WHISTLING.
In the next street a watering cart had just passed, and there was a broad muddy stream flowing along the gutter. With a whoop of joy the tribe made for it, ‘Erb at the head, closely
followed by William.
WILLIAM WAS HAPPY AT LAST. HE WAS A BOY AMONG BOYS – AN OUTLAW AMONG OUTLAWS.
William’s patent leather shoes began to lose their damning smartness. It was William who began to stamp as he walked, and the rest at once followed suit – splashing, shouting,
whistling, jostling, they followed the muddy stream through street after street. At every corner William seemed to shed yet another portion of the nice equipment of the boy-who-is-going-to-a-party
No party would have claimed him now – no hostess greeted him – no housemaid admitted him – he had completely ‘burned his boats’. But he was happy.
All good things come to an end, however, even a muddy stream in a gutter, and ’Erb, still leader, called out: ‘Come on, you chaps! Come on, Bill – bells!’
Along both sides of a street they flew at break-neck speed, pulling every bell as they passed. Three enraged householders pursued them. One of them, fleeter than the other two, caught the
smallest and slowest of the tribe and began to execute corporal punishment.
It was William who returned, charged from behind, left the householder winded in the gutter, and dragged the yelling scapegoat to the shelter of his tribe.
‘Good ole Bill,’ said ’Erb, and William’s heart swelled again with pride. Nothing on earth would now have checked his victorious career.
A motor-van passed with another gang of street urchins hanging on merrily behind. With a yell of battle, William hurled himself upon them, struggled with them in mid-air, and established
himself, cheering on his own tribe and pushing off the others.
In the fight William lost his overcoat, his Eton coat was torn from top to bottom, and his waistcoat ripped open. But his tribe won the day; the rival tribe dropped off, hurling ineffectual
taunts and insults, and on sailed William and his gang, half-running, half-riding, with an exhilarating mixture of physical exercise and joy-riding unknown to the more law-abiding citizen.
And in the midst was William – William serene and triumphant, William dirty and ragged, William acclaimed leader at last. The motor-van put on speed. There was a ride of pure breathless
joy and peril before, at last exhausted, they dropped off.
Then ’Erb turned to William: ‘Wot you doin’ tonight, maite?’ he said.
‘Maite!’ William’s heart glowed.
‘Nothin’, maite,’ answered William carelessly
‘Oi’m goin’ to the picshers,’ said ’Erb. ‘If you loike ter help my o’d woman with the corfee-stall, she’ll give yer a tanner.’
A coffee-stall – Oh, joy! Was the magic of this evening inexhaustible?
‘Oi’ll ’elp ’er orl roigbt, maite,’ said William, making an effort to acquire his new friend’s accent and intonation.
‘Oi’ll taike yer near up to it,’ said ’Erb, and to the gang: ‘Nah, you run orf ’ome, kids. Me an’ Bill is busy’
He gave William a piece of chewing-gum, which William proudly took and chewed and swallowed, and led him to a street-corner, from where a coffee-stall could be seen in a glare of flaming
oil-jets.
‘You just say “’Erb sent me,” an’ you bet you’ll get a tanner when she shuts up – if she’s not in a paddy. Go on. Goo’-night.’
He fled, leaving William to approach the stall alone. A large, untidy woman regarded him with arms akimbo.
‘I’ve come ter ’elp with the stall,’ said William, trying to speak with the purest of Cockney accents. ‘ ’Erb sent me.’
The woman regarded him with a hostile stare, still with arms akimbo.
‘Oh, ’e did, did ’e? ’E’s allus ready ter send someone else. ’E’s gone ter the picshers, I suppose? ’E’s a nice son for a poor woman ter
’ave, isn’t ’e? Larkin’ abaht orl day an’ goin’ ter picshers orl
In the next street a watering cart had just passed, and there was a broad muddy stream flowing along the gutter. With a whoop of joy the tribe made for it, ‘Erb at the head, closely
followed by William.
WILLIAM WAS HAPPY AT LAST. HE WAS A BOY AMONG BOYS – AN OUTLAW AMONG OUTLAWS.
William’s patent leather shoes began to lose their damning smartness. It was William who began to stamp as he walked, and the rest at once followed suit – splashing, shouting,
whistling, jostling, they followed the muddy stream through street after street. At every corner William seemed to shed yet another portion of the nice equipment of the boy-who-is-going-to-a-party
No party would have claimed him now – no hostess greeted him – no housemaid admitted him – he had completely ‘burned his boats’. But he was happy.
All good things come to an end, however, even a muddy stream in a gutter, and ’Erb, still leader, called out: ‘Come on, you chaps! Come on, Bill – bells!’
Along both sides of a street they flew at break-neck speed, pulling every bell as they passed. Three enraged householders pursued them. One of them, fleeter than the other two, caught the
smallest and slowest of the tribe and began to execute corporal punishment.
It was William who returned, charged from behind, left the householder winded in the gutter, and dragged the yelling scapegoat to the shelter of his tribe.
‘Good ole Bill,’ said ’Erb, and William’s heart swelled again with pride. Nothing on earth would now have checked his victorious career.
A motor-van passed with another gang of street urchins hanging on merrily behind. With a yell of battle, William hurled himself upon them, struggled with them in mid-air, and established
himself, cheering on his own tribe and pushing off the others.
In the fight William lost his overcoat, his Eton coat was torn from top to bottom, and his waistcoat ripped open. But his tribe won the day; the rival tribe dropped off, hurling ineffectual
taunts and insults, and on sailed William and his gang, half-running, half-riding, with an exhilarating mixture of physical exercise and joy-riding unknown to the more law-abiding citizen.
And in the midst was William – William serene and triumphant, William dirty and ragged, William acclaimed leader at last. The motor-van put on speed. There was a ride of pure breathless
joy and peril before, at last exhausted, they dropped off.
Then ’Erb turned to William: ‘Wot you doin’ tonight, maite?’ he said.
‘Maite!’ William’s heart glowed.
‘Nothin’, maite,’ answered William carelessly
‘Oi’m goin’ to the picshers,’ said ’Erb. ‘If you loike ter help my o’d woman with the corfee-stall, she’ll give yer a tanner.’
A coffee-stall – Oh, joy! Was the magic of this evening inexhaustible?
‘Oi’ll ’elp ’er orl roigbt, maite,’ said William, making an effort to acquire his new friend’s accent and intonation.
‘Oi’ll taike yer near up to it,’ said ’Erb, and to the gang: ‘Nah, you run orf ’ome, kids. Me an’ Bill is busy’
He gave William a piece of chewing-gum, which William proudly took and chewed and swallowed, and led him to a street-corner, from where a coffee-stall could be seen in a glare of flaming
oil-jets.
‘You just say “’Erb sent me,” an’ you bet you’ll get a tanner when she shuts up – if she’s not in a paddy. Go on. Goo’-night.’
He fled, leaving William to approach the stall alone. A large, untidy woman regarded him with arms akimbo.
‘I’ve come ter ’elp with the stall,’ said William, trying to speak with the purest of Cockney accents. ‘ ’Erb sent me.’
The woman regarded him with a hostile stare, still with arms akimbo.
‘Oh, ’e did, did ’e? ’E’s allus ready ter send someone else. ’E’s gone ter the picshers, I suppose? ’E’s a nice son for a poor woman ter
’ave, isn’t ’e? Larkin’ abaht orl day an’ goin’ ter picshers orl
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