Читать книгу Five Run Away Together - Enid blyton - Страница 7

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Mrs Stick was in such a bad temper that evening that there was no supper at all. Julian went to ask about some, but he found the kitchen door locked.

He went back to the others with a gloomy face, for they were all hungry. ‘She’s locked the door,’ he said. ‘She really is a dreadful creature. I don’t believe we’ll get any supper tonight.’

‘We’ll have to wait till she goes to bed,’ said George. ‘We’ll go down and hunt in the larder then, and see what we can find.’

They went to bed hungry. Julian listened for Mrs Stick and Edgar to go to bed, too. When he heard them going upstairs, and was sure their doors had shut, he slipped down into the kitchen. It was dark there, and Julian was just about to put on the light when he heard the sound of someone breathing heavily. He wondered who it could be. Was it Stinker? No—it couldn’t be the dog. It sounded like a human being.

Julian stood there, his hand over the light switch, puzzled and a little scared. It couldn’t be a burglar, because burglars don’t go to sleep in the house they have come to rob. It couldn’t be Mrs Stick or Edgar. Then who was it?

He snapped on the light. The kitchen was flooded with radiance, and Julian’s eyes fastened on the figure of a small man lying on the sofa. He was fast asleep, his mouth wide open.

He was not a very pleasant sight. He had not shaved for some days, and his cheeks and chin were bluish-black. He didn’t seem to have washed for even longer than that, for his hands were black, and so were his finger-nails. He had untidy hair and a nose exactly like Edgar’s.

‘Must be dear Edgar’s father,’ thought Julian to himself. ‘What a sight! Well, poor Edgar hadn’t much chance to be decent with a father and mother like his.’

The man snored. Julian wondered what to do. He badly wanted to go to the larder, but on the other hand he didn’t particularly want to wake up the man and have a row. He didn’t see how he could turn him out—for all he knew his aunt and uncle might have agreed to Mrs Stick’s husband coming there now and again, though he hardly thought so.

Julian was very hungry. The thought of the good things in the larder made him snap off the light again and creep towards the larder door in the dark. He opened the door. He felt along the shelves. Good!—that felt like a pie of some sort. He lifted it up and sniffed. It smelt of meat. A meat-pie—good!

He felt along the shelf again and came to a plate on which were what he thought must be jam-tarts, for they were round and flat, and had something sticky in the middle. Well, a meat-pie and jam-tarts ought to be all right for four hungry children!

Julian picked up the meat-pie and the dish of tarts, and made his way carefully out of the larder. He pushed the door to with his foot. Then he turned to go out of the room.

But in the dark he went the wrong way, and by bad luck walked straight into the sofa! The dish of tarts got a sudden jerk and one of them fell off. It landed on the open mouth of the sleeping man, and woke him up with a start.

‘Blow!’ said Julian to himself, and began to back away quietly, hoping that the man would turn over and go to sleep again. But the sticky jam-tart sliding down his chin had startled the man, and he sat up with a jerk.

‘Who’s there? That you, Edgar? What you doing down here?’

Julian said nothing but sidled towards what he hoped was the door. The man leapt up and lurched over to where he thought the light switch was. He found it and switched it on. He stared in the greatest astonishment at Julian.

‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded.

‘Just what I was about to ask you,’ said Julian, coolly. ‘What do you think you’re doing here, sleeping in my uncle’s kitchen?’

‘I’ve a right to be here,’ said the man, in a rude voice. ‘My wife’s cook here, isn’t she? My ship’s in and I’m on leave. Your uncle arranged with my wife I could come here then, see?’

Julian had feared as much. How awful to have a Mr Stick as well as a Mrs and Master Stick in the house! It would be quite unbearable.

‘I can ask my uncle about it when he telephones in the morning,’ said Julian. ‘Now get out of my way, please. I want to go upstairs.’

‘Ho!’ said Mr Stick, eyeing the meat-pie and jam-tarts that Julian was carrying. ‘Ho! Stealing out of the larder, I see! Nice goings-on I must say.’

Julian was not going to argue with Mr Stick, who evidently felt that he was top-dog. ‘Get out of my way,’ he said. ‘I will talk to you in the morning after my uncle has telephoned.’

Mr Stick didn’t seem as if he was going to get out of the way at all. He stood there, a nasty little man, not much taller than Julian, a sarcastic smile on his unshaven face.

Julian pursed up his lips and whistled. There came a bump on the floor above. That was Timothy jumping off George’s bed! Then there came the pattering of feet down the stairs and up the kitchen passage. Timmy was coming!

He smelt Mr Stick in the doorway, put up his hackles, bared his teeth and growled. Mr Stick hastily removed himself from the doorway and then neatly banged the door in the dog’s face. He grinned at Julian.

‘Now what are you going to do?’ he said.

‘Shall I tell you?’ said Julian, his temper suddenly rising. ‘I’m going to hurl this nice juicy meat-pie straight into your grinning face!’

He raised his arm, and Mr Stick ducked.

