William the Good Read Online Free
Author: Richmal Crompton
me hab this frob the
drawing-roob.’
She opened her bag.
‘It’s god,’ she gasped.
William was looking very inscrutable, but his mind was working hard. There was more in this, he decided, than had met his eye.
Betty had gone into the drawing-room and now returned with the bonbon dish.
‘You never took it,’ she said.
‘But I did,’ persisted Ethel. ‘I dow I did. It’s host bysterious.’
‘You’d better get home to bed, my dear,’ said Mrs Hawkins.
‘Yes. I’m awfully glad I’b goig to be Rosalid. Cub od, Williab.’
William did not speak till they’d reached the road. Then he said slowly:
‘She’d lent you that silver thing Ethel?’
‘Of course,’ said Ethel shortly.
‘An – an’ you’ve – you’ve got a bad cold?’ he continued.
Ethel did not consider this worth an answer, so they walked on in silence.
‘Well, dear?’ said Mrs Brown when they reached home.
‘I’b goig to be Rosalid,’ said Ethel, ‘but I’ve got a bit of co’d, so I think I’ll go to bed.’ In her relief at having been chosen as Rosalind,
she became expansive and confidential. ‘I knew I’d god a co’d this borning, an’ I sneaked up that boddle of co’d cure ad drank sobe id my bedroob, but it didn’t
do any good.’
William blinked.
‘Was it – was it the cold cure stuff you were drinkin’ in your room, Ethel?’
‘You’d better go to bed, too, William,’ said his mother. ‘The doctor said that you were to go to bed early this week.’
‘All right,’ said William with unexpected meakness. ‘I don’t mind going to bed.’
Still looking very thoughtful, William went to bed.
‘Was he all right at Mrs Hawkins?’ said his mother anxiously to Ethel.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Ethel, ‘he was quite good.’
‘I’m so glad,’ said Mrs Brown, relieved, ‘because you know he sometimes does such extraordinary things when he goes out.’
‘Oh, no,’ said Ethel, preparing to follow William up to bed, ‘he was quite all right.’ She was silent for a minute, as she remembered the abrupt departures of Mrs Morton
and Mrs Jones, and the mysterious disappearance of the bonbon dish from her bag.
‘Sobe rather fuddy things did happed,’ she said, ‘but Williab couldn’t possibly have beed respodsible for any of theb.’
CHAPTER 2
WILLIAM – THE GREAT ACTOR
I T was announced in the village that the Literary Society was going to give a play on Christmas Eve. It was a tradition that a play should be given
in the village every Christmas Eve. It did not much matter who gave it or what it was about or what it was in aid of, but the village had begun to expect a play of some sort on Christmas Eve.
William’s sister Ethel and her friends had at first decided to do scenes from As You Like It , but this had fallen through partly because Ethel had succumbed to influenza as soon as the
cast was arranged, and partly because of other complications too involved to enter into.
So the Literary Society had stepped into the breach, and had announced that it was going to act a play in aid of its Cinematograph Fund. The Literary Society was trying to collect enough money
to buy a cinematograph. Cinematographs, the President said, were so educational. But that was not the only reason. Membership of the Literary Society had lately begun to fall alarmingly, chiefly
because, as everyone freely admitted, the meetings were so dull. They had heard Miss Greene-Joanes read her paper on ‘The Influence of Browning’ five times, and they had had the Debate
on ‘That the Romantic School has contributed more to Literature than the Classical School’ three times, and they’d had a Sale of Work and a Treasure Hunt and a picnic and there
didn’t seem to be anything else to do in the literary line. Mrs Bruce Monkton-Bruce, the Secretary, said that it wasn’t her fault. She’d written to ask Bernard Shaw, Arnold
Bennett, E. Einstein, M. Coué and H. G. Wells to come down to address them and it
drawing-roob.’
She opened her bag.
‘It’s god,’ she gasped.
William was looking very inscrutable, but his mind was working hard. There was more in this, he decided, than had met his eye.
Betty had gone into the drawing-room and now returned with the bonbon dish.
‘You never took it,’ she said.
‘But I did,’ persisted Ethel. ‘I dow I did. It’s host bysterious.’
‘You’d better get home to bed, my dear,’ said Mrs Hawkins.
‘Yes. I’m awfully glad I’b goig to be Rosalid. Cub od, Williab.’
William did not speak till they’d reached the road. Then he said slowly:
‘She’d lent you that silver thing Ethel?’
‘Of course,’ said Ethel shortly.
‘An – an’ you’ve – you’ve got a bad cold?’ he continued.
Ethel did not consider this worth an answer, so they walked on in silence.
‘Well, dear?’ said Mrs Brown when they reached home.
‘I’b goig to be Rosalid,’ said Ethel, ‘but I’ve got a bit of co’d, so I think I’ll go to bed.’ In her relief at having been chosen as Rosalind,
she became expansive and confidential. ‘I knew I’d god a co’d this borning, an’ I sneaked up that boddle of co’d cure ad drank sobe id my bedroob, but it didn’t
do any good.’
William blinked.
‘Was it – was it the cold cure stuff you were drinkin’ in your room, Ethel?’
‘You’d better go to bed, too, William,’ said his mother. ‘The doctor said that you were to go to bed early this week.’
‘All right,’ said William with unexpected meakness. ‘I don’t mind going to bed.’
Still looking very thoughtful, William went to bed.
‘Was he all right at Mrs Hawkins?’ said his mother anxiously to Ethel.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Ethel, ‘he was quite good.’
‘I’m so glad,’ said Mrs Brown, relieved, ‘because you know he sometimes does such extraordinary things when he goes out.’
‘Oh, no,’ said Ethel, preparing to follow William up to bed, ‘he was quite all right.’ She was silent for a minute, as she remembered the abrupt departures of Mrs Morton
and Mrs Jones, and the mysterious disappearance of the bonbon dish from her bag.
‘Sobe rather fuddy things did happed,’ she said, ‘but Williab couldn’t possibly have beed respodsible for any of theb.’
CHAPTER 2
WILLIAM – THE GREAT ACTOR
I T was announced in the village that the Literary Society was going to give a play on Christmas Eve. It was a tradition that a play should be given
in the village every Christmas Eve. It did not much matter who gave it or what it was about or what it was in aid of, but the village had begun to expect a play of some sort on Christmas Eve.
William’s sister Ethel and her friends had at first decided to do scenes from As You Like It , but this had fallen through partly because Ethel had succumbed to influenza as soon as the
cast was arranged, and partly because of other complications too involved to enter into.
So the Literary Society had stepped into the breach, and had announced that it was going to act a play in aid of its Cinematograph Fund. The Literary Society was trying to collect enough money
to buy a cinematograph. Cinematographs, the President said, were so educational. But that was not the only reason. Membership of the Literary Society had lately begun to fall alarmingly, chiefly
because, as everyone freely admitted, the meetings were so dull. They had heard Miss Greene-Joanes read her paper on ‘The Influence of Browning’ five times, and they had had the Debate
on ‘That the Romantic School has contributed more to Literature than the Classical School’ three times, and they’d had a Sale of Work and a Treasure Hunt and a picnic and there
didn’t seem to be anything else to do in the literary line. Mrs Bruce Monkton-Bruce, the Secretary, said that it wasn’t her fault. She’d written to ask Bernard Shaw, Arnold
Bennett, E. Einstein, M. Coué and H. G. Wells to come down to address them and it