Part 8 (2/2)

'Certainly not,' said the parachutist indignantly. 'Whatever made you think I was?'

'Corks!' said William, with a deep sigh. 'We never have any luck.'

'You an' your parachutists!' said the policeman shutting his note-book with a snap. 'An' a nice mess you've made of the road,' he added severely.

'That was our fort,' said Ginger mournfully.

'Well, I can't waste any more time here,' said Major Winton. 'Goodnight, sir,' to the parachutist.

'Goodnight, constable. And I hope that you boys won't make nuisances of yourselves like this again.'

He went home to finish his nap, feeling half relieved and half disappointed that the affair had petered out so tamely.

'I'll be goin', too,' said the policeman. 'Can't hang about here all night. Thank you, sir,' as the parachutist slipped something into his hand. 'Glad that it's all been settled satisfactorily. And, you kids,' to the Outlaws, 'be a bit more careful next time or you'll be getting into trouble.'

He went off, leaving parachutist and Outlaws alone.

'Well, we thought you were one,' said William in a small voice.

The parachutist looked down at the four dejected faces.

'I say,' he said suddenly, 'how would you like to come to the aerodrome with me and see the show?'

The four dejected faces beamed, sparkled, radiated.

'Oh!' gasped William. 'Could we?'

'I think so,' said the parachutist. 'I think I can manage it. There's the question of your parents, of course . . . Suppose you come with me to the garage now and I'll ring them up from there and ask permission . . .'

The Outlaws sat in a crowded hall surrounded by a G.o.d-like company of men in Air Force blue men who sailed the skies and brought down German bombers as regularly and unconcernedly as you and I have marmalade for breakfast.

That in itself would have provided one of the greatest thrills of the Outlaws' lives. But, added to this, the G.o.dlike beings were jovial and friendly. They teased Ginger about the colour of his hair. They called William Old Bill. They gave them humbugs and pear drops.

The parachutist was beginning his repertoire of comic songs from the stage, a repertoire abounding in the immemorial jokes of the music hall.

As a comedian the parachutist had a way with him.

The audience rocked and roared helplessly.

The Outlaws rocked and roared with the best.

William choked till the tears ran down his face.

Ginger's yell of laughter at each fresh sally was like a gun explosion.

Douglas waved and stamped to swell the applause.

Henry was so purple in the face that, had anyone noticed him (which no one did), they would have diagnosed the last stages of an apoplectic fit.

It was the happiest day of their lives.

CHAPTER 5.

WILLIAM THE SALVAGE COLLECTOR

'COME on, William,' called Mrs Brown. 'The siren!' William stumbled sleepily out of bed, hunched into his dressing-gown, put on his bedroom slippers, collected various bits of cardboard that he was using for his 'invention' of an entirely new type of aeroplane, and made his way to the air-raid shelter at the bottom of the garden. Already a.s.sembled were Ethel, wearing a siren suit of pale grey corduroy, Emma the housemaid, in a red flannel dressing-gown, her hair in curling papers, her face grim and set, her teeth clasped firmly on an enormous cork, and Mr Brown, looking sleepy and dishevelled but preparing to re-read his evening paper, with an air of philosophical detachment.

Robert was on night duty at the warden's post, and Cook had joined the A.T.S. last week.

Ethel groaned as William entered.

'Oh gos.h.!.+' she said. 'I hoped he'd have slept through it.'

'Of course not,' said Mrs Brown placidly. 'I shouldn't dream of letting him sleep through it. Now, make room for him, dear, and don't be disagreeable.'

'Can't I have the hammock?' pleaded William.

Originally a hammock had been slung up for William's use, but the acrobatics in which he had indulged had precipitated him so frequently upon the heads of his family below that, much to his disgust, it had been taken down.

'No, dear,' said Mrs Brown. 'You only fidget and fall on people.'

'What can I do, then?' demanded William.

'Go to sleep,' said Mrs Brown. 'It's long past your bedtime.'

'Sleep?' echoed William in disgust. 'I jolly well wouldn't waste an air raid sleepin' in it.'

'Well, you must be quiet.'

'All right,' said William. 'I'll go on with my aeroplane. I bet it'll make 'em all sit up when I've finished it. It's a troop-carryin' aeroplane, an' it's goin' to go six hundred miles an hour an' it's goin' to be camouflaged so's to look like a cloud in the sky an' like a barn when it comes down so's the troops can hide in it.'

He stopped and listened for a few moments. 'That's a Dornier,' he p.r.o.nounced with an air of finality.

'On the contrary, it's a cow,' said Mr Brown, without looking up from his paper.

'Oh, yes, so it is,' agreed William as he recognised the note. 'It's Farmer Smith's Daisy. She's been carryin' on like that all day.'

Mrs Brown was checking her equipment of spirit kettle, biscuit tins, tea, coffee, milk, fruit and chocolate. She delighted in feeding her family during an air raid, but usually only William appreciated her efforts.

'Anyone like anything to eat or drink?' she asked hopefully.

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