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- Herausgeber: Diamond Book Publishing
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021
Richmal Compton's William the Fourth is the fourth classic set of adventures featuring the hero of Just William, with an introduction by screenwriter and Cosmic author Frank Cottrell Boyce, Whether he's occupying a bear suit that's slightly too small for him, cloaked in mystery as a fortune teller or attired in the flowing robes of a Fairy Queen, William is unmistakably himself: trouble in human form. Only Great-Aunt Jane manages to take William on at his own game – and win! There is only one William. This tousle-headed, snub-nosed, hearty, loveable imp of mischief has been harassing his unfortunate family and delighting his hundreds of thousands of admirers since 1922.
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Richmal Crompton
William the Pourth Preview
William is up to his old tricks and ready for trouble!
Table of contents
CHAPTER I. THE WEAK SPOT
By
Richmal Crompton
Illustrated by Thomas Henry
Table of Contents
CHAPTER I. THE WEAK SPOT
CHAPTER II. WILLIAM AND PHOTOGRAPHY
CHAPTER III. THE FÊTE—AND FORTUNE
CHAPTER IV. WILLIAM ALL THE TIME
CHAPTER V. AUNT JANE’S TREAT
CHAPTER VI. “KIDNAPPERS”
CHAPTER VII. WILLIAM’S EVENING OUT
CHAPTER VIII. WILLIAM ADVERTISES
CHAPTER IX. WILLIAM AND THE BLACK CAT
CHAPTER X. WILLIAM THE SHOWMAN
CHAPTER XI. WILLIAM’S EXTRA DAY
CHAPTER XII. WILLIAM ENTERS POLITICS
CHAPTER XIII. WILLIAM MAKES A NIGHT OF IT
CHAPTER XIV. A DRESS REHEARSAL
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?”
He thrust his hand into his coat front in a manner reminiscent of the late Mr. Gladstone and glared at his audience from under scowling brows.
“ Ah, who?” gasped the audience.
“ It’s here that the Bolshevists come in!”
“ Bolshevists?” said Robert, aghast.
“ The Bolshevists are very much misjudged and—er—maligned,” retorted Jameson Jameson, with emotion. “Shamefully misjudged and——” he wasn’t sure whether he’d pronounced it right, so he ended feebly, “what I said before. I’m not,” he admitted frankly, “in direct communication with Lenin, but I’ve read about it in a magazine, and I know a bit about it from that. The Bolshevists want to share things out so as we’re equal, and that’s only right, isn’t it? ’Cause we’re all human beings, and as such are equal, and as such have equal rights. Well, that’s clear, isn’t it? Does anyone,” he glared round fiercely, “wish to contradict me?”
No one did. William, who was sitting in a draught, sneezed and was annihilated by a glance from Robert.
“ Well,” he continued, “I propose to form a Bolshevist Society, first of all, just to start with. You see, the Bolshevists have gone to extremes, but we’ll join the Bolshevist party and—and purge it of all where it’s wrong now. Now, who’ll join the Society?”
As human beings with equal rights they were all anxious to join. They were all fired to the soul by Jameson Jameson’s eloquence. Even William pressed onward to give in his name, but was sternly ordered away by Robert.
“ But I believe all you do,” he pleaded wistfully, “’bout want’n other people’s money an’ thinking we oughtn’t to work.”
“ You’ve misunderstood me, my young friend,” said Jameson Jameson, with a sigh, “but we want numbers. There’s no reason why——”
“ If that kid belongs, I’m not going to,” said Robert firmly.
“ We might have a Junior Branch——” suggested one of them.
So thus it was finally settled. William became the Junior Branch of the Society of Reformed Bolshevists. Alone he was President and Secretary and Committee and Members. He resented any suggestion of enlarging the Junior Branch. He preferred to form the Branch himself. He held meetings of his Branch under the laurel bushes in the garden, and made eloquent speeches to an audience consisting of a few depressed daffodil roots, and sometimes the cat from next door.
“ All gotter be equal,” he pronounced fiercely, “all gotter have lots of money. All ’uman beings. That’s sense, isn’t it? Is it sense or isn’t it?”
The cat from next door scratched its ear and slowly winked.
“ Well, then,” said William, “someone ought to do somethin’.”
The Society of Advanced Bolshevists met next month in Robert’s room. William had left nothing to chance. He had heard Robert saying that he’d see no kids got in to this one, so he installed himself under Robert’s bed before anyone arrived. Robert looked round the room with a keen and threatening gaze before he ushered Jameson Jameson into the chair, or, to be more accurate, on to the bed. The meeting began.
“ Comrades,” began Jameson Jameson, “we have, I hope, all spent this time in thinking things out and making ourselves more devoted to the cause. But now is the time for action. We’ve got to do something. If we had any money ’cept the mean bit that our fathers allow us we could make people jolly well sit up—we could——”