‘Now don’t you do that,’ he said. ‘I’m only pulling your leg, see? Don’t you waste that nice meat-pie. You can go upstairs if you want to.’

He moved away to the sofa. Julian opened the door and Timothy bounded in growling. Mr Stick eyed him uncomfortably.

‘Don’t you let that nasty great dog come near me,’ he said. ‘I don’t like dogs.’

‘Then I wonder you don’t get rid of Stinker,’ said Julian. ‘Come here, Timmy! Leave him alone. He’s not worth growling at.’

Julian went upstairs with Timothy close at his heels. The others crowded round him, wondering what had happened, for they had heard the voices downstairs. They laughed when Julian told them how he had nearly thrown the meat-pie at Mr Stick.

‘It would have served him right,’ said Anne, ‘though it would have been a great pity, because we shouldn’t have been able to eat it. Well, Mrs Stick may be simply horrible, but she can cook. This pie is gorgeous.’

The children finished all the pie and the tarts, too. Julian told them all about Mr Stick coming on leave from his ship.

‘Three Sticks are a lot too much,’ said Dick thoughtfully. ‘Pity we can’t get rid of them all and manage for ourselves. George, can’t you possibly persuade your father tomorrow to let us get rid of the Sticks and look after ourselves?’

‘I’ll try,’ said George. ‘But you know what he is—awfully difficult to argue with. But I’ll try. Golly, I’m sleepy now. Come on, Timmy, let’s get to bed! Lie on my feet. I’m hardly going to let you out of my sight now, in case those awful Sticks poison you!’

Soon the four children, now no longer hungry, were sleeping peacefully. They did not fear the Sticks coming up to their rooms, for they knew that Timmy would wake and warn them at once. Timmy was the best guard they could have.

In the morning Mrs Stick actually produced some sort of breakfast, which surprised the children very much. ‘Guess she knows your father will telephone, George,’ said Julian, ‘and she wants to keep herself in the right. When did he say he would ’phone? Nine o’clock, wasn’t it? Well, it’s half-past eight now. Let’s go for a quick run down to the beach and back.’

So off they went, the five of them, ignoring Edgar, who stood in the back garden ready to make some of his silly faces at them. The children couldn’t help thinking he must be a bit mad. He didn’t behave at all like a boy of Julian’s age.

When they came back it was about ten minutes to nine. ‘We’ll sit in the sitting-room till the telephone rings,’ said Julian. ‘We don’t want Mrs Stick to answer it first.’

But to their great dismay, as they reached the house, they heard Mrs Stick using the telephone in the hall!

‘Yes, sir,’ they heard her say, ‘everything is quite all right. I can manage the children, sir, even if they do make things a bit difficult. Yes, sir. Of course, sir. Well, sir, it’s lucky my husband is home on leave from his ship, sir, because he can help me round, like, and it makes things easier. Don’t you worry about nothing, sir, and don’t you bother to come back till you’re ready. I’ll manage everything.’

George flew into the hall like a wild thing, and snatched the receiver out of Mrs Stick’s hand.

‘Father! It’s me, George! How’s Mother? Tell me quick!’

‘No worse, George,’ said her father’s voice. ‘But we shan’t know anything definite till tomorrow morning. I’m glad to hear from Mrs Stick that everything is all right. I’m very upset and worried, and I’m glad to feel I can tell your Mother that you are all right, and everything is going smoothly at Kirrin Cottage.’

‘But it isn’t,’ said George, wildly. ‘It isn’t. It’s all horrid. Can’t the Sticks go and let us manage things by ourselves?’

‘Good gracious me, of course not,’ said her father’s voice, surprised and annoyed. ‘What can you be thinking of? I did hope, George, that you would be sensible and helpful. I must say ...’

‘You talk to him, Julian,’ said George, helplessly, and thrust the receiver into Julian’s hand. The boy put it to his ear and spoke into the telephone in his clear voice.

‘Good morning, sir. This is Julian! I’m glad my aunt is no worse.’

‘Well, she will be if she thinks things are going wrong at Kirrin Cottage,’ said Uncle Quentin, in an exasperated voice. ‘Can’t you manage George and make her see reason? Good gracious, can’t she put up with the Sticks for a week or two? I tell you frankly, Julian, I am not going to sack the Sticks in my absence—I want the house ready for me to bring back your aunt. If you can’t put up with them, you had better find out from your own parents if they can take you back for the rest of the holidays. But George is not to go with you. She is to stay at Kirrin Cottage. That’s my last word on the subject.’

‘But, sir,’ began Julian, wondering how in the world he could deal properly with his hot-tempered uncle, ‘I must tell you that ...’

There was a click at the other end of the ’phone. Uncle Quentin had put down his receiver and gone. There was no more to be said. Blow! Julian pursed up his mouth and looked round at the others, frowning.

‘He’s gone!’ he said. ‘Cut me off just as I was trying to reason with him.’

‘Serves you right!’ said Mrs Stick’s harsh voice from the end of the hall. ‘Now you know where you stand. I’m here and I’m staying here, on your uncle’s orders. And you’re all going to behave yourselves, or it’ll be the worse for you.’