6. The Rivals. William was aware of a vague feeling of apprehension when he heard that Joan Clive, the little girl who lived next door, was having a strange cousin to stay for three weeks. All his life William had accepted Joan's adoration and homage with condescending indifference, but he did not like to imagine a possible rival. What's he coming for? he demanded with an ungracious scowl, perched uncomfortably and dangerously on the high wall that separated the two gardens, and glaring down at Joan. What's he coming for, anyway? Cosmothers invited him, explained Joan simply, with a shake of her golden curls. He's called Cuthbert.  Sweet! echoed William, in a tone of exaggerated horror. Ugg! Well! said Joan, with the smallest note of indignation in her voice. You needn't play with him if you don't like. Me? play with him? scowled William as if he could not believe his ears. I'm not likely to go playin' with a kid like what he'll be. Joan raised aggrieved blue eyes.  Anyway, I shall have him to play with soon. It was the first time he had received anything but admiration from her. He scowled speechlessly. Cuthbert arrived the next morning. William was restless and ill at ease, and several times climbed the ladder for a glimpse of the guest, but all he could see was the garden inhabited only by a cat and a gardener. He amused himself by throwing stones at the cat till he hit the gardener by mistake, and then fled precipitately before a storm of abuse. William and the gardener were enemies of very long standing. After dinner he went out again into the garden and stood gazing through a chink in the wall. Cuthbert was in the garden. Though as old and as tall as William, he was dressed in an embroidered tunic, very short knickers, and white socks. Over his blue eyes his curls were brushed up into a golden halo. He was a picturesque child. What shall we do, Joan was saying, would you like to play hide and seek? No, let not play a rough game, said Cuthbert. With a wild spasm of joy William realized that his enemy lisped. It is always well to have a handle against one's enemies. What shall we do, then, said Joan, somewhat wearily? Let fit down, and I'll tell you fairy stories, said Cuthbert. A loud snort from inside the wall just by his ear startled him, and he clutched Joan's arm. What's that, he said? There were sounds of clambering feet on the other side of the wall, then William's grimy countenance appeared. Hello, Joan, he said, ignoring the stranger. Joan's eyes brightened. Come and play with us, William, she begged.  William could not, with justice, have objected to the epithet. He had spent the last half hour climbing onto the rafters of the disused coach-house, and dust and cobwebs adorned his face and hair. He's always like that, explained Joan carelessly. By this time William had thought of a suitable rejoinder. All right, he jeered, don't look at me then, go on telling fairy stories. Cuthbert flushed angrily.  I'll tell my mother. Thus war was declared. He came to tea the next day. Not all William's pleading could persuade his mother to cancel the invitation. Well, said William darkly, wait till you've seen him, that's all. Wait till you've heard him speaking. He can't talk even. He can't play. He tells fairy stories. He don't like dirt. He's got long hair and a funny long coat.  I don't want to have him to tea. I don't want to be washed and all just because he's coming to tea. But as usual William's eloquence availed nothing. Several people came to tea that afternoon and there was a sudden silence when Mrs. Clive, Joan, and Cuthbert entered. Cuthbert was in a white silk tunic embroidered with blue. He wore white shoes and white silk socks. His golden curls shone. He looked angelic. Oh, the darling! Isn't he adorable? What a picture! Come here, sweetheart! Cuthbert was quite used to this sort of thing. They were more delighted than ever with him when they discovered his lisp. His manners were perfect. He raised his face with a charming smile to be kissed, then sat down on the sofa between Joan and Mrs. Clive, swinging long bare legs. William, sitting, an unwilling victim on a small chair in a corner of the room, brushed and washed till he shone again, was conscious of a feeling of fury quite apart from the usual sense of outrage that he always felt upon such an occasion. It was bad enough to be washed till the soap went into his eyes and down his ears despite all his protests. It was bad enough to have had his hair brushed till his head smarted.  But to see Joan, his Joan, sitting next to the strange, dressed-up lisping boy, smiling and talking to him, that was almost more than he could bear with calmness. Previously, as has been said, he had received Joan's adoration with coldness, but previously there had been no rival. William, said his mother, take Joan and Cuthbert and show them your engine and books and things. Remember, you're the host, dear, she murmured as he passed. Try to make them happy. He turned upon her a glance that would have made a stronger woman quail. Silently he led them up to his playroom. There's my engine and my books. You can play with them, he said coldly to Cuthbert. Let's go and play in the garden, you and me, Joan. But Joan shook her head. I don't suppose if he'd care to go out without me, said Cuthbert airily. I'll go with you. This boy can play here if he likes. And William, artist in vituperation as he was, could think of no response. He followed them into the garden, and there came upon him a wild determination to show his superiority. You can't climb that tree, he began. I can, said Cuthbert sweetly. Well, climb it then, grimly. No, I don't want to get my things all meth. I can climb it, but you can't. He can't climb it, Joan. He's trying to pretend he can climb it when he can't. He knows I can climb it, but I don't want to get my things methed. Joan smiled admiringly at Cuthbert. I'll show you, said William desperately. I'll just show you. He showed them. He climbed till the tree-top swayed with his weight, then descended hot and triumphant. The tree was covered with green lichen, a great part of which had deposited itself upon William's suit. His efforts also had twisted his collar round till it stud was beneath his ear. His heated countenance beamed with pride. For a moment Cuthbert was nonplussed. Then he said scornfully, Don't he look a fright, Joan? Joan giggled. But William was wholly engrossed in his self-imposed task of showing them. He led them to the bottom of the garden where a small stream, now almost dry, disappeared into a narrow tunnel to flow under the road and reappear in the field at the other side. You can't crawl through that, challenged William. You can't do it. I've done it. Done it often. I bet you can't. I bet you can't get half way. I— Well do it, then, jeered Cuthbert. William, on all fours, disappeared into the mud and slime of the small round aperture. Joan clasped her hands, and even Cuthbert was secretly impressed. They stood in silence. At intervals William's muffled voice came from the tunnel. It's jolly muddy, too, I can tell you. I've caught a frog, I say. I've caught a frog. Crumbs, it got away. It's nearly quicksands here. If I tried, I could nearly drown here. At last, through the hedge, they saw him emerge in the field across the road. He swaggered across to them aglow with his own heroism. As he entered the gate he was rewarded by the old light of adoration in Joan's blue eyes, but on full sight of him it quickly turned to consternation. His appearance was beyond description. There was a malicious smile on Cuthbert's face. Do something else, he urged him. Come on, do something else. Oh, William, said Joan anxiously. You'd better not. But the gods had sent madness to William. He was drunk with the sense of his own prowess. He was regardless of consequences. He pointed to a little window high up in the coal-house. I can climb up that and slide down the coal inside. That's what I can do. There is nothing I can't do. I— All right, urged Cuthbert. If you can do that, do it, and I'll believe you can do anything. For Cuthbert, with unholy glee, foresaw William's undoing. Oh, William, pleaded Joan. I know you're brave, but don't. But William was already doing it. They saw his disappearance into the little window. They heard plainly his descent down the coal-heap inside, and in less than a minute he appeared in the doorway. He was almost unrecognizable. Coal dust adhered freely to the moist consistency of the mud and lichen already clinging to his suit, as well as to his hair and face. His collar had been almost torn away from its stud. William himself was smiling proudly, utterly unconscious of his appearance. Joan was plainly wavering between horror and admiration. Then the moment for which Cuthbert had longed arrived. Children, come in now. Cuthbert, clean and dainty, entered the drawing-room first, and pointed an accusing finger at the strange figure which followed. Heave been climbing trees, and crawling in the mud, and rolling down the cove. Heave, a nasty, rough boy. A wild babble arose as William entered. William, you dreadful boy! Joan, come right away from him. Come over here. What will your father say? William, my carpet! For the greater part of the stream's bed still clung to William's boots. Doggedly William defended himself. I was showing him how to do things. I was being a host. I was trying to make him happy. I— William, don't stand there talking. Go straight upstairs to the bathroom. It was the end of the first battle, and undoubtedly William had lost. Yet William had caught sight of the smile on Cuthbert's face, and William had decided that that smile was something to be avenged. But fate did not favour him. Indeed, fate seemed to do the reverse. The idea of a children's play did not emanate from William's mother or Jones. They were both free from guilt in that respect. It emanated from Mrs. Devere Carter. Mrs. Devere Carter was a neighbour with a genius for organisation. There were few things she did not organise till there every other aspect or aim was lost but that of organisation. She also had what amounted practically to a disease for getting up things. She got up plays and bazaars and pageants and concerts. There were in fact few things she did not get up. It was the sight of Jones and Cuthbert walking together down the road, the sun shining on their golden curls, that had inspired her with the idea of getting up a children's play. And Jones must be the princess, and little Cuthbert the prince. Mrs. Devere Carter was to write the play herself. At first she decided on Cinderella. Unfortunately there was a dearth of little girls in the neighbourhood, and therefore it was decided at a meeting composed of Mrs. Devere Carter, Mrs. Clive, Mrs. Brown, William's mother, and Ethel, William's sister, that William could easily be dressed up to represent one of the ugly sisters. It was, however, decided at a later meeting, consisting of William and his mother and sister, that William could not take the part. It was William who came to this decision. He was adamant against both threats and entreaties.  They took the news with deep apologies to Mrs. Devere Carter, who was already in the middle of the first act. Her already low opinion of William sank to zero. Their next choice was Little Red Riding Hood, and William was lured, by glowing pictures of a realistic costume, into consenting to take the part of the wolf. Every day he had to be dragged by some elder and responsible member of his family to a rehearsal. His hatred of Cuthbert was only equaled by his hatred of Mrs. Devere Carter. He acts so unnaturally, moaned Mrs. Devere Carter.  