"If I tried I could nearly _drown_ here!"
At last, through the hedge, they saw him emerge in the field across the road. He swaggered across to them aglow with his own heroism. As he entered the gate he was rewarded by the old light of adoration in Joan's blue eyes, but on full sight of him it quickly turned to consternation. His appearance was beyond description. There was a malicious smile on Cuthbert's face.
"Do thumthing elth," he urged him. "Go on, do thumthing elth."
"Oh, William," said Joan anxiously, "you'd better not."
But the gods had sent madness to William. He was drunk with the sense of his own prowess. He was regardless of consequences.
[Illustration: "I CAN CLIMB UP THAT AN' SLIDE DOWN THE COAL INSIDE.
THAT'S WHAT I CAN DO. THERE'S NOTHIN' I CAN'T DO!" SAID WILLIAM.]
He pointed to a little window high up in the coal-house.
"I can climb up that an' slide down the coal inside. That's what I can do. There's _nothin'_ I can't do. I----"
"All right," urged Cuthbert, "if you can do that, do it, and I'll believe you can do anything."
For Cuthbert, with unholy glee, foresaw William's undoing.
"Oh, William," pleaded Joan, "_I know_ you're brave, but don't----"
But William was already doing it. They saw his disappearance into the little window, they heard plainly his descent down the coal heap inside, and in less than a minute he appeared in the doorway. He was almost unrecognisable. Coal dust adhered freely to the moist consistency of the mud and lichen already clinging to his suit, as well as to his hair and face. His collar had been almost torn away from its stud. William himself was smiling proudly, utterly unconscious of his appearance. Joan was plainly wavering between horror and admiration. Then the moment for which Cuthbert had longed arrived.
"Children! come in now!"
Cuthbert, clean and dainty, entered the drawing-room first and pointed an accusing finger at the strange figure which followed.
"He'th been climbing treeth an' crawling in the mud, an' rolling down the coalth. He'th a nathty rough boy."
A wild babel arose as William entered.
"_William!_"
"You _dreadful_ boy!"
"Joan, come right away from him. Come over here."
"What _will_ your father say?"
"William, my _carpet_!"
For the greater part of the stream's bed still clung to William's boots.
Doggedly William defended himself.
"I was showin' 'em how to do things. I was bein' a host. I was tryin'
to make 'em _happy_! I----"
"William, don't stand there talking. Go straight upstairs to the bathroom."
It was the end of the first battle, and undoubtedly William had lost.
Yet William had caught sight of the smile on Cuthbert's face and William had decided that that smile was something to be avenged.
But fate did not favour him. Indeed, fate seemed to do the reverse.
The idea of a children's play did not emanate from William's mother, or Joan's. They were both free from guilt in that respect. It emanated from Mrs. de Vere Carter. Mrs. de Vere Carter was a neighbour with a genius for organisation. There were few things she did not organise till their every other aspect or aim was lost but that of "organisation." She also had what amounted practically to a disease for "getting up" things. She "got up" plays, and bazaars, and pageants, and concerts. There were, in fact, few things she did not "get up." It was the sight of Joan and Cuthbert walking together down the road, the sun shining on their golden curls, that had inspired her with the idea of "getting up" a children's play. And Joan must be the Princess and little Cuthbert the Prince.
Mrs. de Vere Carter was to write the play herself. At first she decided on Cinderella. Unfortunately there was a dearth of little girls in the neighbourhood, and therefore it was decided at a meeting composed of Mrs. de Vere Carter, Mrs. Clive, Mrs. Brown (William's mother), and Ethel (William's sister), that William could easily be dressed up to represent one of the ugly sisters. It was, however, decided at a later meeting, consisting of William and his mother and sister, that William could not take the part. It was William who came to this decision. He was adamant against both threats and entreaties.
Without cherishing any delusions about his personal appearance, he firmly declined to play the part of the ugly sister. They took the news with deep apologies to Mrs. de Vere Carter, who was already in the middle of the first act. Her already low opinion of William sank to zero. Their next choice was little Red Riding Hood, and William was lured, by glowing pictures of a realistic costume, into consenting to take the part of the Wolf. Every day he had to be dragged by some elder and responsible member of his family to a rehearsal. His hatred of Cuthbert was only equalled by his hatred of Mrs. de Vere Carter.
"He acts so _unnaturally_," moaned Mrs. de Vere Carter. "Try really to _think_ you're a wolf, darling. Put some spirit into it.
Be--_animated_."
William scowled at her and once more muttered monotonously his opening lines:
"A wolf am I--a wolf on mischief bent, To eat this little maid is my intent."
"Take a breath after 'bent,' darling. Now say it again."
William complied, introducing this time a loud and audible gasp to represent the breath. Mrs. de Vere Carter sighed.
"Now, Cuthbert, darling, draw your little sword and put your arm round Joan. That's right."
Cuthbert obeyed, and his clear voice rose in a high chanting monotone.
"Avaunt! Begone! You wicked wolf, away!
This gentle maid shall never be your prey."
"That's beautiful, darling. Now, William, slink away. _Slink_ away, darling. Don't stand staring at Cuthbert like that. Slink away. I'll show you. Watch me slink away."
Mrs. de Vere Carter slunk away realistically, and the sight of it brought momentary delight to William's weary soul. Otherwise the rehearsals were not far removed from torture to him. The thought of being a wolf had at first attracted him, but actually a wolf character who had to repeat Mrs. de Vere Carter's meaningless couplets and be worsted at every turn by the smiling Cuthbert, who was forced to watch from behind the scenes the fond embraces of Cuthbert and Joan, galled his proud spirit unspeakably. Moreover Cuthbert monopolised her both before and after the rehearsals.
"Come away, Joan, he'th prob'bly all over coal dutht and all of a meth."
The continued presence of unsympathetic elders prevented his proper avenging of such insults.
The day of the performance approached, and there arose some little trouble about William's costume. If the wearing of the dining-room hearth-rug had been forbidden by Authority it would have at once become the dearest wish of William's heart and a thing to be accomplished at all costs. But, because Authority decreed that that should be William's official costume as the Wolf, William at once began to find insuperable difficulties.
"It's a dirty ole thing, all dust and bits of black hair come off it on me. I don't think it _looks_ like a wolf. Well, if I've gotter be a wolf folks might just as well _know_ what I am. This looks like as if it came off a black sheep or sumthin'. You don't want folks to think I'm a _sheep_ 'stead of a _wolf_, do you? You don't want me to be made look ridiclus before all these folks, do you?"
He was slightly mollified by their promise to hire a wolf's head for him. He practised wolf's howlings (though these had no part in Mrs. de Vere Carter's play) at night in his room till he drove his family almost beyond the bounds of sanity.
Mrs. de Vere Carter had hired the Village Hall for the performance, and the proceeds were to go to a local charity.
On the night of the play the Hall was packed, and Mrs. de Vere Carter was in a flutter of excitement and importance.
"Yes, the dear children are splendid, and they look _beautiful_! We've all worked so _hard_. Yes, entirely my own composition. I only hope that William Brown won't _murder_ my poetry as he does at rehearsals."