CHAPTER VIII

THE NATIVE PROTÉGÉ

Theperson who was ultimately to blame was the secretary of the Dramatic Society of the school of which William was a humble member. The Dramatic Society had given an historical play in which Christopher Columbus was depicted among the aborigines of America. William was too unimportant a member of the institution which served him out his daily ration of education to figure on the stage, but he was a delighted spectator in the back row. Christopher Columbus interested him not at all. Christopher Columbus was white, and except for his rather curious and violently anachronistic costume, looked exactly as the postman or William's own father might look. But the aborigines! William could not take his eyes from them. They were Jones Minor and Pinchin Major and Goggles, and all that crew. Of course he knew that. Yet how different—how rapturously different. Browned from head to foot—a lovely walnut brown. It made their eyes look queer and their teeth look queer. It set them in a world apart. It must feel ripping. William decided then and there that his life's happiness could never be complete till he had browned himself like that. He wondered whether brown boot polish would do it. Knife polish might. Something must.

He went out with the stream of spectators at the end in a golden dream of happiness. He saw himself, browned from head to foot, brandishing some weapon and dancing on bare brown feet in a savage land. He was so rapt in his day-dream that he collided with a tall lank VI. Form boy who was coming along the passage carrying a box.

"Look out where you're going, can't you?" said that superior individual coldly. "Do you want me to drop this stuff all over the place?"

He pointed with a languid hand to "this stuff." "This stuff" was sticks of brown and red and black grease paint, pots of cold cream, and tins of powder.

William's eyes brightened.

"Shall I carry it for you?" he said meekly. "So's to save you trouble?"

The VI. Form boy started. William's attitude towards his intellectual superiors generally lacked that respect which is the due of intellectual superiors.

"Er—all right," he said, handing the box to William and walking on down the passage.

William walked meekly behind with the box in his arms. Very neatly as he turned the corner he transferred two sticks of brown grease paint from the tray to his own pocket. He sternly informed his conscience (never a very active force with William and quite easily subdued) as he did so that he'd helped to pay for the beastly things, hadn't he, anyway, by paying (or getting his mother to pay) two shillings for a rotten seat in the rotten back row, where he could only see by squinting round the feather in Dawson's mother's hat, and anyway he'd like to know whose business it was but his. His conscience retired, completely crushed.

WILLIAM SURVEYED HIMSELF AGAIN IN THE GLASS, ANDA BLISSFUL SMILE STOLE OVER HIS COCOA-HUED FACE

At the door of the VI. Form room he handed the box to the secretary of the Dramatic Society.

The secretary of the Dramatic Society entered the holy sanctum.

"That young Brown's manners," he remarked patronisingly to his peers, "seem to be improving."

******

William surveyed the effect in the looking-glass. It was perfect. He had completely used up the two sticks of brown grease paint upon the exposed parts of his person. He found the question of clothing rather a difficulty. He possessed no garment of the type that the aborigines had worn, but his ordinary suit was, of course, unthinkable. Football shorts seemed better—and a green football shirt that had been Robert's. They partook in some way of the nature of fancy dress. Robed in them he surveyed himself again in the glass and a blissful smile stole over his cocoa-hued face. He was a perfect aborigine. It only remained to go out into the world to seek adventures.

Adventures came readily to William even when attired and coloured simply as a boy. He hardly dared to think what might happen to him as an aborigine—provided, of course, that he could get clear of the parental abode. Otherwise his mahogany career might come to an abrupt and untimely end. He looked cautiously out of the window. There was no one in sight. He lowered himself to earth by means of a tree that grew conveniently near his window.

"William!"

The voice came from the drawing-room.

William beat a hasty retreat into a clump of laurel and remained motionless.

"I'm sure I heard that boy ...William!"

He decided to take the bull by the horns.

"Yes, mother!" he called obediently.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm jus' sittin' in the garden an' thinkin', mother," said William, in a voice of honeyed wistfulness.

