HENRI LEARNS THE LANGUAGE
IT was Joan who drew William and the Outlaws from their immemorial practice of playing at Pirates and Red Indians.
“I’m tired of being a squaw,” she said plaintively, “an’ I’m tired of walking the plank an’ I want to be something else an’ do something else.”
Joan was the only girl whose existence the Outlaws officially recognised. This was partly owing to Joan’s own personal attractiveness and partly to the fact that an admiration for Joan was the only human weakness of their manly leader, William. Thus Joan was admitted to all such games as required the female element. The others she was graciously allowed to watch.
They received her outburst with pained astonishment.
“Well,” said Ginger coldly, “wot else is there to do an’ be?”
Ginger felt that the very foundation of the Society of Outlaws was being threatened. The Outlaws had played at Red Indians and Pirates since their foundation.
“Let’s play at being ordinary people,” said Joan.
“Ordinary people——!” exploded Douglas. “There’s no playin’ in bein’ ordinary people. Wot’s the good——?”
“Let’s be Jasmine Villas,” said Joan, warming to her theme. “We’ll each be a person in Jasmine Villas——”
William, who had so far preserved a judicial silence, now said:
“I don’ mind playin’ ornery people s’long as we don’ do ornery things.”
“Oh, no, William,” said Joan with the air of meekness with which she always received William’s oracles, “we needn’t do ornery things.”
“Then bags me be ole Mr. Burwash.”
“And me Miss Milton next door,” said Joan hastily.
The Outlaws were beginning to see vague possibilities in the game.
“An’ me Mr. Luton,” said Ginger.
“An’ me Mr. Buck,” said Douglas.
Henry, the remaining outlaw, looked around him indignantly. Jasmine Villas only contained four houses.
“An’ wot about me?” he said.
“Oh, you be a policeman wot walks about outside,” said William.
Henry, mollified, began to practise a commanding strut.
In the field behind the old barn that was the scene of most of their activities they began to construct Jasmine Villas by boundary lines of twigs. Each inhabitant took up their position inside a twig-encircled enclosure, and Henry paraded officiously around.
“Now we’ll jus’ have a minute to think of what things to do,” said William, “an’ then I’ll begin.”
******
William was sitting in his back garden thinking out exploits to perform that afternoon in the character of Mr. Burwash. The game of Jasmine Villas had “taken on” beyond all expectation. Mr. Burwash stole Miss Milton’s washing during her afternoon siesta, Mr. Buck locked up Mr. Luton in his coal cellar and ate up all his provisions, and always the entire population of Jasmine Villas was chased round the field by Henry, the policeman, several times during a game. Often some of them were arrested, tried, condemned and imprisoned by the stalwart Henry, to be rescued later by a joint force of the other inhabitants of Jasmine Villas.
William, sitting on an inverted flower pot, absent-mindedly chewing grass and throwing sticks for his mongrel, Jumble, to worry, was wondering whether (in his rôle of Mr. Burwash) it would be more exciting to go mad and resist the ubiquitous Henry’s efforts to take him to an asylum, or marry Miss Milton. The only drawback to the latter plan was that they had provided no clergyman. However, perhaps a policeman would do.... Finally he decided that it would be more exciting to go mad and leave Miss Milton to someone else.
“’Ello!”
A thin, lugubrious face appeared over the fence that separated William’s garden from the next door garden.
“’Ello!” replied William, throwing it a cold glance and returning to his pastime of entertaining Jumble.
“I weesh to leearn ze Eengleesh,” went on the owner of the lugubrious face. “My godmother ’ere she talk ze correct Eengleesh. It ees ze idiomatic Eengleesh I weesh to leearn—how you call it?—ze slang. You talk ze slang—ees it not?”
William gave the intruder a devastating glare, gathering up his twigs and with a commanding “Hi, Jumble,” set off round the side of the house.
“Oh, William!”
William sighed as he recognised his mother’s voice. This was followed by his mother’s head which appeared at the open drawing-room window.
“I’m busy jus’ now——” said William sternly.
“William, Mrs. Frame next door has a godson staying with her and he is so anxious to mix with boys and learn colloquial English. I’ve asked him to tea this afternoon. Oh here he is.”
The owner of the thin lugubrious face—a young man of about eighteen—appeared behind William.
“I made a way—’ow say you?—through a ’ole in ze fence. I weeshed to talk wiz ze boy.”
“Well, now, William,” said Mrs. Brown persuasively, “you might spend the afternoon with Henri and talk to him.”
William’s face was a study in horror and indignation.
“I shan’t know what to say to him,” he said desperately. “I can’t talk his kind of talk.”
“I’m sure that’ll be quite all right,” said Mrs. Brown, kindly. “He speaks English very well. Just talk to him simply and naturally.”
