Читать книгу Well, Really, Mr. Twiddle - Enid blyton - Страница 5

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“Twiddle, it’s the New Year to-morrow,” said Mrs. Twiddle, busily darning an enormous hole in one of Mr. Twiddle’s socks. “New Year’s Eve to-night—the time when people make good resolutions.”

“What exactly is a resolution?” asked Mr. Twiddle. “It’s such a long and peculiar word.”

“Well—when you make a resolution it just means that you resolve to do something and really mean it,” said Mrs. Twiddle. “Don’t pretend you don’t know that, Twiddle! You make a promise to yourself—you determine to do something; but if you make this resolution on New Year’s Eve it’s very important and very special.”

“Oh!” said Twiddle. “Have you made any good resolutions, wife?”

“Dear me, yes,” said Mrs. Twiddle. “I’ve resolved not to be cross with the paper-boy when he brings the wrong paper—and I’ve resolved to mend all those old shirts of yours I’ve been putting off for so long—and I’ve resolved not to let you snore at nights——”

“Well! What a queer resolution!” said Mr. Twiddle, indignantly. “Surely that ought to be my resolution, not yours, wife?”

“Oh, no, dear—because you can’t stop yourself snoring, and I very well can,” said Mrs. Twiddle. “I’ve only got to pinch you hard and you stop.”

“Well, I don’t think that’s at all a nice resolution to make,” said Twiddle.

“Now, now, don’t be silly. You think about your own resolutions, not mine,” said Mrs. Twiddle.

Twiddle thought. “I’ve got quite a lot in my mind,” he said at last. “I’ll remember to chop the wood for you. I’ll remember to mend that chair-leg you’ve been asking me about for ages. I’ll resolve to be kinder to the cat—though that will be hard because she honestly does try to trip me up on purpose, I’m sure of it—still, I’ll buy her some fish to show her I mean to be kind.”

“Miaow,” said the cat, thrilled, and dug its claws into Twiddle’s ankles as it stretched itself.

“What do you want to do that for, you unkind, horrid creature?” shouted Twiddle, and smacked the cat.

“Well!” said Mrs. Twiddle, in surprise. “I don’t think much of your resolutions if you forget them so quickly.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” said Twiddle. “But I haven’t begun them yet—it isn’t New Year’s Day till to-morrow. Now, let me think—I’ll make a resolution to wind up the clock—and to paint the shed—and to sweep the kitchen chimney for you—and——”

“Now, Twiddle, it’s not a good thing to make so many resolutions,” said Mrs. Twiddle. “Make ONE—one good sensible one—and keep it.”

“All right,” said Twiddle, “I will. I know! I’ll make a resolution not to forget a single thing! There—now you won’t have to keep on telling me what a dreadful memory I have.”

“Splendid!” said Mrs. Twiddle. “Now you write down that resolution and put it somewhere to remind you—or else you’ll forget it.”

So Twiddle wrote out his resolution in his best handwriting. “My New Year’s Resolution is that I will not forget a single thing!”

He stood it behind the clock where he could see it. He felt very pleased with himself. Aha! He would show Mrs. Twiddle that he could make just as good resolutions as she could!

Next morning he heard his wife up very early. He called down in astonishment to know why she was up.

“Oh, just one of my good resolutions,” said Mrs. Twiddle. “I’ve determined I will never be late down in the morning. I hope you’ve remembered your resolution, Twiddle.”

Twiddle lay back in bed and thought hard. Now, what was his resolution? What could it have been? To be kind to the cat and get her fish? To wind up the clock? To mend something? Now WHAT was that fine, sensible resolution he had made?

He fell asleep trying to remember. It was no use, he just couldn’t think of it. He was very late down for breakfast and Mrs. Twiddle was cross.

“Late the first morning of the year! And what about that good resolution of yours? Have you remembered it?”

Well, Mrs. Twiddle was in one of her rather bustling moods, and Twiddle simply didn’t dare to tell her he had already forgotten what his good resolution was. “You just wait and see,” he told Mrs. Twiddle.

After breakfast he tried again to remember what he had resolved to do. “Was it to chop the wood?” he wondered. “Perhaps it was. I’ll do it.”

So out he went and chopped a whole lot of wood for Mrs. Twiddle. She was very pleased. But Twiddle didn’t feel that had been his resolution. He tried something else. He stroked the cat and then actually went out to buy it some fish. But no—surely that wasn’t his resolution? Mrs. Twiddle didn’t say anything to make him think it was.

Twiddle found the broken chair and mended the leg.

Now, surely that had been his resolution? Mrs. Twiddle thanked him heartily. But she didn’t say it was nice to see he had kept his resolution. So it couldn’t be that.

Poor Twiddle! The things he did that day to try and find out what it was he had made a resolution about! He swept both the kitchen and the parlour chimneys and covered himself with soot. He had to have a bath, and he actually remembered to clean it after him—but somehow he didn’t feel that had anything to do with his resolution either.

“I believe it was to paint the shed!” thought Mr. Twiddle, and out he went to get a tin of paint and a brush.

Mrs. Twiddle came out to watch. “Well, you really are good to-day,” she said. “And how well you’ve painted the shed. Anyone would think you had made a good resolution to do it to-day!”

Oh, dear! So he hadn’t made a resolution about painting the shed. Mr. Twiddle felt very gloomy. How many more things was he going to do before he remembered what his resolution really was! If only he could ask Mrs. Twiddle what it was. But she would laugh at him too much. No, he really must remember it himself.

He went in to wash for tea, wondering what else there was for him to do.

Wind up the clock! Yes, of course—perhaps that was his good resolution. Twiddle went to the clock on the mantelpiece and hunted for the key. Mrs. Twiddle looked up.

“Reading your good resolution again?” she said.

“What do you mean?” asked Twiddle—and then he suddenly saw the good resolution he had written out so neatly the night before, and stood behind the clock. There it was, staring him in the face—“My New Year’s Resolution is that I will not forget a single thing!”

So that was it—dear, dear!—and the first thing he had done was to forget what his resolution had been! Whatever would Mrs. Twiddle say if she knew?

“You’ve remembered your resolution marvellously, I think,” she said. “Really marvellously! You haven’t forgotten a single thing all day long, Twiddle. I do feel pleased. I shall cook you a very special kipper for your tea!”

He did enjoy his kipper—but, you know, he didn’t say a word to Mrs. Twiddle about forgetting his resolution—not one single word. It’s still there, behind the clock. I wonder how soon he’ll forget it again!