Put some spirit into it. Be animated. William scowled at her, and once more muttered monotonously his opening lines. A wolf am I?  Take a breath after bent, darling. Now say it again. William complied, introducing this time a loud and audible gasp to represent the breath. Mrs. Devere Carter sighed.  That's right. Cuthbert obeyed, and his clear voice rose in a high chanting monotone. Avant, be gone, you wicked wolf away! This gentle maid shall never be your prey. That's beautiful, darling. Now William slink away. Slink away, darling. Don't stand staring at Cuthbert like that. Slink away. I'll show you. Watch me slink away. Mrs. Devere Carter slunk away realistically, and the sight of it brought momentary delight to William's weary soul. Otherwise the rehearsals were not far removed from torture to him. The thought of being a wolf had at first attracted him, but actually a wolf character who had to repeat Mrs. Devere Carter's meaningless couplets and be worsted at every turn by the smiling Cuthbert, who was forced to watch from behind the scenes the fond embraces of Cuthbert and Joan, galled his proud spirit unspeakably. Moreover, Cuthbert monopolized her both before and after the rehearsals. Come away, Joan, he's probably all over cold doth and all of a myth. The continued presence of unsympathetic elders prevented his proper avenging of such insults. The day of the performance approached, and there arose some little trouble about William's costume. If the wearing of the dining-room hearth rug had been forbidden by authority, it would have at once become the dearest wish of William's heart and a thing to be accomplished at all costs. But, because authority decreed that that should be William's official costume as the wolf, William at once began to find insuperable difficulties.  I don't think it looks like a wolf. Well, if I've got to be a wolf, folks might just as well know what I am.  You don't want folks to think I'm a sheep instead of a wolf, do you? You don't want me to be made look ridiculous before all these folks, do you? He was slightly mollified by their promise to hire a wolf's head for him. He practised wolf's howlings, though these had no part in Mrs. Devere Carter's play at night in his room till he drove his family almost beyond the bounds of sanity. Mrs. Devere Carter had hired the village hall for the performance, and the proceeds were to go to a local charity. On the night of the play the hall was packed, and Mrs. Devere Carter was in a flutter of excitement and importance. Yes, the dear children are splendid and they look beautiful. We've all worked so hard. Yes, entirely my own composition. I only hope that William Brown won't murder my poetry as he does at rehearsals. The curtain went up. The scene was a wood, as was evident from a few small branches of trees placed here and there at intervals on the stage. Joan, in a white dress and red cloak, entered and began to speak, quickly and breathlessly, stressing every word with impartial regularity.  Then Cuthbert entered, a prince in white satin with a blue sash. There was a rapt murmur of admiration in the audience as he made his appearance. William waited impatiently and uneasily behind the scenes. His wolf's head was very hot. One of the eye holes was beyond his range of vision, through the other he had a somewhat prescribed view of what went on around him. He had been pinned tightly into the dining-room hearthrug, his arms pinioned down by his side. He was distinctly uncomfortable. At last his cue came. Red-riding hood and the prince parted after a short conversation in which their acquaintance made rapid strides, and at the end of which the prince said casually as he turned to go. So sweet a maid have I never seen, ere long I hope to make her my wife and queen. Red-riding hood gazed after him remarking, all in the same breath and tone. How kind he is, how gentle and how good, but see what evil beast comes through the wood! Here William entered amid wild applause. On the stage he found that his one eye hole gave him an excellent view of the audience. His mother and father were in the second row. Turning his head round slowly he discovered his sister Ethel sitting with a friend near the back. William hissed to the prompter, go on, a wolf am I. But William was engrossed in the audience. There was Mrs. Clive about the middle of the room. A wolf am I, go on William. William had now found the cook and the housemaid in the last row of all and was turning his eye hole round in search of fresh discoveries. The prompter grew desperate. A wolf am I, a wolf on mischief bent, say it, William. William turned his wolf's head towards the wings. While I was going to say it, he said irritably, if you'd left me alone. The audience tittered. Well, say it! said the voice of the invisible prompter. Well, I'm going to, said William. I'm not going to say that again what you said because they all heard it. I'll go on from there. The audience rocked in wild delight. Behind the scenes Mrs. Devere Carter rung her hands and sniffed strong smelling salts. That boy! she moaned. William, sinking his voice from the indignant clearness with which it had addressed the prompter, to a muffled inaudibility continued, To eat this little maid is my intent. But there leapt on the stage again the radiant blue and white figure of the prince brandishing his wooden sword.  At this point William should have slunk away, but the vision revealed by his one unavailable eye-hole of the prince, standing in a threatening attitude with one arm round Joan, filled him with a sudden and unaccountable annoyance. He advanced slowly and pugnaciously towards the prince, and the prince, who had never before acted with William in his head, which was hired for one evening only, fled from the stage with a wild yell of fear. The curtain was lowered hastily. There was consternation behind the scenes. William, glaring out from his eye-hole and refusing to remove his head, defended himself in his best manner. While I didn't tell him to run away, did I? I didn't mean him to run away. I only looked at him. Well, I was gone to slink in a minute. I only wanted to look at him. I was gone to slink. Oh, never mind. Get on with the play, moaned Mrs. Devere Carter. But you've quite destroyed the atmosphere, William. You've spoiled the beautiful story. But hurry up. It's time for the grandmother's cottage scene now. Not a word of William's speeches was audible in the next scene, but his attack on and consumption of the aged grandmother was one of the most realistic parts of the play, especially considering the fact that his arms were imprisoned. "'Not so roughly, William,' said the prompter in a sibilant whisper, "'Don't make so much noise. They can't hear a word any one's saying.'" At last William was clothed in the nightgown and nightcap and lying in the bed ready for Little Red Riding Hood's entrance. The combined effect of the rug and the head and the thought of Cuthbert had made him hotter and crosser than he ever remembered having felt before. He was conscious of a wild and unreasoning indignation against the world in general. Then Joan entered, and began to pipe monotonously. "'Dear Grand Mama, I've come with all quickness to comfort you and soothe your bed of sickness. Here are some little dainties I have brought to show you how we cherish you in our thought.'" Here William wearily rose from his bed and made an unconvincing spring in her direction. But on to the stage leapt Cuthbert once more, the vision in blue and white with golden curls shining and sword again drawn. "'Hah, evil beast!' It was too much for William. The heat and discomfort of his attire, the sight of the hated Cuthbert already about to embrace his Joan, goaded him to temporary madness. With a furious gesture he burst the pins which attached the dining-room hearthrug to his person and freed his arms. He tore off the white nightgown, he sprang at a petrified Cuthbert, a small wild figure in a jersey suit and a wolf's head. Mrs. Devere Carter had filled Red Riding Hood's basket with packages of simple groceries, which included, among other things, a paper bag of flour and a jar of jam. William seized these wildly and hurled handfuls of flour at the prostrate screaming Cuthbert. The stage was suddenly pandemonium, the other small actors promptly joined the battle. The prompter was too panic-stricken to lower the curtain. The air was white with clouds of flour. The victim scrambled to his feet and fled, a ghost-like figure round the table. "'Take him off me!' he yelled. "'Take him off me! Take William off me!' his wailing was deafening. The next second he was on the floor with William on top of him. William now varied the proceedings by emptying the jar of jam onto Cuthbert's face and hair. They were separated at last by the prompter and stage manager, while the audience rose and cheered hysterically. But louder than the cheering rose the sound of Cuthbert's lamentation. "'He the nasty rough boy, he pushed me down. He've met my knife-clothe, boo-hoo!' Mrs. Devere Carter was inarticulate. "'That boy, that boy, that boy!' was all she could say. William was hurried away by his family before she could regain speech. "'You've disgraced us publicly,' said Mrs. Brown plaintively. "'I thought you must have gone mad. People will never forget it. I might have known.' When pressed for an explanation William would only say, "'Well, I felt hot. I felt awful hot. And I didn't like Cuthbert.' He appeared to think this sufficient explanation, that he was fully prepared for the want of sympathy displayed by his family. "'Well,' he said firmly, "'I just like to see you do it.  But he felt that public feeling was against him, and relapsed sadly into silence. From the darkness in front of them came the sound of Cuthbert's wailing, as Mrs. Clive led her two charges home. "'Poor little Cuthbert,' said Mrs. Brown, "'if I were Joan, I don't think I'd ever speak to you again.' "'Huh!' ejaculated William scornfully. But at William's gate a small figure slipped out from the darkness, and two little arms crept round William's neck. "'Oh, William!' she whispered. "'He's going to-morrow, and I am glad. "'Isn't he a softy? Oh, William, I do love you. You do such sighting things!' CHAPTER VII THE GHOST William lay on the floor of the barn, and grossed in a book. This was a rare thing with William. His bottle of lemonade lay untouched by his side, and he even forgot the half-eaten apple which reposed in his hand. His jaws were arrested midway in the act of munching. "'Our hero,' he read, was awakened about midnight by the sound of the rattling of chains, raising himself on his arm he gazed into the darkness. About a foot from his bed he could discern a tall, white, faintly gleaming figure and a ghostly arm which beckoned him. William's hair stood on end. "'Crumbs,' he ejaculated. "'Nothing perturbed,' he continued to read, our hero rose and followed the spectre through the long winding passages of the old castle. Whenever he hesitated, a white, luminous arm hung around with ghostly chains beckoned him on. "'Gosh!' murmured the enthralled William. "'I'd have been scared!' At the panel in the wall the ghost stopped, and silently the panel slid aside, revealing a flight of stone steps. Down this went the apparition followed by our intrepid hero. There was a small stone chamber at the bottom, and into this the rays of moonlight poured, revealing a skeleton in a sitting attitude beside a chest of golden sovereigns. The gold gleamed in the moonlight. "'Golly!' gasped William, red with excitement. "'William!' The cry came from somewhere in the sunny garden outside. William frowned sternly, took another bite of apple and continued to read. Our hero gave a cry of astonishment. "'Yeah, I'd have done that all right,' agreed William. "'William!'  