William the Good Read Online Free PDF Page B

‘and let’s imagine the wind.’
    ‘Let’s leave it to chance,’ pleaded Miss Greene-Joanes. ‘I can’t bear it again. There – there may be a natural wind that night. It’s quite
possible.’
    ‘William,’ said Mrs Bruce Monkton-Bruce weakly, ‘it was a gentle whistle we wanted to hear. A whistle like – like – like the wind in the distance. A long way
in the distance, William.’
    William emitted a gentle, drawn-out, mournful whistle. It represented perfectly the distant moaning of the wind. His stricken audience recovered and gave a gasp of amazement and delight.
    ‘That was very nice,’ said Mrs Bruce Monkton-Bruce.
    William, cheered and flattered by her praise, said, ‘I’ll do it a bit nearer than that now,’ and again gathered his forces for the effort.
    ‘No, William,’ said Mrs Bruce Monkton-Bruce again stopping him just in time. ‘That’s as near as we want. That’s just what we want. . . . Now, William, we are
going to get up a little play, and during the play the wind is supposed to be heard right in the distance – a long, long way in the distance, William. The wind is supposed to be a very distant one indeed, William. Perhaps for a very great treat we’ll let you make that wind, William.’
    William’s mind worked quickly. The apparently insoluble problem was still with him. He saw a means, not to solve it indeed, but to make it a little less insoluble. Assuming his most
sphinx-like expression he said unblushingly, unblinkingly:
    ‘Well, of course – that’ll take up a good deal of my time. I dunno quite as I can spare all that time.’
    They were amazed at his effrontery and at the same time his astounding and unexpected reluctance to accept the post of wind-maker increased the desirability of his whistle in their eyes.
    ‘Of course, William,’ said Mrs Bruce Monkton-Bruce in cold reproach, ‘if you don’t want to help in a good cause like this . . .’ Wisely she kept the exact nature of
the good cause vague.
    ‘Oh, I don’ mind helpin ’,’ said William; ‘all I meant was that it’d probably be takin’ up a good deal of my time when I might be doin’
useful things for other people. F’rinstance, I often pump up my uncle’s motor tyres for him.’ William’s face became so expressionless as to border on the imbecile as he
added: ‘He always gives me sixpence for doing that.’
    There was a short silence and then Mrs Bruce Monkton-Bruce said with great dignity:
    ‘We will, of course, be pleased to give you sixpence for being the wind and any other little noises that may come into the play, William.’
    ‘Thank you,’ said William, concealing his delight beneath a tone of calm indifference. Sixpence . . . it was something to start from. William was such an optimist that with the first
sixpence the whole fund seemed suddenly to be assured to him. . . . He could do something else for someone else and get another sixpence and that would be a shilling, and, well, if he kept on doing
things for people for sixpence he’d soon have enough money to buy the football. Optimistically he ignored the fact that most people expected him to do things for them for nothing. . . .
    It was arranged that William should attend the next reading of the play in order to be the wind and whatever other noises might be necessary and then William, transferring his chewing-gum from
his pocket to his mouth and scattering bits of fern absently to mark his path as he went, disappeared into the hall, took his cap from the fox’s head, pulled a face at the stuffed owl, then,
seeming annoyed by its equanimity, pulled another, absently plucked off another spray of Mrs Bruce Monkton-Bruce’s cherished fern, and made his devastating way into the street. His piercing
and unharmonious whistle shattered the quiet of countless peaceful homes as he strode onwards, cheered and invigorated by his visit, looking forward with equal joy to his role as wind-maker and his
possession of the