More William Part 31

"We must find somethin' to eat," said William firmly. "We can't let ourselves starve to death."

"Shrimps?" suggested Peggy cheerfully.

"We haven't got nets," said William. "We couldn't save them from the wreck."

"Periwinkles?"

"There aren't any on this island. I know! Seaweed! An' we'll cook it."

"Oh, how _lovely_!"

He gathered up a handful of seaweed and they entered the hut, leaving a white handkerchief tied on to the door to attract the attention of any pa.s.sing s.h.i.+p. The hut was provided with a gas ring and William, disregarding his family's express injunction, lit this and put on a saucepan filled with water and seaweed.

"We'll pretend it's a wood fire," he said. "We couldn't make a real wood fire out on the prom. They'd stop us. So we'll pretend this is.

An' we'll pretend we saved a saucepan from the wreck."

After a few minutes he took off the pan and drew out a long green strand.

"You eat it first," he said politely.

The smell of it was not pleasant. Peggy drew back.

"Oh, no, you first!"

"No, you," said William n.o.bly. "You look hungrier than me."

She bit off a piece, chewed it, shut her eyes and swallowed.

"Now you," she said with a shade of vindictiveness in her voice.

"You're not going to not have any."

William took a mouthful and s.h.i.+vered.

"I think it's gone bad," he said critically.

Peggy's rosy face had paled.

"I'm going home," she said suddenly.

"You can't go home on a desert island," said William severely.

"Well, I'm going to be rescued then," she said.

"I think I am, too," said William.

It was lunch time when William arrived at the boarding-house. Mr.

Percival Jones had moved his place so as to be nearer Ethel. He was now convinced that she was possessed of every virtue his future "spouse" could need. He conversed brightly and incessantly during the meal. Mr. Brown grew restive.

"The man will drive me mad," he said afterwards. "Bleating away!

What's he bleating about anyway? Can't you stop him bleating, Ethel?

You seem to have influence. Bleat! Bleat! Bleat! Good Lord! And me here for a _rest_ cure!"

At this point he was summoned to the telephone and returned distraught.

"It's an unknown female," he said. "She says that a boy of the name of William from this boarding-house has made her little girl sick by forcing her to eat seaweed. She says it's brutal. Does anyone _know_ I'm here for a rest cure? Where is the boy? Good heavens! Where is the boy?"

But William, like Peggy, had retired from the world for a s.p.a.ce. He returned later on in the afternoon, looking pale and chastened. He bore the reproaches of his family in stately silence.

Mr. Percival Jones was in great evidence in the drawing-room.

"And soon--er--soon the--er--Spring will be with us once more," he was saying in his high-pitched voice as he leant back in his chair and joined the tips of his fingers together. "The Spring--ah--the Spring!

I have a--er--little effort I--er--composed on--er--the Coming of Spring--I--er--will read to you some time if you will--ah--be kind enough to--er--criticise--ah--impartially."

"_Criticise_!" they chorused. "It will be above criticism. Oh, do read it to us, Mr. Jones."

"I will--er--this evening." His eyes wandered to the door, hoping and longing for his beloved's entrance. But Ethel was with her father at a matinee at the Winter Gardens and he looked and longed in vain. In spite of this, however, the springs of his eloquence did not run dry, and he held forth ceaselessly to his little circle of admirers.

"The simple--ah--pleasures of nature. How few of us--alas!--have the--er--gift of appreciating them rightly. This--er--little seaside hamlet with its--er--sea, its--er--promenade, its--er--Winter Gardens!

How beautiful it is! How few appreciate it rightly."

Here William entered and Mr. Percival Jones broke off abruptly. He disliked William.

"Ah! here comes our little friend. He looks pale. Remorse, my young friend? Ah, beware of untruthfulness. Beware of the beginnings of a life of lies and deception." He laid a hand on William's head and cold s.h.i.+vers ran down William's spine. "'Be good, sweet child, and let who will be clever,' as the poet says." There was murder in William's heart.

At that minute Ethel entered.

"No," she snapped. "I sat next a man who smelt of bad tobacco. I _hate_ men who smoke bad tobacco."

Mr. Jones a.s.sumed an expression of intense piety.

"I may boast," he said sanctimoniously, "that I have never thus soiled my lips with drink or smoke ..."

There was an approving murmur from the occupants of the drawing-room.

William had met his father in the pa.s.sage outside the drawing-room.

Mr. Brown was wearing a hunted expression.

"Can I go into the drawing-room?" he said bitterly, "or is he bleating away in there?"

They listened. From the drawing-room came the sound of a high-pitched voice.

Mr. Brown groaned.

"Good Lord!" he moaned. "And I'm here for a _rest_ cure and he comes bleating into every room in the house. Is the smoking-room safe? Does he smoke?"

Mr. Percival Jones was feeling slightly troubled in his usually peaceful conscience. He could honestly say that he had never smoked.

He could honestly say that he had never drank. But in his bedroom reposed two bottles of brandy, purchased at the advice of an aunt "in case of emergencies." In his bedroom also was a box of cigars that he had bought for a cousin's birthday gift, but which his conscience had finally forbidden to present. He decided to consign these two emblems of vice to the waves that very evening.

Meanwhile William had returned to the hut and was composing a tale of smugglers by the light of a candle. He was much intrigued by his subject. He wrote fast in an illegible hand in great sloping lines, his brows frowning, his tongue protruding from his mouth as it always did in moments of mental strain.