His grown-up sister, Ethel, appeared in the doorway. "'Mother wants you,' she announced. "'While I can't come, I'm busy,' said William coldly, taking a draft of lemonade and returning to his book. "'When Mildred's come,' continued his sister. William raised his freckled face from his book. "'Well, I can't help that can I,' he said, with the air of one arguing patiently with a lunatic. Ethel shrugged her shoulders and departed. "'He's reading some old book in the barn,' he heard her announce, and he says—' Here he foresaw complications and hastily followed her. "'Well, I'm coming, Arti,' he said, as fast as I can.' Cousin Mildred was sitting on the lawn. She was elderly and very thin and very tall, and she wore a curious long shapeless garment of green silk with a golden girdle. "'Dear child!' she murmured, taking the grimy hand that William held out to her indignified silence. He was cheered by the sight of tea and hotcakes. Cousin Mildred ate little, but talked much. "'I'm living in hopes of a psychic revelation, dear,' she said to William's mother. "'In hopes! I've heard of wonderful experiences, but so far none, alas, have befallen me. Automatic writing I have tried, but any communication the spirits may have sent me that way remained illegible—quite illegible.' She sighed. William eyed her with scorn, while he consumed reckless quantities of hotcakes. "'I would love to have a psychic revelation,' she sighed again. "'Yes, dear,' murmured Mrs. Brown, mystified. "'William, you've had enough.' "'Enough!' said William in surprise. "'Why, I've only had—' He decided hastily against exact statistics and in favour of vague generalities. "'I've only had hardly any,' he said aggrievedly. "'You've had enough, anyway,' said Mrs. Brown firmly. The martyr rose, pale but proud. "'Well, can I go, then, if I can't have any more tea?' "'There's plenty of bread and butter. "'I don't want bread and butter,' he said scornfully. "'Dear child,' murmured Cousin Mildred vaguely as he departed. He returned to the story and lemonade and apple, and stretched himself happily at full length in the shady barn. But the ghostly visitant seemed to be fading away, and with a soft sigh was gone. Our hero, with a start of surprise, realised that he was alone with the gold and the skeleton. For the first time he experienced a thrill of cold fear, and slowly retreated up the stairs before the hollow and, as it seemed, vindictive stare of the grinning skeleton. "'I wonder what he was grinning at,' said William. But to his horror the door was shut, the panel had slid back. He had no means of opening it. He was imprisoned on a remote part of the castle, where even the servants came but rarely and at intervals of weeks. Would his fate be that of the man whose bones gleamed white in the moonlight?' "'Cromes,' said William earnestly. Then a shadow fell upon the floor of the barn, and Cousin Mildred's voice greeted him. "'So you're here, dear. I'm just exploring your garden and thinking. I like to be alone. I see that you are the same, dear child.' "'I'm reading,' said William, with icy dignity. "'Dear boy, won't you come and show me the garden and your favourite nooks and corners?' William looked at her thin, vague, amiable face, and shut his book with a resigned sigh. "'All right,' he said leconically. He conducted her in patient silence round the kitchen garden and the shrubbery. She looked sadly at the house with its red brick, uncompromisingly modern appearance. "'William, I wish your house was old,' she said sadly. "'William resented any aspersions on his house from outsiders. Personally, he considered newness in a house and attraction. But if anyone wished for age, then old his house should be.' "'Old?' he ejaculated. "'I guess it's old enough.' "'Oh, is it?' she said, delighted. Restored recently, I suppose.' "'Oomph,' agreed William, nodding. "'Oh, I'm so glad. I may have some psychic revelation here, then.' "'Oh, yes,' said William, judicially. "'I shouldn't wonder.' "'William, have you ever had one?' "'Well?' said William, guardedly. "'I don't know.' His mysterious manner threw her into a transport. "'Of course not to anyone, but to me I'm one of the sympathetic. To me you may speak freely, William.' William, feeling that his ignorance could no longer be hidden by words, maintained a discreet silence. "'To me it shall be sacred, William. I will tell no one, not even your parents. I believe that children see clouds of glory and all that, vaguely. With your unstained, childish vision.' "'I'm eleven,' put in William, indignantly. "'You see things that to the wise are sealed, some manifestation, some spirit, some ghostly visitant.' "'Oh,' said William, suddenly enlightened. "'You talking about ghosts?' "'Yes, ghosts, William.' Her air of deference flattered him. She evidently expected great things of him, great things she should have, at the best of times with William. Imagination was stronger than cold facts.' He gave a short laugh. "'Oh, ghosts. Yes, I've seen some of them. I guess I have.'  "'Will you tell me some of your experiences, William?' She said humbly. "'Well,' said William loftily. "'You won't go talking about it, will you?' "'Oh, no.' "'Well, I've seen them, you know. Chains and all, and skeletons, and ghostly arms, beckoning, and all that.' William was enjoying himself. He walked with a swagger. He almost believed what he said. She gasped. "'Oh, go on,' she said. "'Tell me all.' He went on. He soared loft on the wings of imagination, his hands in his pockets, his freckled face puckered up in frowning mental effort. He certainly enjoyed himself. "'If only some of it could happen to me,' breathed his confidant. "'Does it come to you at night, William?' "'Yes, not at William. Night mostly.' "'I shall watch to-night,' said Cousin Mildred. "'And you say the house is old?' "'Awful old,' said William reassuringly. Her attitude to William was a relief to the rest of the family. Visitors sometimes objected to William. "'She seems to have almost taken to William,' said his mother, with a note of unflattering incredulity in her voice. William was pleased, yet embarrassed by her attentions. It was a strange experience to him to be accepted by a grown-up as a fellow being. She talked to him with interest and a certain humility. She bought him sweets, and seemed pleased that he accepted them. She went for walks with him, and evidently took his constrained silence for the silence of depth and wisdom. Beneath his embarrassment, he was certainly pleased and flattered. She seemed to prefer his company to that of Ethel. That was one in the eye for Ethel. But he felt that something was expected from him in return for all this kindness and attention. William was a sportsman. He decided to supply it. He took a book of ghost stories from the juvenile library at school, and read them in the privacy of his room at night. Many were the thrilling adventures which he had to tell to Cousin Mildred in the morning. Cousin Mildred's bump of credulity was a large one. She supplied him with sweets on a generous scale. She listened to him with awe and wonder. William, you are one of the elect, the chosen, she said, one of those whose spirits can break down the barrier between the unseen world and ours with ease. And always she sighed and stroked back her thin locks, sadly. Oh, how I wish that some experience would happen to me! One morning, after the gift of an exceptionally large tin of toffee, William's noblest feelings were aroused. Manfully he decided that something should happen to her. Cousin Mildred slept in the bedroom above William's. Descent from one window to the other was easy, but ascent was difficult. That night Cousin Mildred awoke suddenly as the clock struck twelve. There was no moon, and only dimly did she discern the white figure that stood in the light of the window.  Her mouth was wide open. Oh! she gasped. The white figure moved a step forward and coughed nervously. Cousin Mildred clasped her hands. Speak! she said in a tense whisper. Oh, speak! some message! some revelation! William was nonplussed. None of the ghosts he had read of had spoken. They had rattled and groaned and beckoned, but they had not spoken. He tried groaning, and emitted a sound faintly reminiscent of a seasick voyager. Oh! speak! pleaded Cousin Mildred. Evidently speech was a necessary part of this performance. William wondered whether ghosts spoke English or a language of their own. He inclined to the latter view, and nobly took the plunge. Honk! yonk! ponk! he said firmly. Cousin Mildred gasped in wonder. Oh! explain! she pleaded ardently. Explain in our poor human speech some message! William took fright. It was all turning out to be much more complicated than he had expected. He hastily passed through the room and out of the door, closing it noisily behind him. As he ran along the passage came a sound like a crash of thunder. Outside in the passage were Cousin Mildred's boots. William's father's boots and William's brother's boots, and into these charged William in his headlong retreat. They slid noisily along the polished wooden surface of the floor, ricocheting into each other as they went. Doors opened suddenly, and William's father collided with William's brother in the dark passage, where they wrestled fiercely before they discovered each other's identity. I heard that confounded noise, and I came out. So did I. Well, then, who made it? Who did? If it's that wretched boy up to any tricks again. William's father left the sentence unfinished, but went with determined tread towards his younger son's room. William was discovered carefully spreading a sheet over his bed, and smoothing it down. Mr. Brown, roused from his placid slumbers, was a sight to make a brave man quail, but the glance that William turned upon him was guileless and sweet. Did you make that confounded row kicking boots about the passage? spluttered the man of wrath. No, father, said William gently. I've not been kicking no boots about. Were you down on the lower landing just now? said Mr. Brown with compressed fury. William considered this question silently for a few seconds, then spoke up brightly and innocently. I don't know, father. You see, some folks walk in their sleep, and when they wake up they don't know where they've been. Why, I've heard of a man walking down a fire escape in his sleep, and then he woke up and couldn't think how he'd got to be there where he was. You see, he didn't know he'd walk down all them steps down to sleep, and— Be quiet, thundered his father. What in the name of—what on earth are you doing, making your bed in the middle of the night? Are you insane? William, perfectly composed, tucked in one end of his sheet. No, father, I'm not insane. My sheet just fell off me in the night, and I got out to pick it up. I must have been a bit restless, I suppose. Sheets come off easy when folks is restless in bed, and they don't know anything about it till they wake up, just the same as sleepwalking. Why, I've heard of folks— Be quiet. At that moment, William's mother arrived, placid as ever, in her dressing-gown, carrying a candle. Look at him, said Mr. Brown, pointing at the meek-looking William. He plays rugger up and down the passage with the boots all night, and then he begins to make his bed. He's mad. He's— William turned his calm gaze upon him. I wasn't playing rugger with the boots, father, he said patiently. Mrs. Brown laid her hand soothingly upon her husband's arm.  