Mrs. Brown, deeply touched, sought out her husband.

"You know, dear," she said, "there's something awfully sweet about William sometimes."

******

William, having gained the open field, felt a sensation of extreme relief. For some time he crawled about in ditches tracking imaginary wild animals and scalping imaginary white men. Then the occupation began to pall, and he began to regret having carried off thecoupin solitude. A few more aborigines might have been jollier. However, the brown was staying on all right, and that was a comfort. He left the fields and went into the woods. There he ran and leapt and climbed trees for a blissful half-hour. He also shot an entire menagerie of animals and slaughtered innumerable hosts of white men unaided. He went along the woods, then across three fields (by way of the ditches), and then down the valley, and then close by the side of a garden with which he was not previously acquainted. And it looked an interesting garden—just the sort of garden for an aborigine intent upon enjoying life to the full. He saw a shrubbery, an orchard, a stream, and some very climbable trees. He scrambled through a hole in the hedge to the detriment of the green football shirt and shorts. Then he ran riot in the jungle and along the sides of the raging torrent. In afierce encounter caused by the joint attack of a lion and elephant and a rhinoceros (William did things upon a large scale) he ran (in pursuit, not in flight) to the further end of the shrubbery. There he was surprised to find an open lawn and a large concourse of people. The people sat in rows in chairs. There was something expectant in their expression. A tall man in black was standing in front of them with a watch in his hand. They were obviously waiting for something. When they saw William they rose as one man.

"Therehe is," they said.

Before the bewildered William could realise what was happening they surrounded him on all sides and drew him on to the lawn. The clergyman held him by the hand.

"Don't be frightened, little boy," he said kindly.

"I don't suppose he understands English," said a tall, thin lady in a small sailor hat. "They don't, you know—out there."

A large motherly woman bore down upon him with a glass of milk and a bun. William was hungry. In moments of uncertainty his rule was to lie low and take the good things provided by the gods without question. Moreover, it was perhaps safer in the circumstances not to understand English—at any rate, not till he had consumed the bun and milk. They led him to a table facing the audience and put the bun and milk before him. People in the farther rows of chairs craned their necks to see him. He gave them his inscrutable frown in the intervals of drinking and consuming large mouthfuls of bun. The man stood up and addressed the gathering in a high-pitched, drawling voice.

"I need not inform my friends that we—er—see before us our—er—littleprotégéfrom Borneo and—er—let me say that he—er—does us credit." He placed his hand upon William's head and looked down at William with a proud smile.

Meeting William's unflinching, unsmiling glare, his smile faded and he quickly drew back his hand.

"Er—credit," he resumed, putting a hand to his collar as he moved a step farther from William. "To—er—those who may be strangers here this afternoon let me say that we—er—of this—er—parish have—er—for the past two years—made ourselves responsible for the—er—rearing and—er—education of a little native of Borneo."

He paused for applause, which was set going by the Vicar's wife, who was the tall, thin lady in the small sailor hat.

"The Reverend Habbakuk Jones, who is—er—at the native mission school, has come—er—over to see us—bringing—er—our little nativeprotégé." Again he smiled lovingly and drew near to William. William, whose mouth was fuller of currant bun than European etiquette would have sanctioned, raised his face, and, without interrupting the process of mastication, gave Mr. Theophilus Mugg such a look as sent him precipitately to the farther end of the table.

"Er—protégé," said Mr. Theophilus Mugg uncomfortably. "The Reverend Habbakuk Jones wrote this—er—morning to say that he would call with the—er—child"—he looked distrustfully at William—"and leave him in our—er—loving care—while he—er—visited a relative in the—er—vicinity. He—er—promised to be—er—with us—by half-past three to—er—deliver his address.He—er—evidently dropped his address. He—er—evidently dropped the—er—little boy—at the gate and—er—will soon be—er—present himself."

WILLIAM ROSE TO THE OCCASION. "BLINKELY MENONG," HE SAID CLEARLY.

