Читать книгу Merry Mister Meddle! - Enid blyton - Страница 4

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Meddle was staying with his Aunt Jemima. He didn’t like Mondays because it was his aunt’s washing-day then, and she groaned and grumbled all day long.

“Oh, how dirty you make your shirts, Meddle! Anyone would think you lived in a chimney, they’re so black! And look at these hankies of yours! Have you used them to wipe up spilt ink or something?” “Oh, dear—it’s washing day again!” Meddle would think. “I must really get out of Aunt’s way. She grumbles all day long—goodness knows why! There doesn’t seem to be anything much in washing. You just get hot water, make a fine lather of soap and get on with it. I’m sure I could do it easily enough without any grumbling!”

He watched his aunt making the lather in the wash-tub. He liked all the bubbly, frothy lather. He dipped his fingers into it. It felt soft and silky.

“The better lather you have, the easier it is to wash the clothes,” said his aunt. “But it’s difficult to get a good, frothy lather these days. Get out of the way, Meddle. You’ll have the tub over in a minute.”

Now the next Monday Meddle’s aunt had a pain in her back. She sat in her armchair and groaned: “Oh, dear, oh, dear! I can’t do the washing to-day. I’ve such a pain in my back. I must do it to-morrow.”

Meddle looked at his aunt in alarm. “To-morrow! Oh, no, Aunt. You promised to take me to the fair.”

“Well, washing is more important than going to the fair,” said his aunt.

Meddle didn’t think it was at all. He went into the scullery and looked at the pile of washing there. Horrid washing! Now he wouldn’t be able to go to the fair!

Then an idea came into his mind. Why shouldn’t he do the washing? It always looked very easy. And if he got a really fine lather it would be easier still.

“I’ll go to Dame Know-all and ask her for a little growing-spell,” thought Meddle. “I’ll pop it into the wash-tub with the lather, and it will grow marvellously so that I can do all the washing in no time at all.”

He went off to Dame Know-all. She was out. Meddle looked round her little shop. Ah—there on a shelf was a bottle marked “Growing-spells.” Just what he wanted!

He put six pence down on the counter, took down the bottle, unscrewed the lid and emptied a small growing-spell into his hand. It was like a tiny blue pea.

He put back the bottle and went out of the shop. He ran back to his aunt’s in glee. Aha! It took a clever fellow like him to think how to make washing easy! What a fine soapy lather he could get. How all the dirt would roll out of the clothes when he popped them into the lather and squeezed them!

He peeped in at his aunt. She was still in her chair. She had fallen asleep. Meddle softly closed the door and went into the scullery.

He filled the wash-tub with boiling hot water and popped in the soap flakes his aunt used. He swished them about with his hand, and a bubbly lather began to rise up in the tub.

Then Meddle put in the little blue growing-spell. It dissolved in the water and made it bluer than before. A little blue steam came up and mixed with the soapy lather.

And the lather began to grow!

Hundreds and hundreds of soapy bubbles began to form in the tub, and frothed out over the side, shining with all the colours of the rainbow.

“Good!” said Meddle, pleased, and he stuffed all the dirty clothes into the frothing lather. He pushed them down into the hot water, and began to squeeze them. But he couldn’t do that for long, because the lather had grown so much that it frothed right up to his face. Bubbles burst and his eyes began to smart. He blew the lather away from his cheeks.

But it went on growing! He had taken a far too powerful growing-spell from the bottle, and thousands and thousands of soapy bubbles were frothing up.

The lather fell out of the tub and went on growing. Soon Meddle was waist-deep in bubbles! He kicked at them.

“Stop growing! That’s enough! How can I possibly do the washing when I can’t get near the tub? Stop, I tell you!”

But the lather didn’t stop. It crept along the floor frothing out beautifully. It grew higher. It sent bubbles all over the top of the table, and on to the gas-stove. Gracious, what a sight!

Meddle began to feel alarmed. “STOP!” he shouted. “Are you deaf? STOP!”

