Читать книгу The World of David Walliams: 6 Book Collection - David Walliams, Quentin Blake, David Walliams - Страница 52
Оглавление“Who on earth is he?” enquired Mr Stern as Mr Stink trudged around in his filthy striped pyjamas to the backdoor.
There was silence for a moment. Mother’s eyes bulged out of their sockets and Annabelle looked like she was about to shriek or vomit or both.
“Oh, he’s the tramp who lives in our shed,” said Chloe.
“The tramp who lives in our shed?” repeated Mother incredulously. She looked at her husband with black fire in her eyes.
He gulped.
“I told you she was hiding something in there, Mother!” exclaimed Annabelle.
“He wasn’t there when I looked!” protested Dad. “He must have concealed himself behind a trowel!”
“What a wonderful woman you are, Mrs Croooooooooooome,” said Mr Stern. “I read about your policies on the homeless. About driving them off the streets. I had no idea you meant we should drive them into our homes and let them come and live with us.”
“Well I…” spluttered Mother, lost for words.
“I can assure you I am going to write an absolutely glowing piece about you now. This will make the front page. You could be the next Prime Minister of the country!”
“My sausages?” said Mr Stink, as he entered the dining room.
“Excuse me?” said Mother, before putting her hand over her mouth in horror at the smell.
“Forgive me,” said Mr Stink. “It’s just that I asked your daughter Chloe for some sausages two hours ago, and my sincerest apologies, but I am getting rather peckish!”
“You say I could be the next Prime Minister of the country, Mr Stern?” said Mother, thoughtfully.
“Yes. It’s so kind of you. Allowing a dirty old smelly tramp like this—I mean, no offence—”
“None taken,” replied Mr Stink without hesitation.
“—to come and live with you. How you could you not be elected as an MP now?”
Mother smiled. “In that case,” she said, turning to Mr Stink, “how many sausages would you like my very good friend who lives in my shed and hardly stinks at all?”
“No more than nine, please,” replied Mr Stink.
“Nine sausages coming right up!”
“With poached eggs, bacon, mushrooms, grilled tomatoes, bread and butter and brown sauce on the side, please.”
“Certainly, my extremely close and beloved friend!” came the voice from the kitchen.
“You smell so rank I think I’m going to die,” said Annabelle.
“That’s not nice, Annabelle,” said Mother breezily from the kitchen. “Now come and help me in here, darling, there’s a good girl!”
Annabelle ran to the sanctuary of the kitchen. “It stinks in here now as well!” she screamed.
“Shut your face!” snapped Mother.
“So, tell me…tramp,” said Mr Stern, leaning in towards Mr Stink before the smell got to him and he leaned back. “Is it just you living in the shed?”
“Yes, just me. And of course my dog, the Duchess…”
“HE’S GOT A DOG?” cried Mother anxiously from next door.
“And how do you find living here?” continued Mr Stern.
“Nice,” said Mr Stink. “But I warn you, the service is painfully slow…”
