Читать книгу The Mystery of the Strange Bundle - Enid blyton - Страница 4

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Bets swung round on the plump woman standing at the window. She ran to her and grabbed her arm. She shook it hard.

“Fatty! Fatty, you terror! You’re your own visitor. Oh, Fatty!”

The “visitor” collapsed into a chair. Loud explosions came from her. Yes—it was certainly Fatty all right. There was no mistaking that explosive laughter!

“Frederick!” said his mother, amazed and annoyed. “Are you out of your mind? You’re supposed to be in bed. What in the world are you thinking of, getting up and dressing in this ridiculous way? No, it’s not funny. I’m vexed. I shall tell the doctor when he comes. Get those clothes off and get back into bed at once.”

“Oh, Mother, give me a minute to laugh,” gasped Fatty, still collapsed in the chair. “It was too comic to see you and Bets poking at me to make me speak, and wondering who the visitor was, and trying to be polite to her.” And Fatty went off into great laughs again.

“Well, all I can say is that you must be feeling a lot better if you can get up to such silly antics,” said Mrs. Trotteville, still annoyed. “I suppose such abnormal behaviour must mean that your temperature is normal again. Frederick, get back into bed again at once. No—not with those awful clothes on—where did you get them from?”

“Cookie brought them for me from an old aunt of hers,” said Fatty, pulling off the bright green scarf and the awful old hat. “They’re part of my wardrobe of disguises, Mother. Don’t pretend you don’t know!”

Mrs. Trotteville often had to turn a blind eye on many of Fatty’s doings. There was simply no knowing what he would get up to next. She stared at the clothes in disgust.

“Dirty old things!” she said. “And that awful scent, Frederick. I really can’t even call it perfume! I shall have to open the window and let out the smell.”

“Yes, do,” said Fatty. “I can’t bear much more of it myself. Gosh, I did enjoy that. Here, Bets, hang up this long black coat and skirt in my big wardrobe over there.”

He stripped off coat and skirt, and appeared in his striped pyjamas. Bets didn’t think that the “flu” had made him lose weight at all. She took the coat and skirt, and was about to hang them up when Mrs. Trotteville took them away from her.

“No. They must go to be cleaned if Frederick must keep them,” she said. “I really must tell Cook not to unload her aunt’s old clothes on to him.”

“Mother, don’t you dare to say a word,” said Fatty, in alarm. “Cook’s a marvel. She lets me have her uncle’s old things too. I’ve got to get proper disguises from somewhere. You know perfectly well I’m going to be a first-class detective as soon as I’m old enough, and you have to begin practising young. Don’t you say a word to Cook!”

“Frederick, I am not going to have the house full of the smelly old garments belonging to Cook’s uncle and aunt,” said his mother firmly.

“You needn’t,” almost wailed Fatty. “I usually keep them down in my shed at the bottom of the garden—don’t I, Bets? I just wanted to play this visitor trick on Bets, Mother, that’s all—so I got Cook to fetch these things from the shed for me. Bets can take them down to the shed this very minute if you want her to.”

Fatty was now in bed. He looked beseechingly at Bets and his mother. Mrs. Trotteville thought that he had suddenly gone rather pale. All this silly excitement!

“All right, Frederick. We won’t say any more,” she said. “Bets can take the things down when she goes. Put them out on the landing for now, Bets. Frederick, lie down. I’m sure your temperature must be going up again. I certainly shan’t let you get up for a short while this afternoon if so.”

“Mother, can Bets stay and have lunch with me,” said Fatty, changing the subject quickly. He fully intended to get up that afternoon! “Say she can. None of the others is coming to see me today, they’re still wobbly. I’d like Bets’ company—and you know she’s quiet. She’d be very good for me. Wouldn’t you, Bets?”

Bets beamed. To spend the day with Fatty would be marvellous. Pip was in the bad-tempered stage and too difficult to get on with amiably at the moment. It would be wizard to stay with Fatty! She gazed hopefully at Mrs. Trotteville, her arms full of the smelly old clothes.

Mrs. Trotteville considered. “Well, yes, I think if Bets would like to stay she would probably keep you from doing any further ridiculous things,” she said. “Would you like to stay, Bets dear? And promise me that you won’t let Fatty leap out of bed, or dress up, or play the fool in any way at all?”

“I promise,” said Bets happily. “Thank you, Mrs. Trotteville.”

“I’ll telephone to your mother and see if it’s all right,” said Mrs. Trotteville, and disappeared out of the room. Bets beamed again, and Fatty beamed back.

“Good old Bets,” said Fatty, snuggling down in bed. “Gosh. I nearly burst when you and Mother kept poking at the bolster in the bed. It wasn’t a very good disguise really, but it was the best I could do on the spur of the moment. I feel better today and I was longing for a joke of some kind. I guessed you’d be coming, so I got Cookie to fetch me those things from the shed. She’s a pet, is Cookie.”