She brought the argument to an end by closing the window and leaving an embittered William to undertake his new responsibility.
“’Ave you a ’oliday zis afternoon,” began his new responsibility.
“I ’ave,” said William simply and naturally.
“Zen we weel talk,” said Henri with enthusiasm. “We weel talk an’ you weel teach to me ze slang.”
“’Fraid I’ve gotter play a game this afternoon,” said William icily as they set off down the road.
“I weel play,” said Henri pleasantly, “I like ze games.”
“I’m fraid,” said William with equal pleasantness, “there won’t be no room for you.”
“I weel watch zen,” said Henri, “I like too ze watching.”
******
Henri, who had spent the afternoon watching the game, was on his way home. He had enjoyed watching the game. He had watched a realistically insane Mr. Burwash resist all attempts at capture on the part of the local policeman. He had watched Mr. Luton propose to Miss Milton, and he had watched Mr. Buck in his end house being gloriously and realistically drunk. This was an accomplishment of Douglas’s that was forbidden at home under threat of severe punishment, but it was greatly appreciated by the Outlaws.
Henri walked along jauntily, practising slang to himself.
“Oh, ze Crumbs ... oh, ze Crikey ... ze jolly well ... righto ... git out ... ze bash on the mug....”
General Moult—fat and important-looking—came breezily down the road.
“Ah, Henri ... how are you getting on?”
“Ze jolly well,” said Henri.
“Been for a walk?” said the General yet more breezily.
“Non.... I been to Jasmine Villas.... Oh, ze Crumbs.... I see ole Meester Burwash go—’ow you say it?—off ze head—out of ze chump.”
“What?”
“Oh, yes,” said Henri, “an’ the policeman ’e come an’ try to take ’im away an’ ’e fight an’ fight, an’ ze policeman ’e go for ’elp——”
The General’s mouth was hanging open in amazement.
“B-but, are you sure?” he gasped.
“Oh, yes,” said Henri cheerfully. “I ’ave been zere. I ’ave ze jolly well watch eet.”
“But, good heavens!” said the General, and hastened in the direction of Jasmine Villas.
Henri sauntered on by himself.
“Ze ’oly aunt ... a’right ... ze boose ...” he murmured softly.
At the corner of the road he ran into Mr. Graham Graham. Mr. Graham Graham was tall and lank, with pince-nez and an earnest expression. Mr. Graham Graham’s earnest expression did not belie his character. He was, among other things, the President of the local Temperance Society. He had met Henri with his godmother the day before.
“Well, Henri,” he said earnestly. “And how have you been spending your time?”
“I ’ave been to Jasmine Villas,” said Henri.
“Ah, yes—to whom——?”
Henri interrupted.
“An’ I ’ave seen Meester Buck ... oh, ze crumbs ... ’ow say you? ... tight ... boozed ... derrunk.”
Mr. Graham Graham paled.
“Never!” he said.
Mr. Buck was the Secretary of the local Temperance Society.
“Oh, yes, ze ’oly aunt!” said Henri, “ze policeman ’e ’elp ’im into the ’ouse—’e was, ’ow say you? ro-o-o-o-olling.”
“This is impossible,” said Mr. Graham Graham sternly.
“I ’ave seed it,” said Henri simply. “I laugh ... oh, ze Crikey ... ’ow I laugh....”
Mr. Graham Graham turned upon Henri a cold condemning silent glance then set off in the direction of Jasmine Villas.
Henri wandered homewards.
He met his godmother coming out of her front gate.
“We’re going to Mrs. Brown’s to tea, you know, Henri,” she reminded him.
“A’right,” said Henri. “A’right—righto.”
He accompanied her to Mrs. Brown’s.
“And did you spend the afternoon with William?” said Mrs. Brown pleasantly.
“Oh, yes,” said Henri as he sat down comfortably by the fire, “at ze Jasmine Villas.... Mr. Luton ’e kees Miss Milton in the garden.”
Henri’s godmother dropped her buttered scone.
“Nonsense!” she said.
“’E did,” said Henri calmly. “I ’ave seed ’im. An’ she gave ’im—’ow say you?—ze bash on ze mug. But she tell me she goin’ to marry ’im—righto.”
“She told you?” gasped Mrs. Brown.
“Oh, yes,” said Henri, “she tell me so ’erself.”
Both Mrs. Brown and Henri’s godmother were pale.
“Do you think she doesn’t know that he’s married and separated from his wife?” said Henri’s godmother.
“I don’t know,” said Mrs. Brown. “I feel that I can’t eat a thing now. Someone ought to tell her at once.”
“Let’s go,” said Henri’s godmother suddenly, “before she tells anyone else. The poor woman!”
