
George. “I’ve--er--examined him. There’s nothing--er--fundamentally
wrong with him. He’s just--er--got a foul temper, that’s all.”
“It is a case for you, then, I think, Jonathan,” said the old lady
grimly.
Frederica drew the second reluctant youth across the lawn.
“This is your great-nephew Jonathan,” she yelled into the muffler.
“He’s in the CHURCH. He’s looking forward SO much to a TALK with you,
DEAR Uncle George.”
With a sprightly nod at the horn-rimmed spectacles, she departed.
Jonathan smiled mirthlessly. Then he proceeded to shout at William with
_sotto voce_ interjections.
“GOOD AFTERNOON, UNCLE GEORGE--confound you--WE’RE SO GLAD TO
SEE YOU--don’t think--WE EXPECT TO SEE A LOT OF YOU NOW--worse
luck--WE WANT TO BE A HAPPY, UNITED FAMILY--you crusty old mummy--WE
HOPE--er--WE HOPE--er----”
He couldn’t think what else to hope, so, purple with the effort of
shouting, he stopped for breath. William, who was enjoying this part,
chuckled. Jonathan with a sigh of relief departed. He went to the
others who were watching expectantly.
“It’s all right,” he said airily. “The old chap’s quite good-tempered
now--my few words seemed to hit the spot.”
William watched the group, wondering what was going to be done next and
who was going to do it. He hardly dared move in case his spectacles or
muffler or rug fell off and revealed him to the cold light of day. He
felt instinctively that the cold light of day would have little pity on
him.
Then he saw two maids come round the house to the lawn. One carried a
table and the other a tray on which were some cakes that made William’s
mouth water. Would he--Oh, would he have to sit fasting and watch these
unworthy people eat those glorious cakes and, Oh, scrummy!--there was a
bowl of fruit salad. Surely----
Oh, surely he deserved a bit of food after all he’d been through. His
eyes shone eagerly and hungrily through his horn-rimmed spectacles--if
he just undid his muffler enough to eat a bit of fruit salad--and that
chocolate cake--_and_ the one with green icing--Oh, _and_ that one with
nuts on the top--surely eating just a little like that wouldn’t give
him away. He couldn’t starve for ever.
And what was going to happen to him, anyway--he couldn’t stay all his
life in a bath-chair in that garden starving and growling at people--he
was jolly sick of it already, but he didn’t know what to do--they’d
have to find out sometime--and he didn’t know what they’d do when
they did find out--and he was sick of the whole thing--and it was all
Ginger’s fault going off and leaving him and-- He looked across the
lawn at them. His gaze through the horn-rimmed spectacles was wistful.
To his horror he saw Emmeline being launched across the lawn to him by
Frederica. Emmeline wore a super-sweet expression and carried in her
hand a bunch of roses. She laid them on the bath-chair with an artless
and confiding smile.
“Dear, Great great Uncle George,” she said in her squeaky little voice.
“We’re all so glad to see you and love you so much an’----”
The elders were watching the tableau with proud smiles, and William
was summoning his breath for a really ferocious growl when suddenly
everyone turned round. A little old man, purple with anger, had
appeared running up the drive.
* * * * *
“Where is he?” screamed the little old man in fury. “They said he came
in here--my bath-chair--where is he?--the thief--the blackguard--how
dare he?--I’ll teach him--where is he?”
William did not wait to be taught. With admirable presence of mind he
tore off his wrappings, flung away his horn spectacles, and dashed with
all his might through the opening in the hedge and across the back
lawn. The little old man caught up a trowel that the gardener had left
near a bed and flung it after William. It caught him neatly on the
ankle and changed his swift flight to a limp.
“Dear Uncle George,” cooed Frederica to the old man. “I don’t know
what’s happened, but I _always_ said you could walk quite well if you
liked.”
With a howl of fury the old man turned on her, snatched up the bowl of
fruit salad and emptied it over her.
Meanwhile the muscular young medical student had overtaken William
just as he was disappearing through the gate and in spite of William’s
struggles was administering fairly adequate physical correction....
Occasionally Nemesis did overtake William.
* * * * *
The next day William met Ginger on the way to school.
“Well, _you’re_ brave, aren’t you?” he said sarcastically, “goin’ off
an’ leavin’ me an’ not rescuin’ me nor nothin’.”
“I like that,” said Ginger indignantly. “What could I do, I’d like to
know. You _would_ ride an’ me push. ’F you’d bin unselfish an’ pushed
an’ me rode _you’d_ ’ve got off.”
This was unanswerable, but while William was trying to think out an
answer Ginger said scornfully:
“You still practisin’ havin’ a false leg? I stopped clickin’ ever so
long ago. I should think you was tired of that old game.”
“Well, I’m _not!_” said William with great self-possession. “I’m goin’
to go on sometime yet jus’ to show I _can_.”
Just then Emmeline appeared on the road, wearing the horn-rimmed
spectacles.
“I say, those is ours!” said Ginger.
“Oh, _no!_” said Emmeline with a shrill triumphant laugh. “I found them
on our front lawn. They’re _mine_ now. You ask William Brown _how_ I
found them on our front lawn. But they’re _mine_ now. So there!”
For a moment William was nonplussed. Then a beatific smile overspread
his freckled face.
“Dear great great Uncle George!” he mimicked in a shrill falsetto.
“We’re all so glad to see you--we love you so much.”
Emmeline gave a howl of anger and ran down the road holding her
horn-rimmed spectacles on as she ran.
“Boo-hoo!” she sobbed. “_Nasty_ William Brown! Comin’ into our garden
an’ breathin’ our air an’ runnin’ over our beds an’ makin’ Uncle George
cross an’ wastin’ our fruit salad an’ bein’ nasty to me--_Nasty_
William Brown--they’re my spectacles, they is--Boo-hoo!”
“I say, what happened yesterday?” said Ginger when she had disappeared.
“Oh, I almost forget,” said William evasively. “I growled at ’em an’
scared ’em no end an’ I didn’t get any tea an’ he threw somethin’ at
me--Oh, a lot of things like that--I almost forget--But,” with sudden
interest, “how much did she give you?”
“Sixpence,” said Ginger proudly, taking it out of his pocket.
“Come on!” said William joyfully, giving a cheerful little limp
forward. “Come on an’ let’s spend it.”