Still William by Richmal Crompton Page B

the events of the previous morning. That dreadful boy . . . anyway
he’d shown him – he wasn’t likely to come again after yesterday. And most certainly Bob Andrews should go . . . he’d like to see any fool boy dictating to him .
But Mr Bott could not feel bad-tempered for long. It was such a bright sunny morning and he’d just discovered himself to be 7/8 of an inch thinner round the waist than this time last week . .
.
    He leapt and skipped and gambolled and splashed. Once he imagined he saw the horrible boy’s face in the bushes, but looking again he came to the conclusion that he must have been mistaken.
Once too, he thought he heard a snap or a click as if someone had stepped on a twig, but listening again he came to the conclusion that he must have been mistaken. He enjoyed his exercises for the
next two mornings as well. But on the third morning as soon as he had come down, dressed and glowing, to his study after his exercises, to look at his letters before breakfast the butler threw open
the door and announced:
    ‘They said it was himportant business, sir, an’ you knew about it. I ’ope it’s all right.’
    Then four boys walked up to his desk. One was the boy who had taken his overcoat up a tree two days before. The butler had gone. Mr Bott, sputtering with rage, reached out to the bell. He was
going to say ‘Kick these boys out’, when the worst of the boys – the devil – laid half a dozen snapshots on his desk. Mr Bott looked at them, and then sat rigid and
motionless, his hand still outstretched towards the bell.
    Then his rubicund face grew pale.
    The first snapshot showed Mr Bott, short, fat, and (except for his microscopic bathing drawers) naked, skipping by the lake. The angle of his legs was irresistibly comic. The second snapshot
showed Mr Bott, still short and fat and almost naked, balancing himself on one arm and one leg, the others stuck out wildly in the air, his eyes staring, his tongue hanging out of his mouth. The
third snapshot showed Mr Bott in the act of overbalancing in a rather difficult exercise. That was the gem of the collection. The fourth showed Mr Bott lying on his back and kicking his legs in the
air. The fifth showed Mr Bott standing on two very stiff arms and stiff legs with an expression of acute suffering on his face. The sixth showed Mr Bott splashing in the lake.

    MR BOTT LEAPED AND SKIPPED AND GAMBOLLED AND SPLASHED. HE WAS DETERMINED TO OBEY TO THE FULL THE SPECIALIST’S ADVICE ABOUT PHYSICAL EXERCISES.
    Mr Bott took out his handkerchief and wiped away the perspiration that was standing out on his brow.
    ‘If you burn ’em,’ said William firmly, ‘we can get more. We ’ve got the films and we can make hundreds more – and jolly good ones too.’
    Mr Bott began to stammer.
    ‘W-what are you g-going to d-do with them?’ he asked.
    ‘Just show them to people,’ said William calmly.
    Horrid visions passed before Mr Bott’s eyes. He saw the wretched things in the local paper. He saw them passed from hand to hand in drawing-rooms. He saw strong men helpless with mirth as
they seized on them. His position in Society – well, the less said about his position in Society if those things became public the better . . .
    William took a crumpled document from his pocket and laid it solemnly upon Mr Bott’s desk.
    ‘That’s a contrack,’ he said, ‘signed in all our life’s blood sayin’ that we’ll keep ’em hid safely and never show ’em to anyone
s’long as you let Bob stay.’

    ONCE MR BOTT THOUGHT HE SAW THAT HORRIBLE BOY’S FACE IN THE BUSHES. ONCE HE IMAGINED HE HEARD AN ODD CLICK, AS IF SOMEONE HAD STEPPED ON A TWIG.
    Mr Bott knew when he was beaten. He moistened his lips.
    ‘All right,’ he whispered. ‘All right . . . I promise – only – go away .’
    They went away.
    Mr Bott locked the contract in his desk and pocketed the key.
    Mrs Bott came in. Mr Bott still sat huddled in his chair.
    ‘You don’t look well, Botty,