But bubbles went on growing by the hundred and frothed about everywhere. Some of them rolled out of the window. The bubbly lather-stream went through the door into the kitchen. It frothed over the floor there, looking very peculiar indeed. Meddle began to get really frightened. He made his way out of the scullery, where the bubbles were now up to his neck, and found a broom. He attacked the lather with all his might, trying to sweep it back into the scullery, so that he could close the door on it.

But the more he swept, the quicker it grew! It was dreadful. Thank goodness the door into the parlour was shut. Whatever would his aunt think if she saw a mass of froth creeping into the parlour?

The larder door was open, and the lather went there, frothing all over the shelves. Oh, dear! It soon hid the meat-pie and the cold pudding that Aunt Jemima had planned for dinner that day.

Aunt Jemima slept peacefully in the parlour. She had had a bad night and was glad to rest a little, with a cushion at her back. But when the noise of Meddle sweeping hard in the kitchen came to her ears, she awoke and sat up.

“What’s that? What can Meddle be doing? The kitchen doesn’t want sweeping!” she said to herself. She looked at the shut door and wondered if she should call out to Meddle to stop.

And then she saw something very peculiar indeed. A little line of lather was creeping under the door! A little drip of lather was coming through the key-hole! Aunt Jemima started as if she couldn’t believe her eyes. What was this strange thing creeping under the door? And whatever was coming through the key-hole? She wondered if she was still asleep and dreaming.

“Meddle,” she called, “what are you doing? Open the door. There’s something queer happening.”

Meddle heard what his aunt said—but he certainly wasn’t going to open the door and let all the bubbles into the parlour! It was quite bad enough already in the kitchen. The froth was almost up to his shoulders. He couldn’t even see his legs! Sometimes the bubbles went up his nose and made him sneeze and choke. His eyes smarted. He felt very upset.

Aunt Jemima watched the line of bubbles creeping under the door in alarm. As soon as the lather was properly in the parlour it began to grow very quickly. It frothed up into the air, and Aunt Jemima got out of her chair in fright. What was all this?

She trod through the bubbles and opened the door into the kitchen. That was a terrible mistake! At once a great cloud of soapy bubbles swept over her, and she was almost smothered in them. She screamed.

“Meddle, what is this? What’s happening? Good gracious, I can hardly see the top of your head!”

“Oh, Aunt, oh, Aunt, it’s all because of a growing-spell I put into the wash-tub to make a fine lather,” wept Meddle. “It won’t stop growing now. Oh, what are we to do?”

“Well! Of all the donkeys, you’re the biggest, Meddle!” shouted his aunt, trying to make her way through the bubbles. “Open the garden door! Sweep the lather into the garden. Don’t let it fill the house!”

Meddle groped his way to the door, coughing and sneezing. He opened it. A great wave of froth immediately rolled out. More and more followed. It went down the garden path, and all the passers-by stood still in astonishment to see such a sight.

They had to get out of the way of the lather when it got to the hedge. It frothed over it and made its way down the road. Aunt Jemima watched it.

“Won’t it ever stop?” said Meddle, really scared.

“It will stop when the growing-spell is worn out,” said his aunt, in a very grim voice.

The spell didn’t wear itself out for four hours. By that time the lather had reached the village, and all the children were paddling about in the bubbles, having a lovely time. How they laughed and shouted!

But at last the froth grew smaller and smaller. The bubbles burst and disappeared and no more grew. By one o’clock there was not a single bubble left. The wonderful lather had gone.

Meddle was terribly hungry by this time. So was his aunt. She went to the larder and looked at the soapy meat-pie and the cold pudding. Then she went out to the henhouse and found two new-laid eggs. She brought them back and put them in a saucepan on the stove to boil.

“You can have the pie and the pudding,” she said to Meddle. But when he tried to eat them, he made a terrible face.

“Oooh! They taste of soap! Can I have an egg, Aunt?”

“There are only two, and I’m having them both,” said his aunt. “Eat up the pie and the pudding.”

So poor Meddle had to, and they tasted far worse than any medicine he had ever had in his life.

“I shall have to do the washing to-morrow, just as I planned,” said his aunt. “Next time you want to meddle in anything, Meddle, tell me before you start. It would save such a lot of trouble! As for the fair, don’t dare to mention it! It might make me put you into the wash-tub with the dirty washing!”