Читать книгу Merry Mister Meddle! - Enid blyton - Страница 5

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One day Meddle went to take his aunt some daffodils out of his garden. She wasn’t feeling very pleased with him, and he thought it would be a good idea to make her a little present of flowers.

She was delighted. “Well, there now, Meddle, if that isn’t kind of you!” she said. “You’re a silly, meddlesome fellow most of the time, but not always. Stay and have dinner with me.”

“What are you having for dinner?” asked Meddle.

“Cold meat, baked potatoes, and a nice jam sponge pudding,” said his aunt.

“Couldn’t you make it a treacle pudding instead?” begged Meddle. “I do so like treacle puddings.”

“I would, if I’d got any treacle,” said Aunt Jemima. “But I haven’t. Not a drop! So you’ll have to make do with a jam sponge pudding if you are going to stay and have dinner with me, Meddle.”

“All right,” said Meddle, and he picked up the morning paper to read whilst his aunt bustled round to do her work. But she didn’t like that.

“Now, Meddle, don’t you laze about,” she said. “If you’re going to spend the morning with me, you’ll have to do something. I can’t bear people who laze about.”

“Oh, dear,” said Meddle. “Well, what do you want me to do?”

“I’ve got the workmen doing odd jobs in my scullery to-day,” said Aunt Jemima. “You go and see if you can help them. Hammer in some nails, or something.”

Meddle wandered off into the scullery, but after he had hammered somebody’s fingers, and upset all the tools into the wet sink, the workmen didn’t want him any more. Nobody ever wanted Meddle for long!

One of them gave him a little pot with something yellow-brown at the bottom of it.

“Go and put this on the kitchen stove and stir it every now and again,” he said. “That will keep you out of mischief.”

Meddle took the little pot. He put it on the hot kitchen stove. Then he looked round for something to stir with. He found an old spoon.

By the time he got back to the stove the yellow-brown stuff in the little pot was bubbling nicely. Meddle peered at it.

“My goodness me, if it isn’t treacle!” he said. “Look at that now! A pot full of melting treacle, and Aunt Jemima hasn’t any at all.”

He stirred it. It wasn’t treacle, of course, it was glue. But that didn’t enter Meddle’s head at all. He was sure it was good rich treacle. He stirred it well.

“This would taste lovely on our pudding,” he thought. “It’s just what we want. I wonder if the workmen would mind if I had two big spoonfuls for our pudding. I’ll ask them.”

So he popped his head into the scullery and called to them. “I say, can I have some of this stuff on my pudding, men?”

The workmen thought he was trying to be funny. They laughed. “Take what you like for your pudding!” called one. “It’s not what we’d choose—but if you like it, take it!”

Meddle was delighted. He went to tell his Aunt, but she had gone out shopping. She had left the pudding steaming on the stove. Meddle began to feel hungry. How lovely to have a nice sponge pudding with treacle all over it. Oooooh!

He laid the table. He got the dish ready for the pudding. He took the baked potatoes out of the oven, and wrapped them up in a napkin and put them into a dish to keep hot.

Aunt Jemima was pleased to see all he had done when she got home. She beamed at Meddle. “Well, well—you can be useful when you try. I’m pleased with you, Meddle. You shall have two helpings of the pudding.”

Meddle didn’t say anything about the treacle. He thought he would give his aunt a nice surprise. He left it simmering on the stove.

Soon Meddle and his aunt were sitting down to have their dinner. They ate their cold meat, potatoes and pickles, and then Aunt Jemima went to get the pudding. Soon it was on its hot dish, and Aunt Jemima carried it to the table. “Now bless us all, if I haven’t forgotten to warm up the jam for the pudding!” she said.

“It’s all right,” said Meddle. “I’ve got some hot treacle for it! Sit down, Aunt, and I’ll get it. It will be such a treat!”

He went to get it. He poured some of it out of the glue-pot into a sauceboat, and took it to the table. “All thick and hot!” he said, and his mouth watered as he thought of the treat in store. He poured half of it over his aunt’s pudding. He poured the rest over his own helping.

“It looks a bit peculiar,” said Aunt Jemima, doubtfully. “And it smells funny, too.”

“It’ll taste all right!” said Meddle. “Try it, Aunt Jemima!”

They both took a big spoonful of their pudding, and then made two dreadful faces. Their teeth stuck together. They couldn’t chew, they couldn’t speak, they couldn’t swallow!

Aunt Jemima stumbled to the bathroom to get some water. Meddle’s eyes nearly fell out of his head with horror. “It’s glue!” he thought. “It’s glue! Oh, why did I meddle with it? Horrible, horrible, horrible!”

He couldn’t say a word, and neither could his aunt, even after she had drunk glass after glass of water. But she did a lot. She chased him round the room sixteen times and smacked him hard. Then she chased him out of the house and up the road. Meddle raced away, large tears running down his sticky cheeks.

“Now, then, what’s the matter?” said Mr. Plod the policeman, meeting Meddle suddenly round a corner. “What are you in such a hurry for? Just you stop and explain.”

But all that poor Meddle could say was “Ooof-ooof-ooof!” so he had to go with Mr. Plod, who thought he was being rude. And I’m very much afraid he’ll have to stay at the police-station till the glue is worn off!