Alexander Mccall Smith

by The Perfect Hamburger;Other Delicious Stories

  For the first time that day, Aunt Rebecca smiled.

  "Maybe I could help," she said, warming to his idea. "Maybe I could invent . . . carrot-flavored spaghetti!"

  Mr. Pipelli clapped his hands.

  "My dear lady," he said. "What a brilliant idea! Please, please, do that for me. I would be so grateful if you did." And at that, Mr. Pipelli rose to his feet and kissed her hand again, making Aunt Rebecca look down at the floor and blush.

  Aunt Rebecca was silent on the way back home. When they reached the house, the two children watched her as she went straight to the kitchen and closed the door behind her.

  "She really means it," said Nicky. "She's really going to invent carrot-flavored spaghetti."

  "It'll taste awful," said John. "The only people who will even think about eating it will be the members of the Carrot and Nut League."

  Aunt Rebecca remained in the kitchen for the rest of the day. She came out briefly at lunchtime to hand the children a plate of lettuce sandwiches to eat, but she seemed too preoccupied to talk.

  At four o'clock in the afternoon, John began to worry. He knocked on the door and asked her if she was all right, but he received no more than a grunt in reply. At five o'clock he knocked again, and this time Aunt Rebecca opened the door and peered out at him.

  "Yes," she said. "What is it?"

  "I was wondering if you were okay," John said. "We haven't seen you all day."

  Aunt Rebecca dried her hands on her apron.

  "I'm perfectly fine," she said. "And dinner will be at the normal time—seven on the dot." Then she closed the door.

  Mr. Pipelli Comes to Lunch

  John and Nicky were sitting at the table at five minutes to seven. At seven o'clock exactly, the kitchen door opened and Aunt Rebecca came out carrying a large bowl with a small cloud of steam rising from it. It was obvious to the children that this was not a dish of raw onions or carrot soup. But what was it?

  "Spaghetti," announced Aunt Rebecca simply. "You keep telling me how much you like the stuff, so I've made you some."

  Nicky's mouth fell open in surprise. "Spaghetti?" she exclaimed. "Real spaghetti?"

  "Yes," Aunt Rebecca said proudly. "Even better, this is the first bowl—the very first bowl— of carrot-flavored spaghetti. I just invented it, and I will introduce that Pipelli man to it tomorrow."

  John and Nicky watched suspiciously as the newly invented spaghetti was ladled onto their plates. It looked like ordinary spaghetti in shape, but it was undeniably carrot-colored.

  "Eat up," said Aunt Rebecca. "It won't taste nearly as good if you let it get cold."

  Reluctantly, John and Nicky wound the yellow strands around their forks and then put them into their mouths. They looked down at their plates, and then at each other.

  "Well?" asked Aunt Rebecca. "What do you think?"

  "It's marvelous," said John.

  "Wonderful!" said Nicky.

  And they meant it. Aunt Rebecca had invented the most delicious spaghetti they'd ever tasted. It was a miracle, and they were right there in the house when it had happened! Without stopping, they finished the rest of the spaghetti and then passed the empty plates to their aunt for more.

  "My word!" exclaimed Aunt Rebecca, her face breaking out into a contented smile. "That's the first time you've asked for more— ever!"

  Aunt Rebecca called Mr. Pipelli the next morning, and invited him to the house for lunch. He agreed to come, and when he arrived at the front door he had presents for everyone. John and Nicky each received a fountain pen with a real gold point, and for Aunt Rebecca there was a bouquet of red roses. She became completely speechless when he gave them to her, and when he bent and kissed her hand again, the children noticed that she blushed so much that she made the roses look pale.

  The new spaghetti was served for lunch. Everyone eagerly awaited Mr. Pipelli's reaction, and when it came they were not disappointed. As he took the first mouthful, his eyes rolled up to the ceiling in ecstasy. Then, on the second mouthful, he threw his hands up, leaped to his feet, and tossed his napkin out of the window in his excitement.

  "It is magnificent!" he said, when he had recovered enough to speak. "We will start manufacturing this spaghetti immediately."

