William The Outlaw by Richmal Crompton Page A

middle of the lawn caked with black mud from head to foot and
saying, ‘Oh, damn and blast!’
    The party broke up after that. No festive atmosphere could have survived that shock. The Outlaws, clean and neat and sphinx-like and silent, accompanied their parents home.
    ‘ Well ,’ said the parents, ‘I’d never have believed that of Georgie Murdoch!’
    ‘ Caked with mud!’
    ‘And such language !’
    ‘It shows that you never can tell. ’
    A close observer might have gathered that at heart the Outlaws’ parents were almost as jubilant over Georgie’s downfall as were the Outlaws themselves.
    The famous cousin, who was by the gate as William took his leave, managed to press a ten-shilling note into William’s hand.
    ‘To be divided amongst your accomplices,’ he murmured. ‘You surpassed my highest expectation. As artist to artist I tend you my congratulations.’
    That, of course, is quite a good place to stop, but, there remains more to be said.
    The next day Georgie appeared once more, cleaner and neater than ever and clad in a new white suit, walking decorously down the village street and smiling complacently. But it was no use.
Georgie’s reputation was gone. It had so to speak vanished in a night. Georgie might have paraded his clean white-clad figure and smug smile and golden curls before the eyes of the village
for a hundred years and yet never wiped out the memory of that mud-caked little horror uttering horrible oaths before the assembled aristocrats of the village.
    At the end of the month the Murdochs sold their house and removed. They told their new neighbours that there hadn’t been a boy in the place fit for Georgie to associate with.
    History does not relate what happened to the chocolate creams.
    Perhaps the famous cousin ate them.

CHAPTER 4
WILLIAM PLAYS SANTA CLAUS
    W ILLIAM walked slowly and thoughtfully down the village street. It was the week after Christmas. Henry was still away. Douglas and Ginger were the
only two of his friends left in the village. Henry’s absence had its bright side because Henry’s father had, in the excitement of the departure, forgotten to lock his garage and the
Outlaws found Henry’s father’s garage a nice change from the old barn, their usual meeting place. William was glad that Christmas was over. He’d not done badly out of it on the
whole, but Christmas was a season too sacred to the conventions and to uncongenial relatives to appeal to William.
    Suddenly he saw someone coming down the village street towards him. It was Mr Solomon, the superintendent of the Sunday School of which William was a reluctant and inglorious member. William had
his reasons for not wishing to meet Mr Solomon. Mr Solomon had organised a party of waits for Christmas Eve from his Sunday School attendants and William had not only joined this party but had
assumed leadership of it. They had managed to detach themselves from Mr Solomon quite early in the evening and had spent the night in glorious lawlessness. William had not seen Mr Solomon since
that occasion because Mr Solomon had had a slight nervous breakdown and William was now torn between a desire to elude him and a desire to tackle him. The desire to elude him needs no explanation.
The desire to tackle was equally simple. William had heard that Mr Solomon, who was ever prolific in fresh ideas, had decided to form a band from the elder boys of the Sunday School. It may be
thought that Mr Solomon should have learnt wisdom from his experience on Christmas Eve but then Mr Solomon had decided to ensure success for his scheme by the simple process of debarring the
Outlaws from it. William had heard of this and the news had filled him with such righteous indignation that it overcame even his natural reluctance to meet the organiser of the Christmas Eve carol
party.
    He confronted him squarely.
    ‘Afternoon, Mr Solomon,’ he said.
    Mr Solomon looked him up and down with distaste.
    ‘Good afternoon, my boy,’ he