Mr.  Basket-chairs! he exploded violently, but allowed himself to be led unresisting from the room. William finished his bed-making with his usual frown of concentration, then lying down, fell at once into the deep sleep of childish innocence. But cousin Mildred was lying awake, a blissful smile upon her lips. She, too, was now one of the elect, the chosen. Her rather deaf ears had caught the sound of supernatural thunder as her ghostly visitant departed, and she had beamed with ecstatic joy. Honk! she murmured dreamily. Honk! yonk! punk! William felt rather tired the next evening. Cousin Mildred had departed, leaving him a handsome present of a large box of chocolates. William had consumed these with undue haste, in view of possible maternal interference.  He felt distinctly depressed and saw the world through jaundiced eyes. He sat in the shrubbery, his chin in his hand, staring moodily at the adoring mongrel Jumble. It's a rotten world, he said gloomily. I've took a lot of trouble over her, and she goes and makes me feel sick with chocolates. Jumble wagged his tail, sympathetically. End of Chapter 7 Read on September 5th, 2007, in Oceanside, California. More William, Chapter 8. More William by Rich Mall Crumpton, Chapter 8 The May King William was frankly bored. School always bored him. He disliked facts, and he disliked being tied down to detail, and he disliked answering questions. As a politician, a great future would have lain before him. William attended a mixed school, because his parents hoped that feminine influence might have a mellowing effect upon his character. As yet, the mellowing was not apparent. He was roused from his daydreams by a change in the voice of Miss Dewhurst, his four mistress. It was evident that she was not talking about the exports of England. A subject in which William took little interest. Any longer. Children, she said, brightly, I want to have a little May Queen for the first of May. The rest of you must be her courtiers. I want you all to vote tomorrow.  We're going to have a May Queen, remarked William to his family at dinner. And I'm going to be a swain. His interest died down considerably when he discovered the meaning of the word swain. Isn't it no sort of animal, then? he asked indignantly. Well, I'm not going to be in it, then, he said, when he heard that it was not. The next morning, Evangeline Fish began to canvass for votes methodically. Evangeline Fish was very fair, and was always dressed in that shade of blue that shrieks aloud to the heavens and puts the skies to shame. She was considered the beauty of the form. I'll give you two bullseyes if you'll vote for me, she said to William. Two, said William with scorn. Six, she bargained. All right, he said. You can give me six bullseyes if you want. There's nothing to stop you giving me six bullseyes if you want, is there, not that I know of. But you'll have to promise to put down my name on the paper if I give you six bullseyes, she said suspiciously. All right, said William. I can easy promise that. Whereupon she handed over the six bullseyes. William returned one as being under regulation size, and waited frowning till she replaced it by a larger one. Now you've promised, said Evangeline Fish.  William kept his promise with true political address. He wrote, E. Fish, I don't think! On his voting paper and his vote was disqualified. But Evangeline Fish was elected May Queen by an overwhelming majority. She was, after all, the beauty of the form, and she always wore blue. And now she was to be May Queen. Her prestige was established forever. Little Angel murmured the elder girls. The small boys fought for her favours. William began to dislike her intensely. Her voice and her smile and her ringlets and her blue dress began to jar upon his nerves. And when anything began to jar on William's nerves, something always happened. It was not till about a week later that he noticed Bettine Franklin. Bettine was small and dark. There was nothing angelic about her. William had noticed her vaguely in school before, and had hardly looked upon her as a distinct personality. But one recreation in the playground he stood leaning against the wall by himself, scowling at Evangeline Fish. She was surrounded by a crowd of admirers, and was prattling to them artlessly in her angelic voice. I'm going to be dressed in white muslin with a blue sash. Blue suits me, you know, I'm so fair. She tossed back a ringlet. One of you will have to hold my train, and the rest must dance round me. I'm going to have a crown, and— She turned round, in order to avoid the scowling gaze of William in the distance. William had discovered that his scowl annoyed her, and since then had given it little rest. But there was no satisfaction in scowling at the back of her well-curled head, so he relaxed his scowl and let his gaze wander round the playground. And it fell upon Bettine. Bettine was also standing by herself and gazing at Evangeline Fish. But she was not scowling. She was looking at Evangeline Fish with wistful envy, for Evangeline Fish was angelic and a May Queen, and she was neither of these things. William strolled over and lull against the wall next to her. "'Hello,' he said, without looking at her, for this change of position had brought him again within range of Evangeline Fish's eye, and he was once more simply one concentrated scowl. "'Hello,' murmured Bettine shyly and politely. "'You like pink rock?' was William's next effort. "'Um,' said Bettine, nodding emphatically. "'I'll give you some next time I buy some,' said William, unificently. "'But I shan't be buying any for a long time,' he added bitterly, because an old ball slipped out my hands onto our dining-room window before I noticed it yesterday.' She nodded understandingly. "'I don't mind,' she said sweetly.  William blushed. "'I didn't know you liked me,' he said. "'I do,' she said fervently.  William had forgotten to scowl. He was one flaming mixture of embarrassment and delight. He plunged his hands into his pockets and brought out two marbles, a piece of clay, and a broken toy gun. "'You can have them all,' he said in reckless generosity. "'You keep them for me,' said Bettine sweetly. "'I hope you dance next to me at the May Pole when Evangeline's Queen won't it be lovely?' And she sighed. "'Lovely,' exploded William. "'Won't you like it?' said Bettine, wonderingly. "'Me,' exploded William again, dancing round a pole round that old girl. "'But she's so pretty.' "'No, she isn't,' said William firmly. "'She just isn't—not much.  He paused. Bettine drew a deep breath. "'Go on some more,' she said. "'I like listening to you.' "'Do you like her?' said William. "'No, she's awful greedy. Did you know she was awful greedy?' "'I can believe it,' said William. "'I can believe anything of anyone what talks in that squeaky voice.' "'Just watch her when she's eating cakes.  "'And I shan't be sorry.' "'But she'll look ever so beautiful when she's a May Queen.' "'You'd look nicer,' said William.  "'Oh, no,' she said. "'Would you like to be a May Queen?' "'Oh, yes,' she said. "'Mmm,' said William, and returned to the discomforture of Evangeline Fish by his steady concentrated scowl. The next day he had the opportunity of watching her eating cakes. They met at the birthday party of a mutual classmate, and Evangeline Fish took her stand by the table and consumed cakes with a perseverance and determination worthy of a nobler cause. William accorded her a certain grudging admiration. Not once did she falter or faint. Iced cakes, cream cakes, pastries melted away before her, and never did she lose her ethereal angelic appearance. Tight golden ringlets, blue eyes, faintly flushed cheeks, vivid pale blue dress remained immaculate and unruffled, and still she ate cakes. William watched her in amazement, forgetting even to scowl at her, her capacity for cakes exceeded even Williams, and his was no mean one. They had a rehearsal of the maypole dance and crowning the next day. "'I want William Brown to hold the Queen's train,' said Miss Dewhurst. "'Me!' ejaculated William in horror. "'Do you mean me?' "'Yes, dear. It's a great honour to be asked to hold little Queen Evangeline's train. I'm sure you feel very proud. You must be her little courtier.' "'H',' said William, transferring his scowl to Miss Dewhurst. Evangeline beamed. She wanted William's admiration. William was the only boy in the form who was not her slave. She smiled at William sweetly. "'I'm not good at holding trains,' said William. "'I don't like holding trains. I've never been taught about holding trains. I might do it wrong on the day and spoil it all. I shan't like to spoil it all,' he added virtuously. "'Oh, we'll have heaps of practices,' said Miss Dewhurst brightly. As he was going, Bettine pressed a small apple into his hand. "'A present for you,' she murmured. I saved it from my dinner.' He was touched. "'I'll give you something to-morrow,' he said, adding hastily. "'If I can find anything.'" They stood in silence till he had finished his apple. "'I've left a lot on the core,' he said, in a tone of unusual politeness, handing it to her. Would you like to finish it?' "'No, thank you. William, you'll look so nice holding her train.' "'I don't want to, and I bet I won't. You don't know the things I can do,' he said darkly. "'Oh, William,' she gasped in awe and admiration. "'I'd hold your train if you was going to be queen,' he volunteered. "'I wouldn't want you to hold my train,' she said earnestly. I'd—I'd—I'd want you to be May King with me.' "'Yes, why don't they have May Kings?' said William, stung by this insult to his sex. "'Why shouldn't there be a May King?' "'I suspect they do really. Only perhaps Miss Dewhurst doesn't know about it.' "'Well, it doesn't seem sense not having May Kings, does it? I wouldn't mind being May King if you was May Queen.' The rehearsal was, on the whole, a failure. "'William Brown, don't hold the train so high. No, not quite so low. Don't stand so near the Queen, William Brown. No, not so far away. You'll pull the train off. Walk when the Queen walks, William Brown. Don't stand still. Sing up, please, train-bearer. No, not quite so loud. That's deafening, and not melodious.' In the end, he was degraded from the position of train-bearer to that of ordinary swain. The swains were to be dressed in smocks, and the maidens in print dresses, and the May Pole dance was to be performed round Evangeline Fish, who was to stand in queenly attire by the pole in the middle. All the village was to be invited. At the end of the rehearsal William came upon Bettine, once more gazing wistfully at Evangeline Fish, who was cooketting, with many tosses of the fair ringlets, before a crowd of admirers. Isn't it lovely for her to be May Queen, said Bettine? She's a rotten one, said William. I'm jolly glad I have not got to hold up her rotten old train and listen to her nasty squeaky voice singing close to, and I'll give you a present to-morrow. He did. He found a centipede in the garden, and pressed it into her hand on the way to school. They were jolly interested, he said, put it in a matchbox, and make holes for its breath, and it'll live ever so long, it won't bite you if you hold it the right way. And because she loved William, she took it without even a shudder. Evangeline Fish began to pursue William. She grudged him bitterly to Bettine.  She tossed her ringlets about him.  