“You must have been annoyed when your mother came in too!” said Bets. “Oh, Fatty—it’s nice that you’re better. Have a peppermint? They’re the biggest bull’s-eyes I could buy. There’s half for you and half for Pip.”

“I must be a lot better,” said Fatty, taking two peppermints and putting them both in his mouth at once. “I couldn’t possibly have even sniffed at a bull’s-eye yesterday. I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if I eat a lot of dinner today.”

“You look awfully pale, Fatty,” said Bets. “Lie down for a bit. You really shouldn’t have got out of bed and dressed up like that.”

“Now don’t you start lecturing!” said Fatty. “My legs do feel a bit funny, actually, but it was worth it. Now—spill the news. Have you got any?”

Bets faithfully gave her news. Fatty lay quiet and listened. He was feeling rather faint, but he wasn’t going to tell Bets that! He hadn’t realized that the effort of getting up and dressing and playing the fool would make him feel so queer. Apparently you couldn’t play about with “flu” too much even if you were feeling better!

“Larry and Daisy are much better,” said Bets. “They’re both up and about now, though they haven’t been out yet. Daisy says they’ll be out tomorrow if it’s sunny. They’re most frightfully bored, though, and keep wishing something would happen.”

“How’s Pip?” asked Fatty.

“Oh, he’s better, except in his temper,” said Bets. “Don’t you go and get bad-tempered too, Fatty, when you’re almost better! Oh—and I nearly forgot to tell you—I met Mr. Goon this morning!”

“Ah—the great Goon,” said Fatty, half-sitting up at the mention of his old enemy’s name. “And what had he to say?”

“Well, he said ‘Gah’ at me, fell off his bicycle, and sat down hard in the road,” said Bets, with a giggle.

“Couldn’t be better,” said Fatty, hard-heartedly. “And what else had he got to say beside ‘Gah’?”

Bets told him. “He said he’d had a nice peaceful time without that nosey-parker of a fat boy interfering all the time,” she said. “He was really rather rude. He said it was a good thing you were in bed and out of mischief—and you’d be back at school again before you’d time to do any!”

“Ha!” said Fatty, sitting up straight now, and looking very determined. “That’s what he thinks, does he? Well, I’ll be up proper tomorrow—and out the next day—and Goon had better be on his guard. Things will happen as soon as I’m up!”

“What things?” asked Bets, thrilled. “A mystery, do you mean? Oh, Fatty!”

“Yes—a Mystery—even if I have to make one up myself,” said Fatty. “If Goon thinks he’s ever going to have a nice peaceful holiday when we’re home, he’s wrong. Bets, we’ll have some fun when I’m up. Gosh, it makes me feel better again already to think of it.”

“What sort of fun?” asked Bets, her eyes shining. “Oh, Fatty, I wish a real mystery would turn up again—but there isn’t time now—we’ll all be back at school before we could solve it—if one did turn up!”

“Never mind—we’ll have some fun with old Goon first,” said Fatty. “I’ll plan it. We’ll all be in it. I’ll think up something, don’t you worry.”

Bets knew he would. There was absolutely no one like Fatty for thinking up things. He slithered down into bed again and shut his eyes.

“Are you feeling all right?” asked Bets anxiously.

“Gosh, yes—I just got an idea, that’s all,” said Fatty. “You know how ideas come—all in a flash from your imagination—you don’t even have to think of them.”

“They don’t come to me like that,” said Bets. “I have to think hard before I dig up an idea—and even then it’s hardly ever a good one. You’re a genius, Fatty!”

“Well,” said Fatty, modestly, “I wouldn’t quite say that, you know—but I can make rings round most people, can’t I? I mean—look how we’ve solved all those mysteries when I’ve been on the job, and ...”

Fatty spent the next ten minutes unashamedly boasting, and Bets listened, unashamedly worshipping the boaster. In fact, they both had a very nice time.

“What’s the time?” said Fatty suddenly. “Surely it must be dinner-time, Bets. Have you got any more bull’s-eyes for me? I’m starving.”

“I think I can hear dinner coming now,” said Bets. “Yes—it’s your mother. I’ll go and help her with the trays.”

Mrs. Trotteville appeared, bearing a tray with two steaming platefuls of soup. Fatty eyed them in disappointment. “Oh, Mother! Soup again! When am I going to have a real decent meal? I’ll never get better on soup!”

“You said yesterday that you couldn’t possibly take even a spoonful of soup!” said his mother, putting the tray down. “Don’t worry. There’s roast chicken and all the etceteras if you want some.”

“That’s better,” said Fatty. “What’s the pudding? Save me two helpings, Mother.”

Mrs. Trotteville laughed. “Oh, Frederick—you do go to extremes. All right—the doctor says you can be fed up well now your temperature is down. Bets, bring the tray down when you want the next course—and don’t let Frederick gobble up your soup as well as his!”