William the Good Read Online Free PDF Page A

for instance.’
    At that moment William passed down the street outside.
    William was whistling – not his usual piercing blast of a whistle, but a slow, mournful, meditative whistle. As a matter of fact he was not aware that he was whistling at all. His mind was
occupied with a deep and apparently insoluble problem – the problem of how to obtain a new football with no money or credit at his disposal. Only such an optimist as William would have
tackled the problem at all. But William walking down the street, hands in pockets, scowling gaze fixed on the ground mechanically and unconsciously emitting a tuneless monotonous undertone of a
whistle, was convinced that there must be a solution of the problem if only he could think of it . . . If only he could think of it . . . He passed by Mrs Bruce Monkton-Bruce’s open window
and his whistle fell upon a sudden silence within.
    ‘What’s that?’ said Mrs Bruce Monkton-Bruce.
    Miss Georgine Hemmersley went to the window.
    ‘It’s just a boy,’ she said.
    Miss Gwladwyn followed her.
    ‘It’s that rough-looking boy one sees about so much,’ she said.
    Mrs Bruce Monkton-Bruce joined them at the window.
    ‘It’s William Brown,’ she said.
    They stood at the open window while William, wholly unconscious of their regard, still grappling mentally with his insoluble problem, passed on his way. His faint tuneless strain floated back to
them.
    ‘It – it does sound like the wind,’ said Miss Gwladwyn.
    On an impulse Mrs Bruce Monkton-Bruce put her head out of the window.
    ‘William Brown!’ she called sharply. ‘Come here.’
    William turned and scowled at her aggressively.
    ‘I’ve not done nothin’,’ he said. ‘It wasn’t me you saw chasin’ your cat yesterday.’
    ‘Come in here, William,’ she said. ‘We want to ask you something.’
    William stood hesitating, not sure whether to obey or whether to show his contempt of her by continuing his thoughtful progress down the street.
    They probably only wanted him in to make a fuss about something he’d not done. Well, not meant to do anyway; well, not worth making a fuss about anyway. On the other hand it might
be something else and if he went on he’d never know what they’d wanted him for. His curiosity won the day.
    Taking a piece of chewing-gum, which he had absently been carrying in his mouth, from his mouth to his pocket, he proceeded to hoist himself up to the windowsill whence he had been summoned.
    ‘ Not that way, William!’ said Mrs Bruce Monkton-Bruce sternly. ‘Come in by the front door, please, in the usual way.’
    William lowered himself to the street again, put the chewing-gum back into his mouth, stood for a minute obviously wondering whether it was worth while to go in by the front door in the usual
way, decided apparently that though it probably wasn’t, still there was just a chance that it might be, then, very, very slowly (as if to prove his complete independence, despite his show of
obedience), went round to the front door.
    ‘You may open the door and come in,’ called Mrs Bruce Monkton-Bruce from the window, ‘and don’t forget to wipe your feet.’
    William opened the door and came in. He wiped his feet with a commendable and very lengthy thoroughness (whose object was to keep them waiting for him as long as possible), transferred his
chewing-gum from his mouth to his pocket again, carefully arranged his cap between the horns of the stuffed head of an antelope which was hanging on the wall, thought better of it and transferred
it to the stuffed head of a fox, which was hanging on the opposite wall, gazed critically for a long time at a stuffed owl in a cage, absently broke off a piece of a fern that grew in a plant pot
next to the hat-stand, and finally entered the drawing-room. He stood in the doorway facing them, still scowling aggressively and scattering bits of fern upon the carpet. His mind went quickly over
the more recent events of his career in order to