Read Online William Again by Richmal Crompton - Free Book Online

with William’s in piercing
screams. The quiet street had become a nightmare uproar of inharmonious sound. A man threw a boot at William from an upstairs window. It hit a hen in a neighbour’s garden. The hen added its
voice to William’s and the parrot’s. William passed along, singing and unmoved –
    I’ve a girl in Navara,
    I’ve a girl in Sahara,
    I’ve got a few sweet girlies who – o – o – o I’ve promised to – o – o be true – ue – ue – ue to – o – o –
    o.
    He turned off the main street. The hideous sound died gradually away in the distance and quiet reigned once more in that vicinity. Windows were opened, people returned to their
front rooms, the parrot relapsed into his customary silence.
    William went on singing towards his home. At the gate of his garden he changed his song for a toneless penetrating whistle. He whistled his way blithely up the drive. His father flung up a
window fiercely.
    ‘Stop that noise!’ he called.
    William proceeded on his way.
    ‘Stop – that – noise!’
    William stopped.
    ‘What noise?’ he said.
    ‘That – that foul noise you were making just now.’
    ‘Whistlin’? I din’t know you meant whistlin’ when you said noise,’ William went on, drawing near the window. ‘I din’t know you was talking to me at all
jus’ at first. I thought—’ William was obviously anxious to carry on a friendly conversation with a fellow being. His father hastily slammed the window and returned to his
armchair.
    William opened his mouth as for a burst of song. Then he seemed suddenly to change his mind and pursed his lips as if for a whistle. Then, after a breathless moment of silence, he unpursed them
and humming untunefully under his breath he entered by the side door.
    The hall was empty. Through the open kitchen door he could see his mother and Ethel, his grown-up sister, cutting sandwiches at one table and the cook and housemaid at another. He went into the
kitchen.
    ‘Who’re you makin’ sandwiches for?’ he demanded.
    His mother surveyed him sadly.
    ‘I do wish you could keep clean for more than two minutes together, William,’ she said.
    William smoothed back an obstreperous mop of hair with a grimy hand.
    ‘Yes,’ he agreed mechanically, ‘but who’re you makin’ sandwiches for?’
    Ethel paused with a butter-laden knife in mid-air.
    ‘Don’t for Heaven’s sake tell him,’ she said, ‘and let’s hope and pray that he’ll keep out of the way till it’s over. It’ll be enough
trouble without him hanging round.’
    William ejected the tip of his tongue in her direction behind his mother’s back.
    ‘Yes – but – who’re – you – makin’ – sandwiches – for?’ he said slowly and emphatically, with an air of patience tried beyond endurance.
    ‘I think he’d be rather a help than otherwise, you know,’ said his mother, carefully arranging pieces of tongue on a slice of bread and butter.
    Ethel merely shrugged her shoulders.
    ‘I s’pose,’ said William with heavy sarcasm, ‘you’re makin’ them jus’ for fun?’
    ‘Clever!’ said Ethel, cutting off the crusts of a sandwich.
    William, whose appetite was a never-failing quality, fell upon the crusts and began to eat them.
    ‘Don’t spoil your lunch, dear,’ murmured Mrs Brown.
    ‘No,’ promised William, ‘but – all – I – want – to – know – is – who’re – you – makin’ – sandwiches – for?’
    ‘Oh, do say something and stop him saying that awful sentence,’ groaned Ethel.
    ‘Well, dear,’ began his mother persuasively, ‘would you like a little party this afternoon?’
    ‘People coming to tea?’ asked William guardedly.
    ‘Yes, dear, you’d be such a help – and—’
    William interrupted.
    ‘I’ll eat up all they leave afterwards for you,’ he said obligingly; ‘but I think I won’t come this time.’
    ‘Thank Heaven!’ murmured Ethel.
    ‘I’m not much good at parties,’ said William with perfect truth and