He sat down as far away from William's eye as possible and wiped his brow. A crowd with a large preponderance of the feminine element gathered round William as he drained the last drop of milk. A fat, motherly woman handed hima piece of chocolate gingerly, as though he were a strange sort of wild animal.

"I wonder if he'll speak," said someone wistfully.

"I expect he'll make some sort of thanks for the bun and milk and chocolates," suggested someone else.

"Not in English, I expect," said a third hopefully.

William rose to the occasion.

"Blinkely men ong," he said clearly. There was a murmur of rapt admiration.

"Hindustani, I believe," said the Vicar's wife doubtfully. "My father was in India several years."

William soared to further heights.

"Clemmeny fal tog," he said.

"The darling!" said the old lady. "I'm sure he's saying something beautiful." She held out a second slab of chocolate. "Ilovethose Eastern languages, so—musical."

"It's certainly Hindustani," said the Vicar's wife. "It all comes back to me."

"Oh, what was he saying?"

"He was saying," said the Vicar's wife, "'Thank you for your kindness and food.'"

"How beautiful!" said the fat lady, handing him a third slab of chocolate. "I was taking this home for my son," she explained, "but I'dmuchrather give it to our dear little nativeprotégé. Isn't it a beautiful thought that we reared and clothed him all this time?"

"I distinctly remember making that little green shirt," said the Vicar's wife.

"Bluff iffn," said William, who was growing bold.

"The angel!" said the fat lady. "Doesn't itmake you feel you'd doanythingfor him. What's his name?" she said to Mr. Theophilus Mugg. "I'd love to call him by his name."

"I—er—am not sure of his name," said Mr. Theophilus Mugg with dignity.

"But wasn't it mentioned in the letter?"

"It was spelt," said Mr. Theophilus Mugg with increasing dignity. "Needless to say, it was not pronounced. I have no wish to make myself ridiculous in the boy's eyes."

"The mystery of these dark-skinned races," said the Vicar's wife. "The beautiful inscrutable faces of them. Theknowledge, thewisdomthey seem to hold."

"Certainly it is not an English cast of countenance," said Mr. Theophilus Mugg.

"Bunkum allis lippis," said William, feeling that something further was expected of him.

"MostcertainlyHindustani," said the Vicar's wife.

It was here that a small voice piped from the back row, "It's William Brown!"

William, who was enjoying himself intensely, glared fiercely in the direction of the voice.

"Hush, hush, dear!" said the shocked voice of a parent. "Of course it isn't William Brown. It's a poor little boy from a distant land over the sea—or India's coral strand," she murmured vaguely.

"ItisWilliam Brown," persisted the shrill voice.

"He may bear a resemblance to William Brown," said the parent, "but William Brown is white, I suppose, and this little boy is black."

"Yes," said a small, half-convinced voice, "I s'pose so."

They approached the table.

"My little girl," said the parent pleasantly, "sees a resemblance in the child to one of her schoolfellows."

"Would you like to talk to the little boy?"

The little boy put out his tongue at her.

"A native form of greeting, doubtless," said the Vicar's wife.

"Oo, itisWilliam Brown," persisted the little girl shrilly.

"If you say that again, dear," said the parent, "I shall have to take you home. It isn't kind. It may hurt the little boy's feelings. He's come a long, long way from a place where every prospect pleases and only man is vile, and you ought to be kind to him. How would you like to go to a strange far-away country and then have people say you were William Brown?"

This seemed unanswerable. The small child subsided.

Mr. Theophilus Mugg looked anxiously towards the gate.

"He doesn't seem to be coming," he said. "Shall we—er—adjourn to the drawing-room for tea and—er—hear Mr Habbakuk Jones's—er—address afterwards?"

There was an animated murmur of acquiescence.

"The—er—child of the sun," went on Mr. Mugg, "can stay out and we will—er—send his tea to him."

William's expression brightened.

