Читать книгу Five Get Into a Fix - Enid blyton - Страница 3

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‘I do think these Christmas holidays have been the worst we’ve ever had,’ said Dick.

‘Jolly bad luck on old George, coming to stay with us for Christmas—and then us all going down with those awful colds and coughs,’ said Julian.

‘Yes—and being in bed on Christmas Day was horrible,’ said George. ‘The worst of it was I couldn’t eat anything. Fancy not being hungry on Christmas Day! I never thought that would happen to me!’

‘Timmy was the only one of us who didn’t get ill,’ said Anne, patting him. ‘You were a pet, Tim, when we were in bed. You divided your time between us nicely.’

‘Woof!’ said Timmy, rather solemnly. He hadn’t been at all happy this Christmas. To have four of the five in bed, coughing and sneezing, was quite unheard of!

‘Well, anyhow, we’re all up again,’ said Dick. ‘Though my legs don’t really feel as if they belong to me yet!’

‘Oh—do yours feel like that too?’ asked George. ‘I was quite worried about mine!’

‘We all feel the same,’ said Julian, ‘but we shall be quite different in a day or two—now we’re up. Anyway—we go back to school next week—so we’d better feel all right!’

Everyone groaned—and then coughed. ‘That’s the worst of this germ we’ve had, whatever it is,’ said George. ‘If we laugh—or speak loudly—or groan—we start coughing. I shall go completely mad if I don’t get rid of my cough. It keeps me awake for hours at night!’

Anne went to the window. ‘It’s been snowing again,’ she said. ‘Not much—but it looks lovely. To think we might have been out in it all last week. I do think it’s too bad to have holidays like this.’

George joined her at the window. A car drew up outside and a burly, merry-looking man got out and hurried up the steps to the front door.

‘Here’s the doctor,’ said Anne. ‘I bet he’ll say we’re all quite all right to go back to school next week!’

In a minute or two the door opened and the doctor came into the room, with the mother of Julian, Dick and Anne. She looked tired—and no wonder! Looking after four ill children and a most miserable dog over Christmas had not been an easy job!

‘Well, here they are—all up and about now!’ said Mrs Barnard. ‘They look pretty down in the mouth, don’t they?’

‘Oh—they’ll soon perk up,’ said Dr Drew, sitting down and looking at each of the four in turn. ‘George looks the worst—not so strong as the others, I suppose.’ George went red with annoyance, and Dick chuckled. ‘Poor George is the weakling of the family,’ he said. ‘She had the highest temperature, the worst cough, and the loudest groans, and she ...’

But whatever else he was going to say was lost beneath the biggest cushion in the room, which an angry George had flung at him with all her might. Dick flung it back, and everyone began to laugh, George too. That set all the four coughing, of course, and the doctor put his hands to his ears.

‘Will they be well enough to go to school, Doctor?’ asked Mrs Barnard anxiously.

‘Well, yes—they would—but they ought to get rid of those coughs first,’ said the doctor. He looked out of the window at the snow. ‘I wonder now—no—I don’t suppose it’s possible—but ...’

‘But what?’ said Dick, pricking up his ears at once. ‘Going to send us to Switzerland for a ski-ing holiday, Doc? Fine! Absolutely smashing!’

The doctor laughed. ‘You’re going too fast!’ he said. ‘No—I wasn’t actually thinking of Switzerland—but perhaps somewhere hilly, not far from the sea. Somewhere really bracing, but not too cold—where the snow will lie, so that you can toboggan and ski, but without travelling as far as Switzerland. Switzerland is expensive, you know!’

‘Yes. I suppose it is,’ said Julian. ‘No—we can’t expect a holiday in Switzerland just because we’ve had beastly colds! But I must say a week somewhere would be jolly nice!’

‘Oh yes!’ said George, her eyes shining. ‘It would really make up for these miserable holidays! Do you mean all by ourselves, Doctor? We’d love that.’

‘Well, no—someone ought to be there, surely,’ said Dr Drew. ‘But that’s up to your parents.’

‘I think it’s a jolly good idea,’ said Julian. ‘Mother—don’t you think so? I’m sure you’re longing to be rid of us all for a while. You look worn out!’

His mother smiled. ‘Well—if it’s what you need—a short holiday somewhere to get rid of your coughs—you must have it. And I won’t say that I shan’t enjoy a little rest while you’re enjoying yourselves having a good time! I’ll talk it over with your father.’

‘Woof!’ said Timmy, looking inquiringly at the doctor, both ears pricked high.

‘He says—he needs a rest somewhere too,’ explained George. ‘He wants to know if he can come with us.’

‘Let’s have a look at your tongue, Timmy, and give me your paw to feel if it’s too hot or not,’ said Dr Drew, gravely. He held out his hand, and Timmy obediently put his paw into it.