They went out quickly, leaving Henri alone in the drawing-room. Henri chose a large sugared cake and began to munch it.
“Ze jolly well good,” he commented contentedly.
******
The General approached Mr. Burwash’s house cautiously. There was no sign of a disturbance. Evidently the policeman had not yet returned with help. The General entered the garden and went on tiptoe to the morning-room window. He was full of curiosity. There was the madman. He was sitting at a table with his back to the window. There was a mad look about his very back. The General was suddenly inspired by the idea of making the capture single-handed. It would be a glorious page in the annals of the village. The front door was open. The General entered and walked very slowly down the hall. The morning-room door was open. It was here that the General made the painful discovery that his boots squeaked. The squeaking would undoubtedly attract the attention of the lunatic as he entered. The General had another inspiration. He dropped down upon his hands and knees. He could thus make his way unseen and unheard to the back of the madman, then spring to his feet and overpower him.
He entered the room.
He reached the middle of the room.
Then Mr. Burwash turned round.
Mr. Burwash was met by the sight of the General creeping gingerly and delicately across his morning-room carpet on hands and knees. Mr. Burwash leapt to the not unreasonable conclusion that the General had gone mad. Mr. Burwash knew that a madman must be humoured. He also dropped upon his hands and knees.
“Bow-wow!” he said.
If the General thought he was a dog, the General must be humoured.
“Bow-wow!” promptly replied the General.
The General also knew that madmen must be humoured.
They continued this conversation for several minutes.
Then Mr. Burwash, intent on escape, made a leap towards the door, and the General, intent on capture, made a leap to intercept him.
They leapt about the room excitedly uttering short, shrill barks. The General never quite knew what made him change into a cat. It was partly that he was tired of barking and partly that he hoped to lure Mr. Burwash after him into the more open space of the hall and there overpower him. Mr. Burwash’s pursuit was realistic, and the General, violently chased into the hall, decided to leave the capture to the police after all, and made for the hall door. But a furiously barking Mr. Burwash cut off his retreat. The General, still miaowing unconsciously in a high treble voice, scampered on all fours up the stairs and took refuge in a small room at the top, slamming the door against the pursuing lunatic. The key was turned in the lock from outside.
At the top of the stairs Mr. Burwash stood trembling slightly, and wiped his brow. A violent sound of kicking came from the locked room.
******
Mrs. Brown and Henri’s godmother heard vaguely the distant sounds of the kicking next door, but their delicate interview with Miss Milton was taking all their attention.
Miss Milton, who had been to see a girl whom she was engaging as housemaid for Mr. Luton, was just taking off her things. Miss Milton kept a purely maternal eye upon Mr. Luton.
“You know, dear,” said Henri’s godmother, “we felt we had to come and tell you as soon as we heard the news. He’s got one already.”
“Who?” said Miss Milton, angular and severe looking.
“Mr. Luton.”
“He might have told me,” said Miss Milton.
“But she’s left him,” put in Mrs. Brown.
“Then I’d better see about providing him with another,” said Miss Milton.
“She—she’s not divorced,” gasped Mrs. Brown.
“I should hope not,” said Miss Milton primly. “I’m always most particular about that sort of thing.”
“But when we heard he’d been seen kissing you——” said Henri’s godmother.
Miss Milton gave a piercing scream.
“ME?” she said.
“Yes, when we heard that Mr. Luton had been seen——”
Miss Milton gave a still more piercing scream.
“Slanderers,” she shrieked, “vampires....”
She advanced upon them quivering with rage.
“I’m so sorry,” gasped Mrs. Brown retreating precipitately. “Quite a mistake ... a misunderstanding....”
“Liars ... hypocrites ... snakes in the grass!” screamed Miss Milton, still advancing.
Mrs. Brown and Henri’s godmother fled trembling to the road. Miss Milton’s screams still rent the air. There, two curious sights met their eyes. The General and Mr. Graham Graham were making their exits from the two end houses in unconventional fashion. Mr. Graham Graham fell down the steps and rolled down the garden path to the road. An infuriated Mr. Buck watched his departure.
“I’ll teach you to come and insult respectable people,” shouted Mr. Buck. “Drunkard indeed! And I’ve been Secretary of the Temperance Society for forty years. You’re drunk, let me tell you——”
Mr. Graham Graham, still sitting in the road, put on his hat.
“I’m not drunk,” he said with dignity.
“I’ll have the law on you,” shouted Mr. Buck. “It’s libel, that’s what it is——”
Mr. Graham Graham gathered together his collar ends and tried to find his stud.
“I merely repeat what I’ve heard,” he said.
Mr. Buck slammed the door and Mr. Graham Graham staggered to his feet.