  He sat down and looked seriously at Aunt Rebecca.

  "You have done the world of spaghetti-making a great service," he said solemnly. "And that will never be forgotten. Never!"

  "What a nice man you are," said Aunt Rebecca. "For a spaghetti manufacturer," she added. "Would you like to join us for lunch tomorrow?"

  Mr. Pipelli nodded his head enthusiastically, and said that this would give him the greatest pleasure. John thought that he should warn him that lunch could be raw onions and seaweed, but he did not get the opportunity to speak to him privately.

  John didn't need to worry. Mr. Pipelli sat at the table the following day and ate his raw onions with every appearance of enjoyment. At the end, to the astonishment of the two children, he asked for more.

  "Delicious," Mr Pipelli said, smacking his lips loudly. "And so very good for the system!"

  "Absolutely," said Aunt Rebecca, as she ladled more onions onto her visitor's plate.

  Mr. Pipelli came back to lunch the next day, and the day after that. He and Aunt Rebecca seemed to get along very well, and they always took a walk around the neighborhood after the meal. Mr. Pipelli would pick roses from Aunt Rebecca's rosebushes (something she normally never allowed anybody to do), and would present them to her with a low bow.

  Finally, exactly one week later, Mr. Pipelli announced that he had asked Aunt Rebecca to marry him and that she had accepted. They would be married the following Saturday, and would all move into his mansion near the spaghetti factory.

  "Your charming aunt will become Mrs. Pipelli," he said proudly. "And you, my dear children, will become my stepnephew and stepniece. You can stay with us until your parents have found all the volcanoes they can. After all, there can't be that many. That is, of course, if you agree to this little change in your lives."

  "Of course we do," shouted Nicky, and she kissed Aunt Rebecca on the cheek.

  Aunt Rebecca smiled. She seemed much less severe now—it was almost as if she had caught Mr. Pipelli's habit of beaming with pleasure at everything he saw.

  Because Aunt Rebecca was in such a good mood, later that day John decided to ask her about the last time she had been engaged to be married.

  "It was a very long time ago," she explained. "He was a pastry chef, you know—a very good one. He was a kind man, too."

  "Then what happened?" asked John. "Did he run away?"

  For a moment or two Aunt Rebecca looked sorrowful again, as if she were remembering something very sad.

  "No," she said. "He didn't run away. It's just that he was a bit . . . greedy. In fact, he was terribly, terribly greedy. When we ate meals together, he would take things from my plate and pop them into his mouth. I don't think he even knew he was doing it."

  She paused, dabbing at a tear that had appeared in the corner of her eye.

  "He made our wedding cake himself," she said. "It was the most beautiful cake you can imagine. It was covered with at least four bowls of marzipan and there were six tiers of white icing. Then, the day before the wedding, when I knew that the cake would be finished, I went to look at it. And that's when I changed my mind."

  John wondered what Aunt Rebecca could possibly have seen to make her call off the wedding.

  "There he was," she said. "He was sitting in his kitchen, looking very pleased with himself. And do you know what he had done? He had eaten the cake—every last crumb of it!"

  "All six tiers?" asked Nicky, astonished that one person could be so greedy as to eat his own wedding cake—before the wedding.

  "Yes," said Aunt Rebecca grimly. "And when he saw me, he looked very guilty. So I said to him, Octavius Hunt (that was what his name was), you will have to find somebody else to marry you, I'm afraid! You are way, way too greedy for me!"

&
nbsp; "Mr. Pipelli would never do anything like that," said John.

  At the mention of Mr. Pipelli's name, Aunt Rebecca cheered up.

  "Of course he wouldn't," she said, closing her eyes dreamily. "What a marvelous man he is!"

  From that day on, Aunt Rebecca was a different person. She never scowled, she was cheerful all day, and everything about her seemed so much brighter. But, most remarkable of all, was the change that occurred in Aunt Rebecca's views on food. Of course, John and Nicky didn't expect her to give up all her ideas—and she still believed in the beneficial effect of carrots and onions—but she did seem to be a little more prepared to accept that there was nothing really wrong with spaghetti, even if you put some thick sauce on it. And that, as far as John and Nicky were concerned, was a major breakthrough.

