WILLIAM—THE FOURTH
By the Same Author
“YOU CAN LOOK AT THE ALBUM WHILE I AM GETTING READY.” WILLIAM WAS TRAPPED, TRAPPED IN A HUGE AND HORRIBLE DRAWING-ROOM, BY A HUGE AND HORRIBLE WOMAN.
(See page 38.)
WILLIAM—THE FOURTH
BY
RICHMAL CROMPTON
ILLUSTRATED BY
THOMAS HENRY
LONDON
GEORGE NEWNES LIMITED
TOWER HOUSE, SOUTHAMPTON STREET
STRAND, W.C. 2
Copyright All Rights Reserved
First Published 1924
Printed in Great Britain by Wyman & Sons, Ltd., London, Fakenham and Reading
CONTENTS
TO GWEN
CHAPTER I
THE WEAK SPOT
“YOU see,” said Jameson Jameson, “we’re all human beings. That’s a very important point. You must admit that we’re all human beings?”
Jameson Jameson, aged nineteen and three-quarters, was very eloquent. He paused more for rhetorical effect than because he really needed confirmation on the point. His audience, all under nineteen, agreed hoarsely and unanimously.
They were all human beings. They admitted it.
“Well, then,” Jameson continued, warming to his subject, “as human beings we’re equal. As being equal we’ve got equal rights, I suppose. Anyone deny that?”
Robert Brown, aged seventeen, in whose room the meeting took place, leaned forward eagerly. He was thoroughly enjoying the meeting. The only drawback was the presence of his younger brother, William, aged eleven. By some mistake someone had admitted William, and by some still greater mistake no one had ejected him; and now it was too late. He gave no excuse for ejection. He was sitting motionless, his hands on his knees, his eyes, under their untidy shock of hair, glued on the speaker, his mouth wide open. There was no doubt at all that he was impressed. But Robert wished he wasn’t there. He felt that the presence of a kid was an insult to the mature intelligences round him, most of whom were in their first year at college.
But no one seemed to mind, so he contented himself with sitting so that he could not see William.
“Well,” continued Jameson Jameson, “then why aren’t we equal? Why are some rich and some poor? Why do some work and others not? Tell me that.”
There was no answer—only a gasp of wonder and admiration.
Jameson Jameson (whose parents had perpetrated on him the supreme practical joke of giving him his surname for a Christian name, so that people who addressed him by his full name always seemed to be indulging in some witticism) brought down his fist upon the table with a bang.
“Then it’s somebody’s duty to make us equal. It’s only common justice, isn’t it? You admit that? Those who haven’t money must be given money, and those who have too much must have some taken off them. We want Equality. And no more Tyranny. The working-class must have Freedom. And who’s going to do it?”
