Still William by Richmal Crompton

said, ‘let’s have a nexhibition
– let’s get a nexhibition up. Well, ’f Ginger’s mother’ll go all the way to London to see a nexhibition it’d – well, it’d be savin’
folks’ money to givvem a nexhibition here.’
    ‘We’ve done things like that,’ said Henry morosely. ‘We’ve got up shows an’ things an’ they’ve always turned out wrong.’
    ‘We’ve never got up a nexhibition,’ said William, ‘a nexhibition’s quite diff’rent. It couldn’t go wrong an’ we’d make ever so much
money.’
    ‘I don’t b’lieve in your ways of makin’ money,’ said Henry. ‘Something always goes wrong.’
    ‘A’ right,’ said William sternly, ‘don’t be in it. Keep out of it.’
    ‘Oh, no,’ said Henry hastily, ‘I’d rather be in it even if it goes wrong. I’d rather be in a thing that turns out wrong than not be in anything at
all.’
    ‘Where’ll we get natives?’ said Ginger.
    ‘Oh, anyone can look like a native,’ said William carelessly. ‘That’s easy’s easy.’
    ‘What’ll we call it?’ said Douglas.
    ‘The London one’s called Wembley,’ said Ginger with an air of pride in his wide knowledge.
    ‘What about “The Little Wembley”?’ said Henry.
    ‘Well, that’s a silly thing to do!’ said William sternly, ‘ tellin’ ’em it’s littler than Wembley before they’ve come to it. Even if
it is littler than Wembley we needn’t tellem so.’
    ‘Let’s call it just Wembley,’ suggested Douglas.
    ‘No,’ said William, ‘it would be muddlin’ havin’ ’em both called by the same name. Folks wouldn’t know which they was talkin’ about.’
    ‘When I stayed with my aunt,’ said Ginger slowly, ‘there was a place called a Picture Palace de lucks. Let’s call it Wembley de lucks.’
    ‘What’s de lucks mean?’ said William suspiciously.
    ‘I ’spect it means sorter good luck,’ said Ginger.
    ‘All right,’ said William graciously, ‘that’ll do all right for a name. Now how’re we goin’ to let people know about it.’
    ‘How did they let people know about the other Wembley?’ said Henry.
    ‘They put advertisements in the papers an’ things,’ said Ginger who was beginning to consider himself the greatest living authority on the subject of the Wembley
Exhibition.
    ‘We can’t do that,’ said Henry. ‘The papers sim’ly wouldn’t print ’em if we wrote ’em. I know ’cause I once sent somethin’ to a paper
an’ they sim’ly didn’t print it.’
    ‘Well, then,’ said William undaunted, ‘we’ll write letters to people. They’ll have to read ’em. We’ll stick ’em through their letter boxes
an’ they’ll have to read ’em case they was somethin’ important. An’ I say, it’s nearly stopped rainin’. Let’s see ’f we can find any
more eggs.’
    II
    A week later the Outlaws were sitting round the large wooden table of the one-time nursery in Ginger’s house. In a strained silence they wrote out the letter drafted by
William, a copy of which was before each of them. The table was covered with ink stains. Their hair, their faces, their tongues, their collars, their fingers were covered with ink. Most of them
wrote slowly and laboriously with ink-stained tongues protruding between ink-stained teeth.
    Dear Sir or Maddam (ran the copy),
    On Satterdy we are going to have a Wembley not the one in London but one here so as to save you fairs and other exspences there will be natifs in natif coschume with natif potts and ammusments
and other things which are secrits till the day entranse will be one penny exsit free ammusments are one penny hopping to have the pleshure of your compny,
    Yours truely,          
    T HE W EMBLY C OMITTY .     
    P.S. It is a secrit who we are.
    P.P.S. It will probly be in the feeld next the barn but notises will be put up later.
    When the notes had been written the Outlaws were both physically and mentally exhausted. They could run and wrestle and climb trees all