And in the long school hours during which he dreamed at his desk or played games with his friends, while highly paid instructors poured forth their wisdom for his benefit, William evolved a plan. Unfortunately, like most plans, it required capital, and William had no capital. Occasionally William's elder brother Robert would supply a few shillings without inconvenient questions, but it happened that Robert was ignoring William's existence at that time, for Robert had, not for the first time, discovered his ideal, and the ideal had been asked to lunch the previous week. For days before Robert had made William's life miserable, he had objected to William's unbrushed hair and unmanicured hands and untidy person and noisy habits. He had bitterly demanded what she would think on being asked to a house where she might meet such an individual as William. He had insisted that William should be taught habits of cleanliness and silence before she came. He had hinted darkly that a man who had William for a brother was hampered considerably in his love affairs, because she would think it was a queer kind of family where anyone like William was allowed to grow up. He had reserved some of his fervor for the cook. She must have a proper lunch, not stews and stuff they often had, there must be three vegetables and there must be cheese straws. Cook must learn to make better cheese straws. And William, having swallowed insults for three whole days, planned vengeance. It was a vengeance which only William could have planned or carried out, for only William could have seized a moment just before lunch when the meal was dished up and Cook happened to be out of the kitchen to carry the principal dishes down to the coal cellar and conceal them beneath the best nuts. It is well to draw a veil over the next half hour. Both William and the meal had vanished. Robert tore his hair and appealed vainly to the heavens. He hinted darkly at suicide. For what is cold tongue and coffee to offer to an ideal? The meal was discovered during the afternoon in its resting place and given to William's mongrel Jumble, who crept about during the next few days in agonies of indigestion. Robert had bitterly demanded of William why he went about the world spoiling people's lives and ruining their happiness. He had implied that when William met with the one and only love of his life, he need look for no help or assistance from him, Robert, because he, William, had dashed to the ground his, Robert's, cup of happiness, because he'd never in his life met anyone before like Miss Lang and never would again, and he, William, had simply condemned him to a lonely and miserable old age, because who'd want to marry anyone that asked them to lunch and then gave them coffee and cold tongue, and he'd never want to marry anyone else, because it was the one and only love of his life, and he hoped he, William, would realize, when he was old enough to realize, what it meant to have your life spoiled and your happiness ruined all through coffee and tongue, because someone you'd never speak to again had hidden the lunch. Whence it came that William, optimist though he was, felt that any appeal to Robert for funds would be inopportune, to say the least of it. But Providence was on William's side for once. An old uncle came to tea and gave William five shillings. Going to dance at a maypole I hear, he chuckled. Perhaps, was all William said. His family were relieved by his meekness with regard to the May Day Festival. Sometimes William made such a foolish fuss about being dressed up and performing in public. You know, dear, said his mother, it's a dear old festival and quite an honour to take part in it, and a smock is quite a nice manly garment. Yes, mother, said William. The day was fine, a real May Day. The May Pole was fixed up in the field near the school, and the little performers were to change in the schoolroom. William went out with his brown paper parcel of stage properties under his arm, and stood gazing up the road by which Evangeline Fish must come to the school, for Evangeline Fish would have to pass his gate. Soon he saw her, her pale blue radiant in the sun. Allo! he greeted her. She simpered. She had won him at last. Waitin' to walk to the school with me, William, she said. He still loitered. You're awful early. Am I? I thought I was late. I meant to be late. I don't want to be too early. I'm the most important person, and I want to walk in after the others. Then they'll all look at me. She tossed her tightly wrought curls. Come into our old shed a minute, said William. I've got a present for you. She blushed and ogled. Oh, William, she said, and followed him into the wood shed. Look, he said. His uncle's five shillings had been well expended. Rows of cakes lay round the shed, pastries and sugar cakes and iced cakes and current cakes. Have a lot, said William. They're all for you.  You can eat and eat and eat. There's lots and lots of time, and they can't begin without you, can they? Oh, William, she said. She gloated over them. Oh, may I? There's heaps of time, said William.   Oh, she said in rapture. She sat down on the floor and began to eat, lost to everything but icing and currents and pastry. William made for the door, then he paused, gazed wistfully at the feast, stepped back, and, grabbing a cream bun in each hand, crept quietly away. Bettine and her print frock was at the door of the school. Hurry up, she said anxiously. You're going to be late. The others are all out. They're waiting to begin. Miss Dewhurst's out there. They're all come but you and the Queen. I stayed because you asked me to stay to help you.  You're going to be May Queen, he announced firmly. Me, she said in amazement. Yes, and I'm going to be King. He unwrapped his parcel. Look, he said. He had ransacked his sister's bedroom. Once Ethel had been to a fancy dress dance as a fairy. Over Bettine's print frock he drew a crumpled gauze slip with wings, torn in several places. On her brow he placed a tinsel crown at her rakeish angle, and she quivered with happiness. Oh, how lovely, she said, how lovely, how lovely! His own preparations were simpler. He tied a red sash that he had taken off his sister's hat over his right shoulder and under his left arm on top of his smock. Someone had once given him a small bus conductor's cap with a toy set of tickets and clippers. He placed the cap upon his head with its peak over one eye. It was the only official headgear he had been able to procure. Then he took a piece of burnt cork from his parcel, and solemnly drew a fierce and military mustache upon his cheek and lip. To William no kind of theatricals was complete without a corked mustache. Then he took Bettine by the hand and led her out to the maypole. The dancers were all waiting holding the ribbons. The audience was assembled, and a murmur of conversation was rising from it. It ceased abruptly as William and Bettine appeared. William's father, mother, and sister were in the front row. Robert was not there. Robert had declined to come to anything in which that little wretch was to perform. He jolly well had enough of that little wretch to last his lifetime, thank you very much. William and Bettine stepped solemnly hand in hand upon the little platform which had been provided for the May Queen. Miss Dewhurst, who was chatting amicably to the parents till the last of her small performers should appear, seemed suddenly turned to stone, with mouth gaping and eyes wide. The old fiddler, who was rather short-sighted, struck up the strains, and the dancers began to dance. The audience relaxed, leaning back in their chairs to enjoy the scene. Miss Dewhurst was still frozen. There were murmured comments. How curious to have that boy there! A sort of attendant, I suppose. Yes, perhaps he is something allegorical, a sort of pageant, good luck, or something. It's not quite the sort of thing I expected, I must admit. What do you think of the Queen's dress? I always thought Miss Dewhurst had better taste, rather tawdry, I call it. I think the mustache is a mistake. It gives quite a common look to the whole thing. I wonder who he's meant to be. Pan, do you think? Uncertainly. Oh no, nothing so pagan, I hope! said an elderly matron, horrified. He's that brown boy, you know. There always seems to be something queer about anything he's in. I've noticed it often. But I hope he's meant to be something more Christian than Pan, though one never knows in these days. She added darkly. William's sister had recognized her possessions and was gasping in anger. William's father, who knew William, was smiling sardonically. William's mother was smiling proudly. You're always running down, William, she said to the world in general, but look at him now. He's got a very important part, and he said nothing about it at home.  Bettine, standing on the platform, with William's hand holding hers, and the maypole dancers dancing round her, was radiant with pride and happiness. And Evangeline Fish, in the woodshed, was just beginning the last current cake. CHAPTER IX THE REVENGE William was a scout. The fact was well known. There was no one within a five-mile radius of William's home who did not know it. Sensitive old ladies had fled shuddering from their front windows when William marched down the street singing—the word is a euphemism—his scout songs and his strong young voice. Curious smells emanated from the depth of the garden where William performed mysterious culinary operations. One old lady whose cat had disappeared looked at William with dour suspicion in her eye whenever he passed. Even the return of her cat a few weeks later did not remove the hostility from her gaze whenever it happened to rest upon William. William's family had welcomed the suggestion of William's becoming a scout. It will keep him out of mischief, they had said. They were notoriously optimistic, where William was concerned. William's elder brother only was doubtful. You know what William is, he said, and in that dark saying much was contained. Things went fairly smoothly for a time. He took the scout's law of a daily deed of kindness in its most literal sense. He was to do one—and one only—deed of kindness a day.  