William The Outlaw by Richmal Crompton Page B

said icily, ‘I am on my way to pay a visit to your parents.’
    This news was not encouraging. William turned to accompany him, consoled slightly by the knowledge that both his parents were out. Losing no time he boldly approached the subject of the
band.
    ‘Hear you’re gettin’ up a band, Mr Solomon,’ he said casually.
    ‘I am,’ said Mr Solomon more icily than ever.
    ‘I’d like to be a trumpeter,’ said William, still casually.
    ‘You have not been asked to join the band,’ went on Mr Solomon with a firmness unusual in that mild young man, but his mind was still raw with the memories of Christmas Eve,
‘and you will not be asked to join the band.’
    ‘Oh,’ said William politely.
    ‘You may wonder,’ went on Mr Solomon with deep emotion, ‘why I am going to pay a visit to your parents.’
    William didn’t wonder at all, but he said nothing.
    ‘I am going,’ continued Mr Solomon ‘to complain to your parents of your shameful behaviour on Christmas Eve.’
    ‘Oh – that,’ said William as though he remembered the incident with difficulty, ‘I remember – we – sort of lost you, didn’t we? It’s easy
losin’ people in the pitch dark. It made it very awkward for us,’ he went on complainingly, ‘you gettin’ lost like that.’
    ‘You are at liberty, of course,’ said Mr Solomon, ‘to give your version of the affair to your parents. I shall give mine. I have little doubt which they will
believe.’
    William also had little, or rather no doubt at all, which they would believe. He was constantly being amazed and horrified by his parents’ lack of credulity in his versions of affairs. He
changed the subject hastily.
    ‘I could easy learn a trumpet,’ he volunteered, ‘an’ so c’d Ginger an’ Douglas – an’ Henry when he comes back an’ – an’ it
won’t be so easy to lose you with a band in daylight. It was with it bein’ so dark that we sort of got lost Christmas Eve.’
    Mr Solomon disdained to answer.
    After a pause, William said solicitously:
    ‘Sorry t’hear you’ve been ill.’
    ‘My slight indisposition,’ said Mr Solomon, ‘was the result of our ill-fated expedition on Christmas Eve.’
    ‘Yes,’ said William who was determined to cover that ill-fated expedition as far as possible with the cloak of innocency, ‘it was a nasty cold night. I was sneezin’ a bit
myself the next mornin’.’
    Again Mr Solomon disdained to answer.
    ‘Well, when I’m in your band,’ said William with his irrepressible optimism, ‘playin’ a trumpet—’
    ‘William,’ said Mr Solomon patiently, ‘you will not be in my band playing anything. If your parents continue to send you to Sunday School after receiving my complaint, I
must – er – endure it, but you will not be in my band. Nor will any of your friends.’
    At the suggestion that his parents might not continue to send him to Sunday School after receiving Mr Solomon’s complaint, William’s spirits had risen only to drop again immediately
at the reflection that they would be all the more likely to insist upon it. Mr Solomon, of course, looked upon his Sunday School as a glorious privilege to its attendants. William’s parents
looked upon it more simply as their Sunday afternoon’s rest. They would not be likely to put an end to William’s attendance there on any consideration.
    Mr Solomon turned in at the gate of William’s home and William accompanied him with an air of courage that was, as I have said, derived solely from the knowledge that both his parents were
out. Then taking a muttered farewell of his companion he went round to the side of the house. His companion went up the front steps and rang the front door ball.
    William amused himself in the back garden for some time but keeping under strict observation the front drive where the baffled Mr Solomon must soon beat his retreat. But no baffled Mr Solomon
appeared beating his retreat. Curiosity impelled William to creep cautiously up to