"Swishy," he said.

"Thank you," translated the Vicar's wife to the rest of the audience.

The small child had wandered round to the wake of William.

"He's not black all the way down," she shrilled. "He is——" She stopped abruptly, remembering the maternal threat. "Well, anyway, heis," she ended decidedly.

"Ofcoursehe must be black all the way down. Don't be silly," said the parent.

"Theymaynot be," said an old lady with a kind face. "Of course, one imagines they are, but, after all, one sees nothing but the exposed portions."

At this point William, who was very hot, raised a hand to his brow to wipe away the perspiration. The sun was certainly having some effect upon his complexion. A pale patch followed the track of his hand. His hand in its downward journey rubbed upon his green shirt. A black patch followed its track. There was a sudden silence.

The vicar's wife voiced the general sentiments.

"Curious!" she said.

"Surely," said the old lady in a trembling voice, "we haven't been imposed upon?"

"Impossible," said Mr. Mugg, pale but firm. "I have known Mr. Habbakuk Jones from childhood. He is incapable of deception."

"Perhaps," said the old lady, "it's the effect of the sudden change of climate acting upon the pigment of the skin."

There was a murmur of relief at the suggestion. William merely scowled at them. He was wondering how soon and on what pretext he could escape to the woods. He felt that he had exhausted the powers of entertainment of the present position but he did not wish to miss the tea.

"We will not discuss the matter in the hearing of the child," said Mr. Mugg.

"But he doesn't speak English," put in the old lady.

"He mayunderstandit," said Mr. Mugg with dignity. "Let us—er—discuss the matter over the—er—cup that cheers but not inebriates—ahem!"

Rather bewildered and looking back suspiciously at the inscrutable William, the company moved indoors. The old lady soon appeared with a heavily-laden tray which she placed in front of William. She seemed about to make some kind remark, but meeting William's implacable frown, retired hastily.

"He's certainly beginning to look very annoyed," she announced excitedly in the drawing-room.

"It is——" began the small shrill voice, then stopped abruptly.

It was just as William was consuming the last of a large plate of cakes that he noticed a couple of figures coming towards the house. One was a clergyman. The other was a boy about William's age, rather more swarthy than the average boy, and clad in an ordinary grey flannel suit. Nobody knew exactly what happened then. Certainly on that occasion William wasnotthe aggressor. The newcomer may have disliked the look of William with his now streaky face and curious costume, he may have been hungry and found the sight of William, devouring the last cake, unbearable, he may simply have been feeling the heat. The fact remains that he hurled himself upon William with the agility of a wild cat, and William in sheer panic rushed through the open French window into the drawing-room, followed by his antagonist. The two of them charged through the crowded room. They left in their wake Mr. Theophilus Mugg sitting upon a dish of cakes upon the floor, the Vicar's wife soaked in hot tea, the old lady mixed up with thefragments of a Venetian vase, and the parent of the child beneath the grand piano. Once outside the front door William doubled, threw off his pursuer and made for the woods.

IN SHEER PANIC WILLIAM RUSHED THROUGH THE OPENFRENCH WINDOW INTO THE DRAWING-ROOM, FOLLOWEDBY HIS ANTAGONIST.

He had made up his mind to go home and take the stuff off. It was coming off, anyway. It was possible that he might be home for tea. It was possible—he was rather doubtful about this, but determined to be optimistic—that his father might not come to hear of the affair. Anyway, it had been fun. It had been fun in the woods, and those old loonies had been fun, and the cakes had been scrummy.

******

In the garden peace was restored. The audience sat once more in orderly rows. At the table sat Mr. Theophilus Mugg, the Reverend Habbakuk Jones and the nativeprotégé, now cool and peaceful and replete with cakes and milk. A name was being whispered from mouth to mouth among the audience. The Reverend Habbakuk Jones rose to his feet.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," he began.

From the back now rose a shrill, excited voice. "Isaidit was William Brown."

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