There were times when he answered any demand for help with a cold—no, I've done it today. He received with saint-like patience the eloquence of his elder sister when she found her silk scarf tied into innumerable knots. Well, their jolly good knots was all he said. He had been looking forward to the holidays for a long time. He was to go under canvas at the end of the first week. The first day of the holidays began badly. William's father had been disturbed by William, whose room was just above, and who had spent most of the night performing gymnastics, as instructed by his scout-master. No, he didn't say do it at night, but he said do it. He said it would make us grow up strong men. Don't you want me to grow up a strong man? He's ever so strong, and he did them. Why shouldn't I? His mother found a pan with the bottom burnt out, and at once accused William of the crime. William could not deny it. Well, I was making something, something he told us, and I forgot it. Well, I've got to make things if I'm a scout. I didn't mean to forget it. I won't forget it next time. It's a rotten pan, anyway, to burn itself into a hole just for that. At this point William's father received a note from a neighbour whose garden adjoined William's, and whose life had been rendered intolerable by William's efforts upon his bugle. The bugle was confiscated. Darkness descended upon William's soul. Well, he muttered, I'm going under canvas next week, and I'm jolly glad I'm going. Perhaps you'll be sorry when I'm gone. He went out into the garden, and stood gazing moodily into space, his hands in the pocket of his short scout trousers, for William dressed on any and every occasion in his official costume. Can't even have the bugle, he complained to the landscape. Can't even use their rotten old pans. Can't tie knots in any of their old things. What's the good of being a scout? His indignation grew, and with it a desire to be avenged upon his family. I like to do something, he confided to a rose-bush with a ferocious scowl. Something just to show him. Then his face brightened. He had an idea. He'd get lost. He'd get really lost. They'd be sorry then, all right. They'd perhaps think he was dead, and they'd be sorry then, all right. He imagined their relief, their tearful apologies, when at last he returned to the bosom of his family. It was worth trying, anyway. He set off cheerfully down the drive. He decided to stay away for lunch and tea and supper, and to return at dusk to a penitent, conscious-stricken family. He first made his way to a neighbouring wood, where he arranged a pile of twigs for a fire, but they refused to light, even with the aid of the match that William found adhering to a piece of putty in the recess of one of his pockets. Slightly dispirited, he turned his attention to his handkerchief, and tied knots in it till it gave way under the strain. William's handkerchiefs, being regularly used to perform the functions of blotting paper, among other duties not generally entrusted to handkerchiefs, were always in the last stages of decrepitude. He felt rather bored, and began to wonder whether it was lunchtime or not. He then scouted the wood, and by his wood-lore traced three distinct savage tribes' passage through the wood, and found the tracks of several elephants. He engaged in deadly warfare, with about half a dozen lions, then tired of the sport. It must be about lunchtime. He could imagine Ethel, his sister, hunting for him wildly high and low with growing pangs of remorse. She'd wish she'd made less fuss over that old scarf. His mother would recall the scene over the pan, and her heart would fail her. His father would think with shame of his conduct in the matter of the bugle. Poor William! How cruel we were! How different we shall be if only he comes home! He could almost hear the words. Perhaps his mother was weeping now. His father, wild-eyed and white-lipped, was pacing his study, waiting for news, eager to atone for his unkindness to his missing son. Perhaps he had the bugle on the table ready to give back to him. Perhaps he'd even bought him a new one. He imagined the scene of his return. He would be nobly forgiving. He would accept the gift of the new bugle without a word of reproach. His heart thrilled at the thought of it. He was getting jolly hungry. It must be after lunchtime, but it would spoil it all to go home too early. Here he caught sight of a minute figure regarding him with a steady gaze and holding a paper bag in one hand. William stared down at him. What you dressed up like that for, said the apparition with a touch of scorn in his voice. William looked down at his sacred uniform and scowled. I'm a scout, he said loftily. Cout! repeated the apparition with an air of polite boredom. What's your name? William. Mine's Thomas. Will you catch me a wops? Look at my wopses. He opened the bag slightly, and William caught sight of a crowd of wasps buzzing about inside the bag. What more demanded the infant? What lots more! Look! Snows! He brought out a handful of snails from a miniature pocket and put them on the ground.  Watch them walk! Look! They're walking! They're walking! His voice was a scream of ecstasy. He took them up and returned them to their pocket. From another he drew out a wriggling mass. Woodlice, he explained casually, got worms in another pocket. He returned the woodlice to his pocket, except one which he held between a finger and thumb laid thoughtfully against his lip. What wopses now? You get them for me. William roused himself from his bewilderment. How—how do you catch them? he said. Wings, replied Thomas, get hold of their wings and they don't sting. Sometimes they do, though, he added casually. Then your hands go big. A wasp settled near him, and very neatly the young naturalist picked him up and put him in his paper prison. Now you get one, he ordered William. William determined not to be outshone by this minute, but dauntless stranger.  Oh, ow, he said. Crumbs. Thomas emitted a peel of laughter. You stung, he said. Did it sting you? Funny! William's expression of rage and pain was exquisite to him. Come on, boy, he ordered at last. Let's go somewhere else. William's bewildered dignity made a last stand. You can go, he said. I'm playing by myself. All right, agreed, Thomas.  He set off down a path, and meekly William followed. It must be jolly late, almost tea time. I'm hungry, said Thomas, suddenly. Give me some breakfast. I haven't got any, said William irritably. Well, find some, persisted the infant. I can't. There isn't any to find. Well, buy some. I haven't any money. Well, buy some money. Goded, William turned on him. Go away, he bellowed. Thomas's blue eyes beneath a mop of curls met his coldly. Don't talk so loud, he said sternly. There's some blackberries there. You can get me some blackberries. William began to walk away, but Thomas trotted by his side. There, he persisted, just where I'm pointing. Lovely, great, big, huge ones. Get them for my breakfast. Reluctantly, the scout turned to perform his deed of kindness. Thomas consumed blackberries faster than William could gather them. Up there, he commanded. No, the one right up there I want. I want it. Kick! I've eaten all the others. William was scratched and breathless, and his shirt was torn when at last the rapacious Thomas was satisfied. Then he partook of a little refreshment himself while Thomas turned out his pockets. I'll let him go now, he said. One of his woodlice, however, stayed motionless where he put it. What's the matter with it? said William curiously. I speck me's the matter with it, said Thomas succinctly. Now get me some local fishes and tadpoles and water-sings. He went on cheerfully. William turned round from his blackberry bush. Well, I won't, he said decidedly. I've had enough. You've had enough breakfast, said Thomas sternly. I found a little tin for the things, so be kick. Oh, here's a fly, a green fly, it's sitting on my finger.  No, said William, turning a purple-stained countenance round scornfully. It must be nearly night. He didn't want to be too hard on them to make his mother ill or anything. He wanted to be as kind as possible. He'd forgive them at once when he got home. He'd ask for one or two things he wanted, as well as the new bugle, a new pen-knife, and an engine with a real boiler. What for does it not like me? persisted Thomas. William was silent. Question and questioner were beneath contempt. What for does it not like me? he shouted stridently. Flies don't like people, silly. What for not? retorted Thomas. They don't know anything about them. Well, I'll tell it about me. My name's Thomas, he said to the fly politely. Now does it like me? William groaned, but the fly had now vanished, and Thomas once more grew impatient. Come on, he said, come on and find things for me. William's manly spirit was by this time so far broken that he followed his new acquaintance to a neighbouring pond, growling threateningly, but impotently.  Take off yours, growled William, and find things for yourself. No, said Thomas. Crocodiles might be there and bite my toes, and pitonopotomuses might be there. If you don't go in, I'll scream and scream and scream. William went in. He walked gingerly about the muddy pond. Thomas watched him critically from the bank. I don't like your hair, he said confidingly. William growled. He caught various small swimming objects in the tin and brought them to the bank for inspection. I want more in that, said Thomas calmly. Well, you won't get it, retorted William. He began to put on his boots and stockings, wondering desperately how to rid himself of his unwanted companion, but fate solved the problem.  Tommy, she said, my little darling Tommy, I thought you were lost. She turned furiously to William.  If his father was here, he'd show you. You ought to know better, and you a scout. William gasped. Well, he said, and I've been doing deeds of kindness on him all morning. I've— She turned away indignantly, holding Thomas's hand. You're never to go with that nasty rough boy again, darling, she said. Got lots of wapses and some fishes, murmured Thomas contentedly. They disappeared down the path. With a feeling of depression and disillusionment, William turned to go home. Then his spirits rose. After all, he'd got rid of Thomas, and he was going home to a contrite family. It must be about supper time. It would be getting dark soon. But it still stayed light a long time now. It wouldn't matter if he just got in for supper. It would have given them time to think things over. He could see his father speaking unsteadily and holding out his hand. My boy, let bygones be bygones, if there is anything you want. His father had never said anything of this sort to him yet, but by a violent stretch of imagination he could just conceive it. His mother, of course, would cry over him, and so would Ethel. Dear William, do forgive us. We have been so miserable since you went away. We will never treat you so again. This again was unlike the Ethel he knew, but sorrow has a refining effect on all characters. He entered the gate self-consciously. Ethel was at the front door. She looked at his torn shirt and mud-caped knees. You'd better hurry if you're going to be ready for lunch, she said coldly. Lunch, faltered William. What time is it? Ten to one. Father's in, so I warn you, she added unpleasantly. He entered the house in a dazed fashion. His mother was in the hall. William, she said impatiently, another torn shirt. You really are careless.  Pale and speechless he went towards the stairs. His father was coming out of the library smoking a pipe. He looked at his son grimly.  William swallowed. Yes, father, he said meekly. He went slowly upstairs to the bathroom. Life was a rotten show. End of Chapter 9, read on September 9, 2007 in Oceanside, California. More William, Chapter 10. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This reading by Kara Schallenberg. More William, by Rich Mall Crumpton. Chapter 10. The Helper. The excitement began at breakfast. William descended slightly late, and, after receiving his parents' reproaches with an air of weary boredom, ate his porridge listlessly. He had come to the conclusion that morning that there was a certain monotonous sameness about life. One got up, and had one's breakfast, and went to school, and had one's dinner, and went to school, and had one's tea, and played, and had one's supper, and went to bed. Even the fact that today was a half-term holiday did not dispel his depression. One day's holiday. What good was one day? We all have experienced such feelings. Half-abstractedly he began to listen to his elder's conversation.  