Читать книгу The Mystery of the Banshee Towers - Enid blyton - Страница 6

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Ern had been very busy indeed while the others had gone to the village. Mr. Goon was in one of his worst tempers. He always was when he had met Fatty, whom he disliked very much.

“That fat boy!” he said to Ern. “I don’t trust him an inch. Never did. It’s a pity he’s not as stupid as he looks. Too clever by half, he is!”

“He doesn’t look stupid, Uncle,” said Ern, emptying some potatoes into a bowl of water to peel. “How could he when he’s got such marvellous brains! You should hear him talk—luvaduck, he knows pretty well everything!”

“I’ll luvaduck you if you don’t get on with those potatoes, Ern,” said Mr. Goon. “That fat boy’s a menace—yes, that’s the word for him—a menace!”

“What’s a menace, Uncle?” asked Ern. “Anything to do with manners? Sounds a bit the same.”

“I don’t know if you’re being rude, or just plain stupid, Ern,” said Mr. Goon majestically. “But this I do know—you’ll get a clip on the ear soon.”

“And one of these days my dog will bite you if you clip me!” cried Ern, almost at the end of his tether. “Now Uncle—don’t you come any nearer. I’ll throw this bowl of potatoes over you, if you do!”

Ern looked so fierce that Goon retreated hurriedly. “Now, now,” he said, “don’t take things so seriously, Ern. Can’t you see a joke?”

“Depends who makes it,” said Ern, feeling suddenly victorious, then his spirits fell again as he remembered his dog. Where was old Bingo? Had he run away for ever? He sniffed a little as he went on peeling the potatoes, and when he remembered how Bingo ran to meet him and licked him lovingly each time he came home from school, a tear fell plop into the potato bowl.

“I’m a fathead—that’s what Fatty would call me,” thought Ern. “But I dunno—there’s something about a dog that gets you—specially if it’s your own.”

Mr. Goon went off to the police station, his boots well polished by Ern, and his helmet and uniform well brushed. Ern was glad to see him go. As soon as his uncle was out of sight he thought he would whistle for Bingo—just to see if by any chance he would come.

So he whistled. Ern had a most piercing whistle, shrill, long and alarming. It made everyone within hearing jump in surprise and annoyance. Ern stood at the front gate and whistled for at least five minutes. No Bingo arrived—but a good many windows and doors were opened, and people began looking out to see if anything was the matter. They thought that it must be Goon blowing his police-whistle for help!

A small boy arrived, panting, at the front gate, “Any help wanted?” he asked. “We heard the police-whistle being blown.”

“That was only me whistling for my dog,” said Ern, astonished. Then, seeing people looking out of windows and doors, he shot inside Goon’s house in a hurry. “They’ll tell Uncle I was using his police-whistle,” he thought desperately. “Luvaduck, what a day! Wish I was at home, measles and all!”

About half-past five Mr. Goon returned home to see if Ern had put on the kettle and had made him some toast, as he had commanded. Fortunately for Ern, he had everything ready. Ern was right down in the dumps: no Fatty had come back, no Buster, no Bets—and certainly no Bingo. Ern didn’t want any tea at all, a most unusual thing.

“This toast is burnt,” said Mr. Goon grumpily.

“It’s not,” said Ern. “It’s just right. That’s how my Ma likes it, anyway.”

“And you’ve put too much tea in the pot,” said Mr. Goon, peering in, holding the lid in his hand. It was hot and he had to drop it very suddenly. It fell to the floor and broke. He glared at Ern as if he had dropped it!

Ern gave a sudden giggle, and his uncle went red in the face. “Pick them pieces up,” he commanded, “and take that grin off your face, Ern.”

“I can’t. It’s stuck there,” said Ern, suddenly feeling cheeky.

“ern!” said Mr. Goon, in a terrifying voice, and stood up. Ern promptly stood up too, and ran to the door. He opened it and Goon came after him. Ern went down the hall to the front door and opened that, and then shot down the front path with his uncle on his heels—at exactly the same moment as Fatty and the rest, with Buster and Bingo, came in at the gate.

Somehow or other Mr. Goon became mixed up with the two excited dogs as they raced towards the front door—and down he went with a thud. Bingo leapt up at the astonished Ern, and tried his hardest to lick him in as many places as he could, barking madly all the time. Buster, finding his old enemy, Goon, on the ground, and at his mercy, sailed in gleefully to the attack! It really was a sight to be seen!

“bingo! You’ve come back!” shouted Ern in joy, and lifted up the delighted dog, who at once plastered his face with loving licks.

“clear orf, all of you!” roared poor Mr. Goon, trying to push Buster away. “I’ll tell your parents of this! will you order this dog away, Frederick Trotteville? One of these days I’ll clap you in a cell, yes, and the dog too. Get away, you brute! Lemme get up! Ern help me up.”

