thoughts worked silently and daringly.
‘Would you like,’ he said at last, ‘to b’long to a secret serciety?’
Sam put his cap on one side and chewed a blade of grass ruminatively.
‘Dunno,’ he said. ‘Never tried. Leastways, not as I can call to mind.’
‘Well,’ said William, persuasively, ‘you can try now. I want to start one an’ you can b’long. I want you to b’long ’cause you’re his
gardener’s boy an’ can do things – ’cause he’s awful mean an’ made me eat all the ole pie an’ burnt my tale an’ said lots of things an’ I want
to make a secret serciety for payin’ him out.’
Sam seemed to grasp the situation.
‘Orl right,’ he said, ‘an’ wot do I get fer it?’
This slightly nonplussed William.
‘Oh,’ he said vaguely, ‘it’s a serciety – you jus’ b’long – you – er – well, you jus’ b’long. ’
Sam was considering the idea.
‘Let’s ’ave ’im,’ he said, pointing at the boy who was still sitting on the fence and spitting proudly at intervals. ‘ ’E’s errand boy at the
grocer’s, he is, an’ ’e’s offen round ’ere. ’E’s called Halbert, ’e is.’
Albert was approached, and expressed himself willing to join.
‘I don’t mind b’longing,’ he said, with a sigh of deep feeling. ‘I wouldn’t mind murderin’ of ’im sometimes, when ’e tells me to get
out of ’is garding scornful like. I would ’a’ murdered ’im long ago if it ’adn’t been for my poor ole mother.’
Even William was startled.
‘You needn’t murder him,’ he said, hastily. ‘He’s only gotter be paid out.’
The Secret Society of Vengeance met for the first time the next afternoon, in an old barn on the hillside.
Albert had brought a friend of the name of Leopold to swell their numbers. Leopold wore a tweed cap, many sizes too large for him, pulled down over his eyes. It gave him a daredevil air. He
announced, in a husky voice, that he ‘din’ care nuffin’ fer no one, so there!’
William looked round at his small band with a proud heart. Though he had not forgotten the aims of his secret society, it was the fact of its existence that really thrilled him.
‘Now we’ve gotter take a sacred an’ solemn oath,’ he said, ‘an’ sign it in our blood, an’ get a secret password an’ a secret sign an’ a
secret langwidge.’
Leopold created a diversion by announcing, briefly and gruffly, that no one was going to sign nothing in his blood. When threatened with ejection by William, and taunted with cowardice by Sam,
he flung himself upon them in dramatic fury. They moved hastily aside in opposite directions, and his outstretched fist came heavily in contact with a nail in the barn door. As an adequate supply
of blood seemed to be promptly assured, he lost his anger and became unbearably conceited, parading his bleeding fist and commenting on some people he knew who would have made a fuss and no mistake
over a little thing like that. He didn’t mind a little thing like that – he’d – well, anyway, hurry up with that oath, or it would be drying up.
William had found in his pocket a grimy piece of paper and the stump of a pencil, and was writing with a set, purposeful expression.
‘Now listen,’ he said at last. ‘This is wot I’ve wrote: “We, wot our names are sined in blood under this riting, take an oath to revenge to the deth any member of
this serciety wot is treated unfair. This is a Secret Serciety. The punishment for anyone wot does not revenge anyone else, or wot tells about the Serciety, is not to be spoke to or played with by
any of the other people in the Serciety for ever till deth.”’
The signatures were the next difficulty. Leopold signed his with a scornful pride that was beginning to make him unpopular. William, feeling that his reputation as founder of the society was at
stake, took out a battered penknife, made a slight incision with a dramatic gesture, and signed his name beneath
‘Would you like,’ he said at last, ‘to b’long to a secret serciety?’
Sam put his cap on one side and chewed a blade of grass ruminatively.
‘Dunno,’ he said. ‘Never tried. Leastways, not as I can call to mind.’
‘Well,’ said William, persuasively, ‘you can try now. I want to start one an’ you can b’long. I want you to b’long ’cause you’re his
gardener’s boy an’ can do things – ’cause he’s awful mean an’ made me eat all the ole pie an’ burnt my tale an’ said lots of things an’ I want
to make a secret serciety for payin’ him out.’
Sam seemed to grasp the situation.
‘Orl right,’ he said, ‘an’ wot do I get fer it?’
This slightly nonplussed William.
‘Oh,’ he said vaguely, ‘it’s a serciety – you jus’ b’long – you – er – well, you jus’ b’long. ’
Sam was considering the idea.
‘Let’s ’ave ’im,’ he said, pointing at the boy who was still sitting on the fence and spitting proudly at intervals. ‘ ’E’s errand boy at the
grocer’s, he is, an’ ’e’s offen round ’ere. ’E’s called Halbert, ’e is.’
Albert was approached, and expressed himself willing to join.
‘I don’t mind b’longing,’ he said, with a sigh of deep feeling. ‘I wouldn’t mind murderin’ of ’im sometimes, when ’e tells me to get
out of ’is garding scornful like. I would ’a’ murdered ’im long ago if it ’adn’t been for my poor ole mother.’
Even William was startled.
‘You needn’t murder him,’ he said, hastily. ‘He’s only gotter be paid out.’
The Secret Society of Vengeance met for the first time the next afternoon, in an old barn on the hillside.
Albert had brought a friend of the name of Leopold to swell their numbers. Leopold wore a tweed cap, many sizes too large for him, pulled down over his eyes. It gave him a daredevil air. He
announced, in a husky voice, that he ‘din’ care nuffin’ fer no one, so there!’
William looked round at his small band with a proud heart. Though he had not forgotten the aims of his secret society, it was the fact of its existence that really thrilled him.
‘Now we’ve gotter take a sacred an’ solemn oath,’ he said, ‘an’ sign it in our blood, an’ get a secret password an’ a secret sign an’ a
secret langwidge.’
Leopold created a diversion by announcing, briefly and gruffly, that no one was going to sign nothing in his blood. When threatened with ejection by William, and taunted with cowardice by Sam,
he flung himself upon them in dramatic fury. They moved hastily aside in opposite directions, and his outstretched fist came heavily in contact with a nail in the barn door. As an adequate supply
of blood seemed to be promptly assured, he lost his anger and became unbearably conceited, parading his bleeding fist and commenting on some people he knew who would have made a fuss and no mistake
over a little thing like that. He didn’t mind a little thing like that – he’d – well, anyway, hurry up with that oath, or it would be drying up.
William had found in his pocket a grimy piece of paper and the stump of a pencil, and was writing with a set, purposeful expression.
‘Now listen,’ he said at last. ‘This is wot I’ve wrote: “We, wot our names are sined in blood under this riting, take an oath to revenge to the deth any member of
this serciety wot is treated unfair. This is a Secret Serciety. The punishment for anyone wot does not revenge anyone else, or wot tells about the Serciety, is not to be spoke to or played with by
any of the other people in the Serciety for ever till deth.”’
The signatures were the next difficulty. Leopold signed his with a scornful pride that was beginning to make him unpopular. William, feeling that his reputation as founder of the society was at
stake, took out a battered penknife, made a slight incision with a dramatic gesture, and signed his name beneath
Similar Books