I do hope they won't be late. Well, it's not much good there coming if the other house isn't ready, is it, said William's grown-up sister Ethel. I don't believe they've even finished painting. I'm so sorry it's William's half-term holiday, sighed Mrs. Brown. He'll be frightfully in the way. William's outlook on life brightened considerably. They come and remove him this morning, he inquired cheerfully. Yes, do try not to hinder them, William. Me, he said indignantly, I'm going to help. If William's going to help, remarked his father, thank heaven I shan't be here. Your assistance, William, always seems to be even more devastating in its results than your opposition. William smiled politely. Sarcasm was always wasted on William. Well, he said, rising from the table, I'd better go and be getting ready to help. Ten minutes later Mrs. Brown, coming out of the kitchen from her interview with the cook, found to her amazement that the steps of the front door were covered with small ornaments. As she stood staring, William appeared from the drawing-room staggering under the weight of a priceless little statuette that had been the property of Mr. Brown's great-grandfather. William, she gasped. I'm getting all the little things ready for him, just to carry straight down. If I put everything on the steps, they don't need to come into the house at all. You said you didn't want him trampin' in dirty boots. It took a quarter of an hour to replace them. Over the fragments of a blue, delft bowl, Mrs. Brown sighed deeply. I wish you'd broken anything but this, William. Well, he excused himself. You said things do get broken, removing, you said so yourself. I didn't break it on purpose. It just got broken, removing. At this point the removers arrived. There were three of them. One was very fat and jovial, and one was thin and harassed-looking, and a third wore a sheepish smile, and walked with a slightly unsteady gait. They made profuse apologies for their lateness. You'd better begin with the dining-room, said Mrs. Brown. Will you pack the china first? William, get out of the way! She left them packing, assisted by William. William carried the things to them from the sideboard cupboards. What's your names, he asked, as he stumbled over a glass bowl that he had inadvertently left on the hearth rug. His progress was further delayed while he conscientiously picked up the fragments. Things do get broken, removing, he murmured. Mine is Mr. Blake, and is is Mr. Johnson, and is is Mr. Jones. Which is Mr. Jones, the one that walks funny? They shook with her Culean laughter so much so that a china cream jug slipped from Mr. Blake's fingers and lay in innumerable pieces round his boot. He kicked it carelessly aside. Yes, he said, bending anew to his task, in what walks funny? Why's he walk funny, persisted William? Has he hurt his legs? Yes, said Blake with a wink. He hurt him at the blue cow, come in ear. Mr. Jones' sheepish smile broadened into a guffaw. Well, you rest, said William sympathetically. You lie down on the sofa and rest. I'll help, so as you needn't do anything. Mr. Jones grew hilarious. Come on, he said, my eye, this young gents, all righty is. You lie down and rest, he says. Well, here goes. To the huge delight of his companions he stretched himself at length upon the Chesterfield and closed his eyes. William surveyed him with pleasure. That's right, he said. I'll, I'll show you my dog when your legs are better. I've got a fine dog. What sort of a dog, said Mr. Blake, resting from his labours to ask the question. He's no particular sort of dog, said William honestly, but he's a jolly fine dog, you should see him do tricks. Well, let's have a look at him, fetch him art. William, highly delighted, complied, and Jumble showed off his best tricks to an appreciative audience of two. Mr. Jones had already succumbed to the drowsiness that had long been creeping over him, and was lying dead to the world on the Chesterfield. Jumble begged for a biscuit. He walked, per force, for William's hand firmly imprisoned his front ones. On his hind legs he leapt over William's arm.  William saw consternation on Mr. Johnson's face, and hastened to gather the pieces, and fling them lightly into the waste-paper basket. It's all right, he said soothingly. She said things get broken, removing. When Mrs. Brown entered the room ten minutes later, Mr. Jones was still asleep, Jumble was still performing, and Mr. Blake and Johnson were standing in negligent attitudes against the wall, appraising the eager Jumble with sportsmen-like eyes. He's no breed, Mr. Blake was saying. But he's all right. I'd like to see him after a rat. I beddied. Seeing Mrs. Brown, he hastily seized a vase from the mantelpiece, and carried it over to the packing case, where he appeared suddenly to be working against time. Mr. Johnson followed his example. Mrs. Brown's eyes fell upon Mr. Jones, and she gasped. Whatever! she began. He's not very well, explained Mr. Blake obsequiously. He'll be all right when he's slept it off. He's always all right when he's slept it off. He's hurt his legs, explained William. He hurt his legs at the blue cow. He's just resting. Mrs. Brown swallowed and counted twenty to herself. It was a practice she had acquired in her youth, for use in times when words crowded upon her too thick and fast for utterance. At last she spoke with unusual bitterness. Need he rest with his muddy boots on my Chesterfield? At this point Mr. Jones awoke from sleep, hypnotized out of it by her cold eye. He was profuse in his apologies. He believed he had fainted. He had had a bad headache, brought on probably by exposure to the early morning sun. He felt much better after his faint. He regretted having fainted on to the lady's sofa.  You've done nothing in this room, said Mrs. Brown. We shall never get finished. William, come away. I'm sure you're hindering them. Me, said William, in righteous indignation. Me? I'm helping. After what seemed to Mrs. Brown to be several hours, they began on the heavy furniture. They staggered out with the dining-room sideboard, carrying away part of the staircase with it in transit. Mrs. Brown, with a paling face, saw her beloved antique cabinet dismembered against the doorpost, and watched her favourite collapsible card-table perform a thorough and permanent collapse. Even the hat stand from the hall was devoid of some pegs, when it finally reached the van. This is simply breaking my heart, moaned Mrs. Brown. Where's William, said Ethel gloomily, looking round. I don't know. He disappeared a few minutes ago. I don't know where he is. I only hope he'll stay there. The removers now proceeded to the drawing-room and prepared to take out the piano. They tried it every way. The first way took out a piece of the doorpost. The second made a dint two inches deep in the piano. The third knocked over the grandfather-clock, which fell with a resounding crash, breaking its glass, and incidentally a tall china-plant stand that happened to be in its line of descent. Mrs.  It's like some dreadful nightmare, she groaned. Mr. Blake, Johnson, and Jones paused to wipe the sweat of honest toil from their brows. I don't know how it's to be got out, said Mr. Blake despairingly. It got in, persisted Mrs. Brown. If it got in, it can get out. We'll have another try, said Mr. Blake, with the air of a hero leading a forlorn hope. Come on, rights! This time was successful, and the piano passed safely into the hall, leaving in its wake only a dislocated door-handle and a torn chair-cover. It then passed slowly and devastatingly down the hall and drive. The next difficulty was to get it into the van. Mrs. Blake, Johnson, and Jones tried alone and failed. For ten minutes they tried alone and failed. Between each attempt they paused to mop their brows and throw longing glances towards the blue cow, whose signboard was visible down the road. The gardener, the cook, the housemaid, and Ethel all gave their assistance, and at last, with a superhuman effort, they raised it to the van. They then all rested weakly against the nearest support and gasped for breath. Well, said Mr. Jones, looking reproachfully at the mistress of the house, I've never handled a piano. At this moment a well-known voice was heard in the recesses of the van behind the piano and sideboard and hat stand. Hey! let me out! What you've gone blocking up the van for! I can't get out! There was a horror-stricken silence. Then Ethel said sharply, What did you go in for? The mysterious voice came again with a note of irritability. Well, I was restin'. I must have some rest, mustn't I? I've been helpin' all morning. Well, couldn't you see we were putting things in? The unseen presence spoke again. No, I can't. I wasn't lookin'. You can't get out, William, said Mrs. Brown desperately. We can't move everything again. You must just stop there till it's unpacked. We'll try to push your lunch into you. There was determination in the voice that answered, I want to get out. I'm going to get out. There came tumultuous sounds, the sound of the ripping of some material, of the smashing of glass, and of William's voice softly ejaculating crumbs, that ol' lookin' glass gettin' in the way. You'd better take out the piano again, said Mrs. Brown wanly. It's the only thing to do. With straining, and efforts, and groans, and a certain amount of destruction, the piano was eventually lowered again to the ground. Then the sideboard and hat stand were moved to one side, and finally there emerged from the struggle William and Jumble. Jumble's coat was covered with little pieces of horse hair, as though from the interior of a chair. William's jersey was torn from shoulder to hem. He looked stern and indignant. A nice thing to do, he began bitterly. Shuttin' me up in that ol' van, how do you expect me to breathe?  Folks can't live without air, can they? A nice thing if you'd found me dead. Emotion had deprived his audience of speech for the time being. With a certain amount of dignity he walked past them into the house, followed by Jumble. It took another quarter of an hour to replace the piano, as they were making the final effort William came out of the house. Here I'll help, he said, and laid a finger on the side. His presence rather hindered their efforts, but they succeeded in spite of it. William, however, was under the impression that his strength alone had wrought the miracle. He put on an outrageous swagger. I'm jolly strong, he confided to Mr. Blake. I'm stronger than most folk. Here the removers decided that it was time for their midday repast, and retired to consume it in the shady back garden. All except Mr. Jones, who said he would go down the road for a drink of lemonade. William said that there was lemonade in the larder and offered to fetch it, but Mr. Jones said hastily that he wanted a special sort. He had to be very particular what sort of lemonade he drank. Mrs. Brown and Ethel sat down to a scratch meal in the library. William followed his two new friends wistfully into the garden. William, come to lunch, called Mrs. Brown. Oh, leave him alone, mother, pleaded Ethel. Let us have a little peace. But William did not absent himself for long. I want a red handkerchief. He demanded loudly from the hall. There was no response. He appeared in the doorway. I say, I want a red handkerchief. Have you got a red handkerchief, mother? No, dear. Have you, Ethel? No. All right, said William, aggrievedly. You needn't get mad, need you. I'm only asking for a red handkerchief. I don't want a red handkerchief off you if you haven't got it, do I?  