It was Fatty who pulled the heavy policeman to his feet and dusted him down, murmuring apologies in a polite voice that simply infuriated Mr. Goon!

“Bad luck, sir! Did you trip over your feet? I say, you’ll scare the girls, if you roar like that. Buster, behave yourself. buster! Are you deaf? Stop dancing round poor Mr. Goon. Here, let me help you up, sir—up we come—that’s it—upsadaisy. You all right now, Mr. Goon?”

Mr. Goon glared. He saw that quite a crowd had gathered round his front gate—and some of them were daring to laugh! Laughing at the Law! What were things coming to? Most majestically Mr. Goon went to the gate and scowled at everyone there. “What’s all this? Clear orf, now! You’re creating a nuisance, you are. Move on, there, move on!”

Only a few people moved away. Fatty felt sorry for poor Mr. Goon. “Perhaps if you told them to Move off instead of Move on, they’d understand better,” he suggested “Let me help you, Mr. Goon.” And Fatty waved an imperious hand and shouted in a suddenly enormous voice, “move off, will you! move off!”

And, rather astonished, the lookers-on moved off at once. Fatty was rather astonished too—he hadn’t thought it would be so easy! Mr. Goon was more than astonished. He was exceedingly angry.

“Think you’re in the police force now, do you?” he said, fiercely. “Well, what about you Moving Off—or on—I don’t care which. Funny how trouble always comes when you’re about, isn’t it, Master Trotteville? Now I’m going back to finish my tea in peace and quiet. Clear orf, all of you! I’m sick of the sight of you. You get indoors, Ern—and take that dog to the woodshed. Tripping me up like that. You can consider him arrested and put into a cell, see? And there he’ll stay out in the wood-shed, night and day!”

“Oh no, Uncle—that would be cruel!” said Ern, upset. “Fatty, tell him. He might listen to you. You can’t lock up a dog, night and day.”

“All right then, you go home!” stormed Mr. Goon. “I do a kindness and take you in—and that fatheaded dog too—and this is what happens. Go on home! Catch the measles!”

Ern didn’t know what to do—but Fatty did. He whispered something in Ern’s ear, and Ern’s face broke into a delighted smile. He took hold of Fatty’s hand and shook it hard. “You’re a friend, Fatty—yes, that’s what you are, a friend,” said Ern warmly. “I’ll go and get my things straightaway. Would you mind Bingo for me, till I come out? Uncle’s in such a temper, he might whip him. what a pity he tripped over Bingo!”

Bets and Daisy had been very scared by all the upset, but the boys had rather enjoyed it. Fatty couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for Mr. Goon. The policeman did not shine when things went wrong; but Fatty felt sure he would be sorry and feel guilty when he had had time to ponder over things. That was the worst of a hot temper—it led you into doing silly, rash things you were sorry for afterwards—and then it was probably too late.

Ern had disappeared into his uncle’s house. He was there about three minutes and then came out again, carrying a canvas bag. Bingo trotted joyfully over to him. Ern was beaming all over his round face.

“Where are you going, Ern?” asked Bets, in surprise. “Home? But you can’t go there, with measles about!”

They all went out of the gate together, leaving Mr. Goon staring after them. He was just beginning to wish that he hadn’t lost his temper.

“Ern, come back! You come and apologize and I’ll let you stay!” he shouted.

“Sorry, Uncle,” shouted back Ern. “I can’t stay where I’m not wanted—or where my dog will be locked up night and day. Sorry, Uncle!”

“Where’s Ern going?” asked Pip.

“He’s going to stay in my workroom till his family are clear of the measles,” said Fatty. “And Bingo as well. Nice dog, Bingo. Be good for Buster to have company too. The workroom is nice and warm, and I can put a camp-bed there. But nobody is to know, see? You are all to Keep Your Mouths Shut. Ern is our friend, and we’ve got to stand by him.”

“Oh good, Fatty! You always think of some fine way out of things when they go wrong,” said Bets, squeezing Fatty’s arm. “Ern, are you pleased?”

“Pleased? I feel like a tail with two dogs,” said Ern, looking down at Buster and Bingo trotting amicably together. “No, I mean a dog with two tails. Coo luvaduck—wasn’t poor old Uncle in a temper—all because he fell over Bingo! To think I’m going to stay in your workroom. Fatty—I feel honoured, straight I do! You’re a friend—and I can’t say more than that, can I?”

“No, that’s about the best thing anyone can say about anyone else,” said Fatty, with one of his grins. He gave Ern a little punch in the back. “I bet I’ll say that about you someday, Ern!”

Ern glowed. He looked round gratefully at the little bunch of friends walking with him. Yes, that was about the best thing that could happen to anyone—to Have Friends, whether they were two-legged or four-legged.

“And to be a friend to someone is just as good,” thought Ern. “Well—maybe it’s even better. I’ll have to ask Fatty about it sometime. He’s sure to know!”