  The day before the wedding, Aunt Rebecca went so far as to cook them some of the ordinary spaghetti that Mr. Pipelli had given her. She tasted it herself, and she had to admit that it was delicious, even if it wasn't as delicious as her own carrot-flavored variety.

  "I suppose I should eat this from now on," she said, a little bit hesitantly. "After all, starting tomorrow I will be the new Mrs. Pipelli, and I will have responsibilities toward the spaghetti industry."

  John tried not to catch Nicky's eye. If he did, he knew that it would be difficult not to smile.

  The wedding was a splendid event. Aunt Rebecca carried a bouquet of yellow flowers that Nicky had picked especially for her from the garden of Mr. Pipelli's mansion, and Mr. Pipelli beamed more than you would have thought it possible for anybody to beam. Outside, there were crowds of spaghetti workers who cheered heartily as the happy couple emerged.

  "Hooray!" they shouted in unison. "And may you be happy for the rest of your lives."

  "Thank you, all," responded Mr. Pipelli. "And take one week's extra vacation, starting today."

  This led to an even bigger commotion, which brought the traffic to a standstill and made people for miles around open their windows to see what great event was happening.

  John and Nicky watched all this, their hearts full of happiness. Then, as a large car pulled up to take Mr. Pipelli and Aunt Rebecca to their honeymoon in Italy, John and Nicky joined the happy spaghetti workers throwing confetti at the newlyweds.

  But it was not confetti they threw—it was spaghetti—which is an unusual thing to throw at a wedding. But on this occasion, it was just right.

  The

  Doughnut Ring

  Contents

  Jim Has an Idea

  Doughnuts for Sale

  Waiting for the Mail

  The Doughnut Deluge

  Katie Has an Idea

  Mr. Windram, Supermarket King

  Crashing the Party

  The Doughnut Deal

  Jim Has an Idea

  Jim and his friends were all shocked when they heard the news. They liked Mr. Pride, the school janitor, and the story of what had happened to him was very sad.

  "If I could find the person who stole his car," said Jim, "I'd. . . I ' d— "

  "Steal it back for him?" interrupted Katie.

  "Yes," said Jim. "Except it wouldn't be stealing, would it? It would just be taking back what always belonged to Mr. Pride."

  Everybody agreed. Mr. Pride had been very attached to his car, although it was incredibly old and made a dreadful noise. It was a battered old vehicle, half blue and half white, with wheels that looked a little wobbly. But Mr. Pride said it was the best car he had ever owned, and he would never be able to find one just like it.

  "Can't you buy another one?" asked Jim, as he and his friends stood around Mr. Pride in the schoolyard.

  The janitor shook his head.

  "I don't think I can afford it," he said. "I'm going to be retiring soon, and I'm saving my money. I just won't have the cash."

  The more Jim thought about it, the more unfair it seemed. He hoped that the police would be able to find the car and get it back for Mr. Pride, but apparently there was not much of a chance of that. So Mr. Pride would have to do without a car and give up the Saturday afternoon trips to the country that he had always enjoyed so much.

  Then, without knowing exactly where it came from, Jim had an idea. It was one of those ideas that are so brilliant and so exciting that they have to be announced immediately. Jim did not waste any time. He called together his two best friends, Katie and Mark, and told them what he had in mind.

  "Do you think we could do it?" Mark asked hesitantly. "It's a lot of money."

  Jim nodded. "You can do anything if you really want to," he said, not completely sure whether to believe this himself.

  "Well," said Katie, sounding doubtful. "It's one thing to say you're going to organize a bake sale outside the school each Saturday morning, but what are you going to sell?"

  Jim had not thought of that yet, and so he mentioned the first thing that came to his mind.

  "Doughnuts," he said simply. "Yes, doughnuts! Everybody likes doughnuts."

  That afternoon, the three of them went to the principal, Mrs. Craddock, and told her about their plan. She listened carefully, and then, at the end, she smiled.

