William Again by Richmal Crompton

publicly and disdainfully, that William felt it was time that something happened to Mr French. He was proud of that story; he thought it sounded a jolly good yarn, even
when read by Mr French, who didn’t seem to know how to pronounce half the words.
    ‘The pleecemen rushed upon the outlor as he stood there so proud an’ manly.
    ‘“Ho, ho!” he cried. “Come on, varlets, an’ I’ll jolly well show you.”
    ‘With one sweep of his gorry blade three pleecemen’s heads roled of into a heep. He shot another through the brane, another fell strangled, an’ another, wot had a week hart,
fell down dead at the horrible site. Only one was left.
    ‘The outlor gave a snarling laugh through his clenshed teeth.
    ‘“Come on varlets,” he said, waving his gorry blade in one hand an’ his gun in the other, an’ holding a dagger in his clenshed teeth.
    ‘But the pleeceman slank of.
    ‘“Coward!” taunted the outlor through clenshed teeth.’
    William felt strongly that it was a very good story He’d have to write the whole thing out again now. It was certainly time something happened to Mr French. He went home planning
vengeance.
    He walked home slowly, his brow drawn into a stern frown, not leaping in and out of the ditch, or hurling missiles at passing friends or enemies, as was his usual custom. His thoughts were so
entirely taken up with schemes of vengeance that he walked past the turning that led to his home and found himself in a road through which he did not often pass.
    Two boys stood outside the gate of a house. They were boys whom William’s mother would have designated as ‘common’. William, whose tastes were lamentably low, looked at them
with interest. He felt suddenly lonely and eager for the society of his kind. The opportunity of an introduction soon occurred. The larger of the two boys looked up to find William’s scowling
gaze fixed upon him.
    ‘Ullo, Freckles!’ he called, accompanying the insult with a grimace of obviously hostile intent.
    William, forgetting all thoughts of Mr French in the exhilaration of the moment, advanced threateningly.
    ‘You jus’ say that again,’ he said.
    The red-haired boy obligingly said it again, and William closed with him. They rolled across the road and into the ditch and out of it again. William pulled the red-haired boy’s nose and
the red-haired boy rubbed William’s head in the dust. It was quite a friendly fight – merely an excuse for the display of physical energy
    The second boy sat on the fence and watched. Every now and then he spat in the dust with a certain conscious pride. At last, friendly relations having been established by the bout, William and
the red-haired boy sat up in the dust and looked at each other.
    ‘What’s your name?’ demanded William.
    ‘Sam. Wot’s yourn?’
    ‘William. D’you go to school?’
    The red-haired boy looked scornful.
    ‘School? Me? No much! I’m workin’, I am. I works there, I does.’ He cocked his thumb in the direction of the house. ‘ ’E ain’t much catch, though,
’e ain’t. Stingy ole blighter – never so much as says ‘take an apple or two’, or ‘take a bunch of grapes or two’ – not ’e – an’ me the
gardener’s boy.’
    He relapsed into pensive gloom at this recital of his woes.
    ‘So don’t you never get none?’ said William sympathetically.
    ‘Don’ I?’ said Sam with a wink. ‘Wot d’yer think? That’s all I asks yer. Wot d’yer think? But it ’ud be friendlier in ’im ter ask me
ter ’ave one or two. Not,’ he admitted, ‘as it makes much difference. But ’e’s a stingy bloke – allus ’as been. ’E’s one of these ’ere
schoolteachers. Kinder disagreeable in ’is manner.’
    ‘What’s his name?’ said William, with sudden interest.
    ‘Ole Frenchy we calls ’im,’ said Sam. ‘An’ don’ ’e think ’e’s clever? Not ’arf. Ho my!’
    Into William’s inscrutable countenance had come a gleam of light. For a moment his