Читать книгу Don't Be Silly, Mr. Twiddle! - Enid blyton - Страница 5

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Once Mr. Twiddle went out walking by himself, for it was a very fine day indeed. Twiddle’s feet got very hot walking, and he wished he had put on his big boots. He felt very thirsty, too, and wondered if Sally Simple would let him have a drink when he passed her house.

“I’ll ask her,” he thought. He walked along down the road and came to the shops. Next door to the boot-shop there was a fine pear-tree overhanging the street wall. On it were several green pears, nearly ripe. Mr. Twiddle stared at them in delight. Now a pear to eat, a nice juicy pear when he was almost dying of thirst, would be simply lovely.

He wondered if he could call in at the boot-shop and ask the man to let him have one of the pears off the pear-tree. But he didn’t quite like to do that. So he stood at the door of the shop, and turned over the boots that were for sale on a big stall in front of the door.

The shopman saw him and came forward. He bowed to Mr. Twiddle and spoke to him politely.

“What can I do for you this morning, sir? Would you like one of those pairs?”

He meant, of course, would Twiddle like a pair of the boots and shoes he was looking at. But Twiddle’s mind was full of the pears hanging over the wall. His heart gave a jump of joy when he heard the shopman say that, and he smiled all over his face.

“Would I like a pear!” he said, beaming. “I should just think I would! How nice of you to suggest it!”

“Well,” said the shopman, “you’re a very polite customer, I must say. Now, what kind of a pair would you like? What colour? Black or brown?”

Mr. Twiddle felt a bit puzzled. He hadn’t heard of black pears before. He thought brown ones might be a bit over-ripe. So he looked at the shopman, and said: “Well, Mr. Shopman, I think I’d really rather have a yellow pear, if you don’t mind. I always like them best.”

The shopman pursed up his lips and frowned. “Well, I’m sorry, sir, but I haven’t a single yellow pair to-day,” he said. “They’re all black or brown. But come in this afternoon, and maybe I’ll have one for you. I can send to the other end of the town to my brother. He may have a fine yellow pair.”

“Oh, pray don’t bother to do that,” said Mr. Twiddle. He looked at the green pears on the tree. “Er—well, a green pear would do quite well, you know. They’re a little bit hard, that’s the only thing. Yellow ones are so nice and soft.”

The shopman began to think Mr. Twiddle was just a little mad. “I haven’t any green pairs to-day,” he said, gruffly. “You come along in an hour, and I’ll have a yellow pair for you. What size would you like?”

“Oh—as large as possible, please,” said Twiddle, eagerly, thinking how lovely it would be to sink his teeth into an enormous ripe yellow pear and taste the sweet juice.

The shopman looked down at Mr. Twiddle’s feet. They didn’t look very large to him.

“All right,” he said. “A large yellow pair. And would you like a laced pair or a buttoned pair?”

Mr. Twiddle stared at the shopman, thinking that he must be a little mad. He had never in his life heard of a pear with laces or buttons. After all, if you wanted to, you took the skin off a pear—you didn’t unbutton or unlace it. “He will be asking if I want hooks and eyes on it next,” thought Twiddle. “Really, he is a most peculiar man.”

“I don’t think I want my pear laced or buttoned,” said Twiddle. “Just plain, if you know what I mean.”

“I see,” said the shopman, not seeing at all. “Well—do you want a tongue?” Of course, he meant did Twiddle want a tongue inside his shoes—but Twiddle didn’t know that. He stared again at the shopman, and felt a little angry.

“Do I want a tongue?” he said. “Well, haven’t I been talking with my tongue all this time. Why should I want another. Look—here’s mine! Good-bye! I’ll come back in an hour’s time for a nice yellow pear, without laces or buttons, and with NO tongue!”

Mr. Twiddle had put out his tongue to show the shopman he had one—and the shopman thought he was being rude. He gazed after Twiddle, and shook his head. “He seemed such a nice man at first,” he said. “But he must be mad. Quite mad. Well—I’ll send over to my brother’s and see if he has got a nice yellow pair of boots or shoes without laces, buttons, or tongues!”

His brother did have a pair. They were bright yellow shoes with elastic sides. He was glad to get rid of them, because he hadn’t been able to sell them. The shopman who had talked to Twiddle looked out for him in an hour’s time—and sure enough, there he was, coming back to see if he really could have a nice juicy yellow pear!

“Good day again!” called the shopman. “I’ve got that yellow pair for you—just your size, too! Look!”

Twiddle stared in dismay at the bright yellow shoes. He simply couldn’t bear them. He knew Mrs. Twiddle wouldn’t like them either.

“Why are you offering me shoes?” he said, in astonishment. “I meant a pear to eat—you know, like those growing on that tree over there. I was thirsty. Couldn’t you give me one of those pears, please? I don’t want this pair of shoes. They are dreadful.”

That made the shopman very angry. “They are fine shoes!” he cried. “You ordered them, didn’t you? It’s all very well for you to say you wanted a pear off that tree now—but what you asked me for was a pair of yellow shoes without laces, buttons or tongues. And here they are. Pay me for them, please.”

“Now look here, now look here,” began Mr. Twiddle, feeling rather frightened. “This won’t do. I’ll buy a pear off your tree—but I won’t buy those yellow shoes. How much will you charge me for a pear off the tree?”

“It’s not my tree,” said the shopman, and he looked fiercely at Twiddle. “It doesn’t grow in my garden. It grows next door. Now—what about these shoes? They cost five shillings and they’re a bargain. Pay up, please, or I’ll have to go and tell that policeman over there that you’ve been making fun of me and won’t pay my bill.”

The policeman looked a bit fierce. Twiddle gave a deep sigh and felt in his pocket. He had four shillings there, a sixpence, five pennies and a ha’penny. He showed the money to the man. “That’s all I’ve got,” he said.

“Well, it’s a ha’penny short,” said the man. “But I’ll let you off that. Do you want to put the shoes on now?”

“Oh no, thank you,” said Mr. Twiddle, quickly. “No—I’ll carry them.”

So poor Twiddle went home with the bright yellow shoes and tried to hide them in the boot-cupboard right at the very back. But Mrs. Twiddle caught sight of them before he put them there, and called out in surprise.

“Twiddle! Are those yellow daffodils you’ve got? Put them in water, my dear man—don’t put them in the boot-cupboard!”

So poor Twiddle had to show Mrs. Twiddle the shoes—and I really couldn’t tell you what she said. It would fill this whole book and then want a few more pages besides! He hasn’t worn the shoes yet—and I don’t somehow think he ever will. He does make some funny mistakes, doesn’t he?