  "It's a very, very kind idea," she said. "And I'm sure that Mr. Pride would be very touched by it. But do you really think it would work?"

  Jim nodded. "We could at least try it," he said enthusiastically. "If people knew that the bake sale was to raise money for a car for Mr. Pride, then they'd all come. I know they would."

  Mrs. Craddock nodded. "He's very popular, isn't he? Yes, I'm sure they'd come."

  She thought for a while. Jim was worried that the answer would be no, but then suddenly, she smiled.

  "Why not?" she said. "You can try it for one or two Saturdays, and if it works then you can continue." She paused. "But if it doesn't work, then that will have to be the end of it. Do you agree?"

  All three of them nodded vigorously.

  "Thank you," said Jim. "I'll put up a flyer and we can have the first one this Saturday."

  Jim, Mark, and Katie began to make their plans. None of them actually knew how to make doughnuts, but Jim said that his mother had a recipe. When he told her why they wanted to make the doughnuts, she was very pleased. She liked Mr. Pride too. She said that the three children could make the doughnuts that Friday in her kitchen, and that she would be happy to do the frying.

  It was a lot of fun getting ready. All the ingredients were measured out carefully, the trays were dusted with flour (Jim did that), and the mixing bowls and spoons were lined up, ready for use.

  Katie read out the recipe, telling people what to do. Mark did the mixing (until his arms got tired and Katie took over), and Jim molded the batter into doughnut shapes. Then, when they were finished carefully laying out the batter on trays, Mark's mother began to fry the doughnuts.

  The smell itself was delicious. There's nothing like a doughnut smell to get the taste buds working, and by the time they took the doughnuts out of the pan, all three of them could hardly wait to sink their teeth into one.

  They had to wait until they were cool, though. Then they all dusted them with sugar, and Jim took out one doughnut for testing. He cut it into three equal pieces, and then, all at the same time, they popped the doughnut pieces into their mouths and began to chew.

  Delicious! Jim had hardly dared to hope that the doughnuts would taste as good as the ones that you could buy at the store, but these did. In fact, they tasted even better.

  "Everybody is going to love these," said Katie. "They're going to sell like . . ."

  ". . . like hotcakes," finished Mark.

  Jim agreed. He had been worried about the success of his great idea, but now he was certain. It was going to work!

  Doughnuts for Sale

  That Saturday Jim, Katie, and Mark were in front of the school just on time. Jim set up the table, and Katie and Mark laid the doughnuts on the tablecloth. They had prepared several signs, all saying BIG DOUGHNUT SALE and explaining the purpose of the sale. These were dis
played in places where people would be sure to spot them.

  The school was near some stores, and so there were always lots of people passing by on a Saturday morning. As Jim and his friends stood behind the table, the doughnuts laid out temptingly before them, the first of the morning shoppers appeared.

  "Those look good," said a woman with a red hat. "Can I try one?"

  She picked up a doughnut and took a bite from the edge.

  "Mmm," she said. "That's a good doughnut."

  She bought four. Then, a few minutes later, two children walked by and stopped to sniff the doughnuts. They did not have a lot of money, but they were able to buy one between the two of them, which they split then and there and ate right away.

  "Very good," they said, as they licked the sugar off their fingers.

  Now more people arrived. Everybody seemed eager to buy a doughnut, and it was difficult to keep up with the demand. In fact, after only ten minutes had gone by, they realized that they were going to run out of doughnuts. They had proved to be very popular.

  Finally, the last two doughnuts were sold, and the sale came to an end. It had taken exactly fifteen minutes to sell every single doughnut.

  Jim began to count the money. It added up to a good sum, and he tucked it safely into the pocket of his jacket. It would take a very long time to save up enough money to buy Mr. Pride a car, since even an old car would cost a lot, but at least this was a good start. Even if it took a year, he would still be able to have the car by the time he retired.

  Jim had just finished counting the money and was helping to pack away the table and the tablecloth when the trouble began. People who had heard of the doughnut sale were still arriving, and as they arrived they asked where the doughnuts were.