William obeyed. Peace reigned throughout the house and garden for the next half hour. Then Mrs. Brown's conscience began to prick her. William must have something to eat, dear. Do go and find him. Ethel went out to the back garden. A scene of happy restfulness met her gaze. Mr. Blake reclined against one tree consuming bread and cheese, while a red handkerchief covered his knees. Mr. Johnson reclined against another tree, also consuming bread and cheese, while a red handkerchief covered his knees. William leaned against a third tree consuming a little heap of scraps collected from the larder, while on his knees also reposed what was apparently a red handkerchief. Jumble sat in the middle, catching with nimble snapping jaws deities flung to him from time to time by his circle of admirers. Ethel advanced nearer and inspected William's red handkerchief with dawning horror in her face. Then she gave a scream. William, that's my silk scarf. It was for a hat. I've only just bought it. Oh, mother, do do something to William. He's taken my new scarf, the one I'd got to trim my leg horn. He's the most awful boy. I don't think— Mrs. Brown came out hastily to pacify her. William handed the silk scarf back to its rightful owner. Well, I'm sorry. I thought it was a red handkerchief. It looked like a red handkerchief. Well, how could I know it wasn't a red handkerchief? I've given it her back. It's all right. Jumble's only bit one end of it, and that's only jam what dropped on it. Well, it'll wash, won't it? Well, I've said I'm sorry. I don't get much thanks, William continued bitterly, me giving up my half-holiday to help you remove it, and I don't get much thanks. Well, William, said Mrs. Brown, you can go to the new house with the first van. He'll be less in the way there, she confided distractedly to the world in general. William was delighted with this proposal. At the new house there was a fresh set of men to unload the van, and there was the thrill of making their acquaintance. Then the front gate was only just painted and bore a notice, wet paint. It was, of course, incumbent upon William to test personally the wetness of the paint. His trousers bore testimony to the testing to their last day, in spite of many applications of turpentine. Jumble also tested it, and had, in fact, to be disconnected with the front gate by means of a pair of scissors. For many weeks the first thing that visitors to the brown household saw was a little tuft of Jumble's hair adorning the front gate. William then proceeded to help to the utmost of his power. He stumbled up from the van to the house, staggering under the weight of a medicine cupboard and leaving a trail of broken bottles and little pools of medicine behind. Jumble sampled many of the latter, and became somewhat thoughtful. It was found that the door of a small bedroom at the top of the stairs was locked, and this fact, added to Mr. Jones's failure to return from his lemonade, rather impeded the progress of the unpackers. Break it open, suggested one. Better not. Perhaps the keys inside, suggested another brightly. William had one of his brilliant ideas. Tell you what I'll do, he said eagerly and importantly. I'll climb up to the roof and get down the chimney and open it from the inside. They greeted the proposal with guffaws. They did not know William. It was growing dusk when Mrs. Brown and Ethel and the second van load appeared. What is that on the gate, said Ethel, stooping to examine the part of Jumble's coat that brightened up the dullness of the black paint? It's that dog, she said. Then came a ghost-like cry, apparently from the heavens. Mother! Mrs. Brown raised a startled countenance to the skies. There seemed to be nothing in the skies that could have addressed her. Then she suddenly saw a small face peering down over the coping of the roof. It was a face that was very frightened, under a superficial covering of soot. It was William's face. I can't get down, it said hoarsely. Mrs. Brown's heart stood still. Stay where you are, William, she said faintly. Don't move. The entire staff of removers was summoned. A ladder was borrowed from a neighbouring garden and found to be too short. Another was fetched and fastened to it. William, at his dizzy height, was growing irritable. I can't stay up here forever, he said severely. At last he was rescued by his friend Mr. Blake and brought down to safety. His account was confused. I wanted to help. I wanted to open that door for him, so I climbed up by the scullery roof and the ivy and the drainpipe, and I tried to get down the chimney. I didn't know which one it was, but I tried them all, and they were all too little, and I tried to get down by the ivy again, but I couldn't, so I waited till you came and hollered out. I wasn't scared, he said, fixing them with a stern eye. I wasn't scared a bit. I just wanted to get down, and this old black chimney stuff tastes beastly. No, I'm all right, he ended, in answer to tender inquiries. I'll go on helping. He was, with difficulty, persuaded to retire to bed at a slightly earlier hour than usual. Well, he confessed, I'm a bit tired with helping all day. Soon after he had gone, Mr. Brown and Robert arrived. And how have things gone today? said Mr. Brown cheerfully. Thank heaven, William goes to school tomorrow, said Ethel devoutly. Upstairs in his room, William was studying himself in the glass. Torn jersey, paint-stained trousers, blackened face. Well, he said, with a deep sigh of satisfaction. I guess I've jolly well helped today.


A place that will help tell a fuller, deeper and richer story of a proud, creative and colorful people but also of the rich tapestry of cultures, races, ethnicities and faiths of which they are a part. At a more reflective level we will through this repository and the traditions embedded in the artworks and cultural artefacts imbibe the trials, the challenges, the inventions and the spiritual heritage of the Yoruba people. We know that well before contact with the western world and a laughing has made that very clear to us that Yoruba has had a fine artistic and a fine political tradition rendered through sculpture and architecture using bronze, wood, stone, terracotta and brass. Such was the quality of the work that when Leo Frobenius the German ethnographer came across the Ife bronze and terracotta sculpture he was convinced that he had discovered the treasures of the mythical lost city of Atlantis. Later research proved him wrong. These were actually the works of 12 to 15th century AD Yoruba craftsmen but beyond and yet inherent in the splendor and beauty of the artworks and the genius of artists are the histories and stories of our people. The first relocation of Yoruba people by slave dealers to the Americas and the Caribbean and other unspeakable degradations and atrocities of slavery and the ways in which Yoruba culture adapted and survived in the dehumanizing humiliations and sufferings in those distant and hostile environments and how here at home Yoruba culture also had to adapt to the onslaught of colonialism in Nigeria by the British and by the British and in Benin and Togo by the French. In death and the King's Horseman a classic play by Professor Wale Shouenka we see forces at work that try to adapt cultural practices with tragic consequences. The effort of the district officer in that play to prevent Yoruba from doing his duty to accompany his obaim to the great beyond ended with the son of the Elisha himself taking his own life. The story of how the clash of cultures with colonial overlords shaped who we are today and to some extent the incongruity of our institutions so culture is not just about the past is neither static nor immutable it is constantly creating and recreating consequently progress is not merely determined by fidelity to tradition but by our capacity for invention and reinvention and this point is more relevant now than ever before as the world itself and our nation stand at crossroads the future of mankind is an is at an inflection point with COVID-19 and climate change already disrupting life as we know it while the fourth industrial revolution requires us to adapt to technological innovation changing at lightning speed to cope well we must draw strength from our cultural capital the wealth of tangible and intangible knowledge that emanates from a society's core and enables it to cope with change one of the tasks of scholars of enthusiasts and citizens interested in understanding the Yoruba heritage is to use culture as a tool for helping us discern our place in the world and to rekindle our visionary capabilities this intent is inherent in the design and work of this center it bears repeating that culture is not just about antiquity it's about the contemporary age and even the age to come this world center will therefore serve not just as a piece or a place of memory but a place that inspires us and fires our collective imagination even within the dynamic context of advances in technology ideas and thought but perhaps more importantly today the work of this center should offer a base from which and a sanctuary in which we can reflect on how Yoruba culture can contribute to the tools of nation building the building of a more inclusive a fairer and more just society the bringing together as one people an ethnically and religiously diverse nation how can the rest of the nation learn as president buhari observed from the way that we Yorubas manage within our families to accommodate diverse faiths and beliefs and in a nation dug by abdication of high values especially in leadership perhaps the center might take on the task of formalizing knowledge on the concept of omoluabi for teaching in our schools omoluabi the true moral quintessence of the Yorubaris the virtuous man or woman the man or woman of character perhaps the scholars here will distill the heart of the omoluabi ethos and reveal the attributes of trustworthiness reliability honesty and forthrightness for coming generations of nigerians perhaps the world needs to know that the omoluabi is one whose word to brother and stranger alike is reliable one who believes in the equality of all men regardless of race or belief and that all deserve to be treated with dignity and fairness one who believes that the common wealth is not to be stolen or personalized but it is for the good of all given the range of its ambitions and the strength of the resources that will come here i know that this center will locate itself in the emergent creative economy unlike the fires of imagination especially of our young people so it might also be of use to formalize knowledge on how for example a fella nikolako puti used an ad mixture of the rhythms of the heartland and high life to create a new genre of music afro beat that has since become a global phenomenon today young nigerian artists are using local sounds to create a globally popular culture is there something to be learned here additionally the center should offer a destination for missions of discovery by the very many africans in diaspora who trace their origins of the european people and promote closer links between the european people in the homeland and their kith and kin in the diaspora but more importantly provide a crucial pillar in the global attempt to build social and economic bridges between peoples of african descent everywhere in the world and while we are at it you must join in the global movement to champion the return of artifacts that were plundered looted or illegally taken away from these shores indeed the center should serve as a home for such returned items where the immediate provenance or circumstances in which the items were taken is unclear or not known so let me again commend the architects of this initiative led by alagwa alaw adedayo for the boldness and ambition of their enterprise and for the enormous self-sacrifice and patriotism that this must have entailed we must all seize we must all seize this moment we must seize this moment and join in this glorious civic endeavor and the time to do so is now thank you