Then he stood open-mouthed, his eyes fixed on the other end house. The stout figure of the General could be seen emerging from a small first floor window and making a slow and ungraceful descent down a drain pipe. It was noticed that he had no hat and that his knees were very dusty. Once on the ground he ran wildly across the garden into the road, almost charging the little group who were watching him. With pale, horror-struck faces the four of them gazed at each other.
“Henri told me——” all four began simultaneously, then stopped.
“D-do come and have some tea,” said Mrs. Brown hysterically.
******
AT THE WINDOW HENRI EXCLAIMED SHRILLY, “OH, ZE
’OLY AUNT!” AND THE OUTLAWS HASTILY JOINED HIM.
William was leading his Outlaws quietly round from the front gate to the back of the house, passing the drawing-room window on tiptoe. Suddenly William stopped dead, gazing with interest into the drawing-room. The expected tea party was not there. Only Henri still eating sugar cakes, was there. William put his head through the open window.
FOUR PEOPLE WERE COMING DOWN THE
ROAD—FOUR VERY ANGRY PEOPLE.
“I say,” he said in a hoarse whisper, “they been an’ gone?”
“Oh, yes,” smiled Henri, “they been an’ gone—righto.”
“Come on!” said William to his followers.
They crept into the hall and then guiltily into the drawing-room. William looked at the plates of dainty food with widening eyes.
“Shu’ly,” he remarked plaintively, “’f they’ve been an’ gone they can’t mind us jus’ finishin’ up what they’ve left. Shu’ly.”
William made this statement less at the dictates of truth than at the dictates of an empty stomach.
“Jus’—jus’ look out of the window, Ongry,” he said, “an’ tell us if anyone comes.”
Henri obligingly took up his position at the window and the Outlaws gave themselves up whole-heartedly to the task of “finishing up.”
They finished up the buttered scones and they finished up the bread and butter and they finished up the sandwiches and they finished up the biscuits and they finished up the small cakes and they finished up the two large cakes.
“I’m jus’ a bit tired of this ole Jasmine Villas game,” said William, his mouth full of sugar cake. “I votes we go back to Pirates an’ Red Injuns to-morrow.”
The Outlaws, who were still busy, agreed with grunts.
“I think——” began Douglas, but just then Henri at the window ejaculated shrilly, “Oh, ze ’oly aunt.”
The Outlaws hastily joined him. Four people were coming down the road. The General—could it be the General? (the drain pipe had been very dirty)—Mr. Graham Graham, his collar open, his tie awry, Henri’s godmother with her hat on one side, and Mrs. Brown, her usual look of placid equanimity replaced by a look that was almost wild. They were certainly coming to the Browns’ house. William looked guiltily at the empty plates and cakestand. Except upon the carpet (for the Outlaws were not born drawing-room eaters) there was not a crumb to be seen.
“P’raps,” said William hastily to his friends, “p’raps we’d better go now.”
His friends agreed.
They went as quietly and unostentatiously as possible by way of the back regions.
Henri remained at the window. He watched the curious quartette as they came in at the gate.
Details of their appearance, unnoticed before, became clear as they drew nearer.
“Ze Crumbs an’ ze Crikey!” ejaculated Henri.
******
It was two hours later. William sat disconsolately upon the upturned plant pot throwing stones half-heartedly at the fence. Jumble sat disconsolately by him snapping half-heartedly at flies. The Outlaws had nobly shared the sugar cakes with Jumble and he was just beginning to wish that they hadn’t....
Suddenly Henri’s face appeared at the top of the fence.
“’Ello!” he said.
“’Ello!” sighed William.
“Zey talk to me,” said Henri sadly, “’ow zey talk to me jus’ because I tell ’em about your leetle game.”
“Yes,” said William bitterly, “and ’ow they talk to me jus’ ’cause we finished up a few ole cakes and things left over from tea. You’d think to hear ’em that they’d have been glad to come home and find me starved dead.”
Henri leant yet further over the fence.
“But zey looked ... ’ow zey looked!”
There was silence for a moment while the mental vision of “’ow zey looked” came to both. Then William’s rare laugh—unmusical and penetrating—rang out. Mrs. Brown, who was suffering from a severe headache as the result of the events of the afternoon, hastily closed the drawing-room window. Followed Henri’s laugh—high-pitched and like the neighing of a horse. Henri’s godmother tore herself with a groan from the bed on which she was indulging in a nervous breakdown and flung up her bedroom window.
“Henri, are you ill?” she cried. “What is it?”
“Oh, ze nosings,” replied Henri.
Then, leaning yet more dangerously over the fence, “What ze game you goin’ to play to-morrow, Willem?”
“Pirates,” said William, regaining his usual calm. “Like to come?”
“Oh, ze jolly well righto yes!” said Henri.