Читать книгу Hello, Mr. Twiddle! - Enid blyton - Страница 5

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“Mr. Twiddle, Mr. Twiddle, the fish-boy hasn’t been with the fish!” called Mrs. Twiddle. “Just put on your coat and go and fetch it for me, will you! And you might get the newspaper at the same time, because it hasn’t been left this morning.”

Mr. Twiddle jumped up at once. He had missed his newspaper very much, and he was pleased to go and fetch it. Yes, he would fetch the fish as well—it was on the way to the newspaper-shop.

He went off, humming, looking forward to a nice lazy morning with his newspaper when he got back. Ah, there was nothing like a good fat newspaper and a nice brown pipe! Mrs. Twiddle would be pleased with him for fetching the fish, and would let him read in peace.

He came to the fish-shop and called the man. “Can I have Mrs. Twiddle’s fish, please?” he asked. “It hasn’t come.”

“Certainly, sir, certainly,” said the man. “Five herrings, isn’t it? Here they are!”

He took a newspaper, slapped the five slippery herrings into it, and rolled them up. He gave the parcel to Mr. Twiddle, who slipped it under his arm. He set off to the newspaper-shop.

“My newspaper, please,” he said to the man. “You forgot to leave it this morning.”

“Sorry, sir!” said the man, and he rolled up Mr. Twiddle’s newspaper and gave it to him. Mr. Twiddle put it under his other arm.

Then he set off home, whistling softly. Ah, it would be nice to sit down in his arm-chair by the fire, unfold his newspaper, light his pipe, and puff away in peace, whilst Mrs. Twiddle cooked herrings, and he smelt the delicious smell of them!

He reached home, and slapped down his newspaper on the table. “Fish, Mrs. Twiddle, fish!” he said. “Good fat herrings for dinner!”

He didn’t notice that he had put his own newspaper on the table, and had put the parcel of fish on his chair. The fish was wrapped in a newspaper too, so it wasn’t a difficult mistake to make.

Mr. Twiddle went to get his pipe. Mrs. Twiddle unrolled the newspaper he had put on the table. She looked astonished, and then called to Mr. Twiddle:

“Twiddle! What have you done with the fish? It isn’t here!”

“Isn’t there!” said Twiddle in alarm. “But it must be! I saw the man slap the herrings into the paper myself!”

“Then they must have dropped out, Mr. Twiddle,” said Mrs. Twiddle crossly. “Just like you! You’d better go back and get some more.”

Mr. Twiddle stared in dismay. “But I want to read and to smoke my pipe!” he said. “I’m tired!”

“Well, sit down for five minutes and rest,” said Mrs. Twiddle. “Then you must go, or we will have nothing for dinner.”

Twiddle sighed. Something always seemed to go wrong. He looked for his newspaper. Ah yes, he had put it in his arm-chair. The cat was there too, scraping hard at the paper. It could smell the fish in it, of course! But Mr. Twiddle didn’t know that. He thought it was just his newspaper and nothing else.

“Look at the cat!” he said to his wife. “I believe she’s trying to open the newspaper and read it!”

“Fiddlesticks!” said Mrs. Twiddle snappily. “Whatever will you say next? You’ll tell me the canary wants to smoke your pipe!”

Mr. Twiddle lighted his pipe. Then he took up the newspaper from the chair and sat down. He shook out the paper—and out fell five slippery herrings, all down Mr. Twiddle’s nice clean waistcoat and trousers!

“Bless us all, what’s this!” shouted Mr. Twiddle in a fright, jumping up. “Mrs. Twiddle, Mrs. Twiddle, there’s something hiding in my newspaper—big earwigs, or something! Ooo-ooo-oooh! They all jumped out at me when I opened my paper!”

The cat jumped at the fish in delight. She sat down and began to eat it. Mr. Twiddle beamed at her.

“Look at that now!” he cried. “The cat’s attacking them! Clever creature!”

Mrs. Twiddle hurried in and gave a shout of dismay. “It’s the herrings!” she cried. “Twiddle, are you mad? What have you given them to the cat for? Shoo, puss, shoo!”

The cat shooed. Mr. Twiddle looked foolish. Mrs. Twiddle picked up the herrings, scolding all the while.

“Really, what shall I do with you, Twiddle! Giving me your newspaper, and trying to read the herrings, and then giving them to the cat! Well, there will be one less for your dinner now, for the cat’s had one.”

“I did not give them to the cat,” said Mr. Twiddle crossly.

“You did!” said Mrs. Twiddle. “Didn’t I see you beaming at the cat eating the herrings when I came in?”

“Well,” said Mr. Twiddle, cheering up suddenly, “I needn’t go off to the fish-shop again, because the fish are found. So I can read my newspaper in peace! Where is it?”

“Oh, I’ve torn it up to make new paper to line the larder shelves,” said Mrs. Twiddle. “If you want to read it you’ll have to go and stand in the larder and read the news on each shelf, Mr. Twiddle. That will teach you to give herrings to the cat again!”

Poor Twiddle! He spent all the morning in the larder, reading the news on each shelf, for Mrs. Twiddle had torn up the paper and spread it neatly there. He couldn’t even have his pipe, for he wasn’t allowed to smoke one in the larder. He really is the funniest old thing, isn’t he!