Читать книгу Don't Be Silly, Mr. Twiddle! - Enid blyton - Страница 6

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One day Mrs. Twiddle had a great deal to do, and when she had to rush here and there, she was not very good-tempered.

Usually Mr. Twiddle kept out of her way then. If he didn’t he would be sent on this errand and that and kept very busy, too. He would be scolded if he forgot anything, and he didn’t like that.

“Twiddle! Put down your paper and go and answer the door!” cried Mrs. Twiddle, rolling out some pastry with her rolling-pin.

“Twiddle! The fire is going down! Put some coal on it. Really, why you can’t see for yourself that the fire is almost out, I cannot think!”

“Twiddle! You look even stupider than usual! Why don’t you do something to help me!”

Poor Twiddle. He put down his paper. He ran here and there. He did his best to help.

Mrs. Twiddle went to the larder to get the tin of sugar. She screwed up her nose in disgust.

“Bother! The fish has gone bad. Twiddle, where are you? Bless the man, he’s gone and put his hat on! Twiddle, you don’t think you are going out, do you? Just when I’m so busy and want your help, too. And your best hat! Whatever makes you think I’ll let you go out wearing your best Sunday hat on a busy morning like this? You must be mad.”

“No, I’m not,” said Twiddle. “I want to go and call on old Mrs. Jenks to see how she is, and my old hat really wants cleaning.”

“What! Call on old Mrs. Jenks when I want you here! Twiddle, you are enough to drive anyone mad. Now, quick—take this bad fish and put it into the dustbin, and take off that best hat and put it back on the top shelf of the wardrobe. Hurry now!”

Twiddle sighed and tried to hurry. He took off his best hat. Mrs. Twiddle pushed the dish of bad fish into his hand. He turned to go out of doors to the dustbin.

“If only I could have slipped out when she wasn’t looking!” thought Mr. Twiddle, as he took off the dustbin lid. He put in his best hat and slapped the lid on again. Then he went indoors.

He ran upstairs and put the dish of bad fish on the shelf in the wardrobe, where all the hats were kept. He was so busy thinking of how unlucky he was that morning that he didn’t notice what he was doing at all. That was exactly like Mr. Twiddle—the dearest, kindest old thing, but oh, the silly things he did!

“Now, Twiddle, go and sweep out the yard,” said Mrs. Twiddle. “It’s full of rubbish. Put it into the dustbin when you’ve finished.”

Twiddle swept out the yard. He shovelled up the rubbish and popped it into the dustbin, all on top of his best hat. But he didn’t know that.

Twiddle was glad when that day was over and he could go up to bed. He sank into his bed with a sigh and shut his eyes at once. But it wasn’t long before Mrs. Twiddle sat up in bed and sniffed hard.

“What’s the matter?” asked Twiddle, sleepily. “Are you starting a cold, sniffing like that?”

“I can smell a smell,” said Mrs. Twiddle. “An awful smell.”

“Well, never mind,” said Twiddle. “Let it be. It won’t hurt you. I can’t smell a thing.”

“Twiddle, sit up and sniff,” said Mrs. Twiddle, and she gave him a punch. “It’s a terrible smell.”

Twiddle groaned. He sat up and sniffed—and sure enough there really was a most peculiar and horrible smell in the bedroom. Whatever could it be?

“It’s like fish,” said Mrs. Twiddle.

“Impossible,” said Twiddle.

“I know,” said Mrs. Twiddle. “But it’s exactly like very bad fish—very bad fish indeed. How very extraordinary!”

“Most,” said Twiddle, and lay down again. But Mrs. Twiddle wasn’t going to have that. No—that smell had got to be found. No doubt about that!

“Get up and see if you can find where the smell is coming from,” said Mrs. Twiddle. So Twiddle got out of bed and sniffed hard again. It seemed to come from the wardrobe. He went over to it. He opened the door—and at once the smell came out, ten times stronger!

“Oooof!” said Mrs. Twiddle. “It must be something the cat’s brought in! How simply disgusting! Twiddle, look in the wardrobe.”

Twiddle looked. The smell seemed to come from the top shelf where the hats were kept. He stood on a chair and looked—and there, among the hats, was the dish of bad fish!

Twiddle stared at it in horror. How in the world could he have been so stupid as to put it there! He stood still for such a long time that Mrs. Twiddle grew impatient.

“What’s the matter, Twiddle? What’s in the wardrobe?”

“Fish,” said Twiddle, in a small voice.

“Fish!” said Mrs. Twiddle, not at all believing him. “Don’t be silly. Fish couldn’t get into the wardrobe.”

“It is fish,” said Twiddle. “I’ll take it downstairs and put it into the dustbin. Most extraordinary thing. Never heard of such a thing in my life. Can’t think what the cat’s been up to, to take fish into the wardrobe.”

“Nor can I,” said Mrs. Twiddle, angry and puzzled. “Twiddle, it’s cold to-night. Just put your best hat on, and your coat. I sent your old hat to be cleaned this afternoon.”

Twiddle looked for his best hat. It wasn’t there.

“It’s not there,” he said.

“It must be,” said Mrs. Twiddle, impatiently “You put it there yourself this morning. Find it at once, or I’ll come and look for it!”

Twiddle turned pale. He suddenly knew what had happened. He must have put his best hat into the dustbin—and put the bad fish into the wardrobe. Mrs. Twiddle could wait no longer. She jumped out of bed and went to find Twiddle’s hat.

She saw the dish of fish. She stared at Twiddle, and he stared back, red in the face now, instead of white! Poor Twiddle!

“Twiddle! The cat may be clever enough to carry fish to the wardrobe—but not on a dish! You must have put it there! Dreaming as usual! But oh, Twiddle, don’t tell me you put that lovely best hat of yours into the dustbin!”

Twiddle didn’t tell her. She knew! He went downstairs with the bad fish, and made his way out into the yard. The cat followed him, sniffing eagerly at the fish. Twiddle put the fish into the dustbin, and then looked for his hat. It was there, covered with rubbish, tea-leaves—and now fish!

Twiddle put the lid on the dustbin again. He didn’t know that the cat had jumped in after the fish, and was shut in. He went sadly back to the bedroom, holding his hat in his hand. How it smelt!

Mrs. Twiddle said a lot to him, and he had to listen. It was a long time before he went to sleep. When he woke up he remembered what had happened.

“I must be very, very careful to-day,” he thought. “I’ll do nothing to make Mrs. Twiddle angry at all!”

So he was as good as he could be and Mrs. Twiddle was pleased—until she discovered the cat shut in the dustbin!

“So this is why you’ve been so good and quiet!” she scolded. “You’d shut the poor cat in the dustbin! You bad man! Twiddle, I’ve a good mind to shut you up in the dustbin too!”

She looked so fierce that Twiddle snatched a hat from the hallstand, and fled. It wasn’t until he was a mile away that he found he had taken Mrs. Twiddle’s old hat by mistake.

No wonder everyone laughed when he went by! He really is a funny fellow, isn’t he?