‘I’VE GOT SHIPLOADS AN’ SHIPLOADS OF GOLD. AT LEAST, I WILL HAVE SOON.’
‘You,’ said William graciously, ‘shall have a whole lot of nuggets. Look here.’ With a princely flourish he took up a knife and cut off three buttons from the middle of
his coat and gave them to her. ‘You keep those and they’ll be kind of tokens. See? When I come home rich, you show me the buttons an’ I’ll remember and give you the nuggets.
See? I’ll maybe marry you,’ he promised, ‘if I’ve not married anyone else.’
The kitchenmaid put her head round the pantry door.
‘’E’s loony,’ she said. ‘It’s lovely listening to ’im talkin’.’
Further conversation was prevented by the ringing of the front doorbell and the arrival of the ‘company’.
Mr Biggs and the housemaid departed to do the honours. The kitchenmaid ran to help with the dishing up, and William was left sitting on the pantry table, idly making patterns in knife-powder
with his finger.
‘Wot was ’e doin’?’ said the cook to the kitchenmaid.
‘Nothin’ – ’cept talkin’,’ said the kitchenmaid. ‘’E’s a cure, ’e is,’ she added.
‘If you’ve finished the knives,’ called out the cook, ‘there’s some boots and shoes on the floor to be done. Brushes an’ blacking on the shelf.’
William arose with alacrity. He thought boots would be more interesting than knives. He carefully concealed the pile of uncleaned knives behind the knife-box and began on the shoes.
The butler returned.
‘Soup ready?’ he said. ‘The company’s just goin’ into the dining-room – a pal of the master’s. Decent-lookin’ bloke,’ he added
patronisingly.
William, in his pantry, had covered a brush very thickly with blacking, and was putting it in heavy layers on the boots and shoes. A large part of it adhered to his own hands. The butler looked
in at him.
‘Wot’s ’appened to your buttons?’ he said sternly.
‘Come off,’ said William.
‘Bust off,’ corrected the butler. ‘I said so soon as I saw you. I said you’d ’ave eat your buttons bust off in a week. Well, you’ve eat ’em bust off in
ten minutes.’
‘Eatin’ an’ destroyin’ of ’is clothes,’ he said gloomily, returning to the kitchen. ‘It’s all boys ever do – eatin’ an
destroyin’ of their clothes.’
He went out with the soup and William was left with the boots. He was getting tired of boots. He’d covered them all thickly with blacking, and he didn’t know what to do next. Then
suddenly he remembered his balloon in his pocket upstairs. It might serve to vary the monotony of life. He slipped quietly upstairs for it, and then returned to his boots.
Soon Mr Biggs and the housemaid returned with the empty soup plates. Then through the kitchen resounded a high-pitched squeal, dying away slowly and shrilly.
The housemaid screamed.
‘Lawks!’ said the cook. ‘Someone’s a-torchurin’ of the poor cat to death. It’ll be that blessed boy.’
The butler advanced manfully and opened the pantry door. William stood holding in one hand an inflated balloon with the cardboard head and legs of a duck.
The butler approached him.
‘If you let off that there thing once more, you little varmint,’ he said, ‘I’ll—’
Threateningly he had advanced his large expanse of countenance very close to William’s. Acting upon a sudden uncontrollable impulse William took up the brush thickly smeared with blacking
and pushed back Mr Biggs’s face with it.
There was a moment’s silence of sheer horror, then Mr Biggs hurled himself furiously upon William . . .
In the dining-room sat the master and mistress of the house and their guest.
‘Did the new Boots arrive?’ said the master to his wife.
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘Any good?’ he said.
WILLIAM TOOK UP THE BRUSH, THICKLY SMEARED WITH BLACKING, AND PUSHED BACK MR BIGGS’S FACE WITH IT.
‘He doesn’t seem to have impressed Biggs very favourably,’ she said, ‘but they never
‘You,’ said William graciously, ‘shall have a whole lot of nuggets. Look here.’ With a princely flourish he took up a knife and cut off three buttons from the middle of
his coat and gave them to her. ‘You keep those and they’ll be kind of tokens. See? When I come home rich, you show me the buttons an’ I’ll remember and give you the nuggets.
See? I’ll maybe marry you,’ he promised, ‘if I’ve not married anyone else.’
The kitchenmaid put her head round the pantry door.
‘’E’s loony,’ she said. ‘It’s lovely listening to ’im talkin’.’
Further conversation was prevented by the ringing of the front doorbell and the arrival of the ‘company’.
Mr Biggs and the housemaid departed to do the honours. The kitchenmaid ran to help with the dishing up, and William was left sitting on the pantry table, idly making patterns in knife-powder
with his finger.
‘Wot was ’e doin’?’ said the cook to the kitchenmaid.
‘Nothin’ – ’cept talkin’,’ said the kitchenmaid. ‘’E’s a cure, ’e is,’ she added.
‘If you’ve finished the knives,’ called out the cook, ‘there’s some boots and shoes on the floor to be done. Brushes an’ blacking on the shelf.’
William arose with alacrity. He thought boots would be more interesting than knives. He carefully concealed the pile of uncleaned knives behind the knife-box and began on the shoes.
The butler returned.
‘Soup ready?’ he said. ‘The company’s just goin’ into the dining-room – a pal of the master’s. Decent-lookin’ bloke,’ he added
patronisingly.
William, in his pantry, had covered a brush very thickly with blacking, and was putting it in heavy layers on the boots and shoes. A large part of it adhered to his own hands. The butler looked
in at him.
‘Wot’s ’appened to your buttons?’ he said sternly.
‘Come off,’ said William.
‘Bust off,’ corrected the butler. ‘I said so soon as I saw you. I said you’d ’ave eat your buttons bust off in a week. Well, you’ve eat ’em bust off in
ten minutes.’
‘Eatin’ an’ destroyin’ of ’is clothes,’ he said gloomily, returning to the kitchen. ‘It’s all boys ever do – eatin’ an
destroyin’ of their clothes.’
He went out with the soup and William was left with the boots. He was getting tired of boots. He’d covered them all thickly with blacking, and he didn’t know what to do next. Then
suddenly he remembered his balloon in his pocket upstairs. It might serve to vary the monotony of life. He slipped quietly upstairs for it, and then returned to his boots.
Soon Mr Biggs and the housemaid returned with the empty soup plates. Then through the kitchen resounded a high-pitched squeal, dying away slowly and shrilly.
The housemaid screamed.
‘Lawks!’ said the cook. ‘Someone’s a-torchurin’ of the poor cat to death. It’ll be that blessed boy.’
The butler advanced manfully and opened the pantry door. William stood holding in one hand an inflated balloon with the cardboard head and legs of a duck.
The butler approached him.
‘If you let off that there thing once more, you little varmint,’ he said, ‘I’ll—’
Threateningly he had advanced his large expanse of countenance very close to William’s. Acting upon a sudden uncontrollable impulse William took up the brush thickly smeared with blacking
and pushed back Mr Biggs’s face with it.
There was a moment’s silence of sheer horror, then Mr Biggs hurled himself furiously upon William . . .
In the dining-room sat the master and mistress of the house and their guest.
‘Did the new Boots arrive?’ said the master to his wife.
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘Any good?’ he said.
WILLIAM TOOK UP THE BRUSH, THICKLY SMEARED WITH BLACKING, AND PUSHED BACK MR BIGGS’S FACE WITH IT.
‘He doesn’t seem to have impressed Biggs very favourably,’ she said, ‘but they never
Similar Books