The four children laughed—and immediately began to cough again. How they coughed! The doctor shook his head at them. ‘What a din! I shouldn’t have made you laugh. Now I shan’t be coming to see you again until just before you go back to school. I expect your mother will let me know when that day comes. Goodbye till then—and have a good time, wherever you go!’

‘We will!’ said Julian. ‘And thanks for bothering about us so much. We’ll send you a card when our coughs are gone!’

As soon as Dr Drew had driven off in his car, there was a conference. ‘We can go off somewhere, can’t we, Mother?’ said Dick, eagerly. ‘The sooner the better! You must be tired to death of our coughs, night and day!’

‘Yes. I think you must go somewhere for a week or ten days,’ said his mother. ‘But the question is—where? You could go off to George’s home, I suppose—Kirrin Cottage ... but it’s not high up ... and besides, George’s father would certainly not welcome four coughs like yours!’

‘No. He’d go mad at once,’ said George. ‘He’d fling open his study door—and stride into our room—and shout “Who’s mak ...” ’

But as George began to shout, she coughed—and that was the end of her little piece of acting! ‘That’s enough, George,’ said her aunt. ‘For goodness’ sake, go and get a drink of water.’

There was much debating about where they could go for a little while, and all the time they were talking the snow fell steadily. Dick went to the window, pleased.

‘If only we could find a place high up on a hill, just as the doctor said, a place where we could use our toboggans, and our skis,’ he said. ‘Gosh, it makes me feel better already to think of it. I do hope this snow goes on and on.’

‘I think I’d better ring up a holiday agency and see if they can offer us something sensible,’ said his mother. ‘Maybe a summer camp set up on a hill would do—it would be empty now, and you could have the choice of a hut or a chalet or something.’

But all her telephoning came to nothing! ‘No,’ said the agencies. ‘Sorry—we haven’t anything to suggest. Our camps are all closed down now. No—we know of no winter ones in this country at all!’

And then, as so often happens, the problem was suddenly solved by somebody no one had thought of asking ... old Jenkins, the gardener! There was nothing for him to do that day except sweep a path through the snow. He saw the children watching him from the window, grinned and came up to them.

‘How are you?’ he shouted. ‘Would you like some apples? They’ve ripened nicely now, those late ones. Your mother said you weren’t feeling like apples—or pears either. But maybe you’re ready for some now.’

‘Yes! We are!’ shouted Julian, not daring to open the window in case his mother came in and was angry to see him standing with his head out in the cold. ‘Bring them in, Jenkins. Come and talk to us!’

So old Jenkins came in, carrying a basket of ripe, yellow apples, and some plump, brown-yellow pears.

‘And how are you now?’ he said, in his soft Welsh voice, for he came from the Welsh mountains. ‘It’s pale you are, and thin too. Ah, it’s the mountain air of Wales you want!’

He smiled all over his wrinkled brown face, handing round his basket. The children helped themselves to the fruit.

‘Mountain air—that’s what the doctor ordered!’ said Julian, biting into a juicy pear. ‘I suppose you don’t know somewhere like that we could go to, do you, Jenkins?’

‘Well, my aunt now, she lets rooms in the summer-time!’ said Jenkins. ‘And a good cook she is, my Aunt Glenys. But the winter-time now—I’m not knowing if she’d do it then, what with the snow and all. Her farm’s on the hillside, man—and the slope runs right down to the sea. A fine place it is in the summer—but there’ll be nothing but snow there now, sure as I’m telling you.’

‘But—it sounds exactly right,’ said Anne, delighted. ‘Doesn’t it, Ju? Let’s call Mother! Mother! Mother, where are you?’

Her mother came running in, afraid that one of the children was feeling ill again. She was most astonished to see old Jenkins there—and even more astonished to hear the four children pouring out what he had just told them. Timmy added a few excited barks, and Jenkins stood twirling his old hat, quite overcome.

The excitement made Julian and Dick cough distressingly. ‘Now listen to me,’ said their mother, firmly. ‘Go straight upstairs and take another dose of your cough medicine. I’ll talk to Jenkins and find out what all this is about. No—don’t interrupt, Dick. GO!’

They went at once, and left their mother talking to the bewildered gardener. ‘Blow this cough!’ said Dick, pouring out his usual dose. ‘Gosh. I hope Mother fixes up something with Jenkins’s aunt. If I don’t go off somewhere and lose this cough, I shall go mad—stark, staring mad!’

‘I bet we’ll go to his old aunt,’ said Julian. ‘That’s if she’ll take us. It’s the kind of sudden idea that clicks—don’t you think so?’

Julian was right. The idea did ‘click’. His mother had actually met Jenkins’s old aunt that spring, when she had come to visit her relations, and Jenkins had brought her proudly up to the house to introduce her to the cook. So when Dick and Julian went downstairs again, they were met with good news.

‘I’m telephoning to Jenkins’s aunt, old Mrs Jones,’ said their mother. ‘And if she’ll take you—well off you can go in a day or two—coughs and all!’