Blinky Bill

by Dorothy Wall

  “I made the cropper,” Blinky said nudging Nutsy.

  “And I threw the nuts,” his little companion whispered, looking very ashamed of herself.

  “A nice hotch-potch!” Mrs Koala growled. “All the same I’m glad — perhaps she’ll mind her own business after this.”

  “I’m sure she will,” Nutsy said meekly, very relieved to find Mrs Koala’s temper had subsided so quickly.

  Mrs Grunty growled all the way home.

  “There’ll be no peace now!” she said aloud. “I’ve a good mind to move. If I stay here my Snubby’s bound to get into trouble with that lad. My word! he’s an outlaw.”

  CHAPTER 14

  A Visit to the Pelicans

  t’s awfully stale up here,” Blinky said one night, after just a week of being as good as an angel. He and Nutsy were playing together while Mrs Koala was holding a consultation with Splodge at the bottom of the tree about starting a guest house.

  “Would you like to travel?” Blinky whispered to Nutsy.

  “I don’t know!” Nutsy replied, her eyes opening wide with excitement.

  “Well what does your tummy say?” Blinky asked. “Does it jump when you think of it, or does it just keep on being still?”

  “It jumps!” Nutsy exclaimed.

  “That means you want to travel,” Blinky explained. “So it’s best to do as it wants; ‘cause if you don’t the jumps get bigger and bigger till they make you feel sick and want to cry.”

  “How dreadful!” Nutsy said in a low voice. What a lot of things Blinky knew.

  “Yes! it’s best to do as it wants,” he repeated. “And, as mine wants to go, I’ll have to do it.”

  “What will your mother say?” Nutsy asked nervously.

  “She won’t know till it’s all over,” Blinky replied. “That’s, of course, if you don’t tell her. If you do — I’ll — I’ll — I’ll take you to old Wombo and tell him to put you in his dark muddy house, where rats peep in at night just to see if any girls are in there who’ve told tales. If they find any, they eat them!”

  “I’ll never, never, tell,” Nutsy whispered.

  “Better not!” Blinky replied. “Come on, we’ll start right away.”

  “But we can’t!” Nutsy objected. “Mrs Koala’s at the foot of the tree talking to Splodge.”

  “We’ll have to wait a while then,” Blinky sighed. “I forgot all about mother. I wonder what she’s talking about. I’ll go and see,”

  “I’m coming too!” Nutsy said scrambling down the tree behind Blinky.

  As they neared the ground they could hear Mrs Koala talking very confidentially to Splodge.

  “He’s a problem,” they heard her say. “He’ll be leading that dear little girl, Nutsy, into trouble too if I don’t do something to keep him employed. Apart from that, I find, now he’s a lad, his clothes are a big item and I’ve very little to buy him new ones with. Once upon a time I could cut his dear dead father’s clothes down to fit him. But they’re all gone now. And the other animals all seem to have had babies since I’ve been away. Before, they gave me any clothes they’d no need for, now they have to use them themselves.”

  “Yes,” Splodge remarked, “it’s very hard. No doubt Blinky needs something to do to keep him out of mischief. Have you any ideas, Mrs Koala?”

  “I thought of doing a bit of crocheting; but Mrs Rabbit advised me not to. She said no one wants crochet work nowadays. They’ve all gone mad on cross-stitch, and goodness only knows I get cross enough at times, without sitting down and turning it into doilies and mats,” Mrs Koala said with a deep sigh.

  “Quite right!” Blinky murmured to Nutsy.

  “I’m ambitious, you know, Mr Splodge,” Mrs Koala continued. “Since my visit to the zoo and seeing with my own eyes the quantity of food the animals over there, stuffed, positively stuffed into themselves, especially the elephants and kangaroos —”

  “Pardon!” Splodge exclaimed placing his paw behind one ear as if to hear better.

  “Oh! I didn’t mean to be rude,” Mrs Koala explained, “or personal. I always noticed you never gobbled. In fact I thought what a gentleman you were, compared to the rest.”

  “Quite so. Quite so,” Splodge returned. “But what’s that got to do with your ideas, Mrs Koala?”

  “Simply this — as I was saying, when I saw those animals eating so much, I thought some day if ever I escaped from the zoo I’d start a guest house! Now what do you think of that?” Mrs Koala beamed all over her face.

  “Capital idea!” Splodge announced. “Of course you’ll want a manager.”

  “Pardon!”

  “What for?” Mrs Koala exclaimed.

  “Well, for instance, say Mr Fox came along and wanted board and residence for the night, and then tried to steal silently away without paying — and he’s a sly fellow, mark my words, a sly, cunning fellow — what would you do then, Mrs Koala?”

  Splodge flung out his paws in a hopeless gesture.

  “It would be awkward. I never thought of that happening,” Mrs Koala replied.

  “And then there are the possums. I’ve great regard for them, and I’m not suggesting for one moment they’d do such a thing, But what if one got to your potato bin — and, mind you, I wouldn’t trust them for a second where potatoes are concerned — what would you do then?”

  Again Splodge flung out his paws, and stared with a sorrowful look on his face, while poor Mrs Koala felt her hopes suddenly dashed to the ground.

  “Then again,” Splodge continued, “there are the rabbits to think of. You know me well enough, Mrs Koala, to realize I’d think badly of no one; but ‘pon my soul those rabbits need watching with ten pairs of eyes, Just imagine — you having gone to all the trouble of making a delicious watercress salad” — (here Splodge licked his lips) — “Just imagine your feelings if, when you went to put it on the table, you found it had gone, that some sly, quiet-stepping animal had actually pinched it while your back was turned. What would you do then?”

  “It couldn’t hurt a salad very much if it was pinched,” Mrs Koala replied. “Only a few leaves bruised.”

  “I should have said purloined,” Splodge returned. “In other words, stolen; but I’m not saying the rabbits would do such a dastardly thing, I’m only s’posing.”

  “I wish you would not use such big words,” Mrs Koala said in a meek voice, “I’m only a plain body and it takes very little to start my headaches,”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bamboozle you,” Splodge said kindly. “But what would you do if such things happened? And they are likely to happen to any widow.”

  “How dreadful!” Mrs Koala managed to say. Really, she was almost speechless.

  “But there’s no need to worry!” Splodge laughed, hopping around in great bounds, until Mrs Koala muttered to herself, “He’s daft!”

  Splodge flung out his paws in a hopeless gesture.

  “No need to worry a teeny, weeny bit!” Splodge laughed again. “A manager will see to all that. He’ll see that no one steals things.”

  “Will he really?” Mrs Koala exclaimed with joy. But her face fell almost immediately. “Where can I find a manager?” she asked looking all round. “Do you think old Mr Wombat would do?”

  “He!” Splodge yelled and hopped with surprise. “Old Wombo a manager! Why, you’d have nothing left in your larder after one night. Nothing!”

  “Well what am I to do? Where can I find a manager?” Poor Mrs Koala was nearly in tears.

  “Why, here!” Splodge shouted, patting himself on the chest.

  “Oh! You will be so kind as to be the manager?” Mrs Koala asked joyfully.

  “Why, here! right here!”

  “‘Course I will,” Splodge replied. “With my experience and worldly knowledge I’ll see that even a mouse gets away with nothing. Tush! Just let me catch them trying.”

  “That’s a load off my mind,” Mrs Koala sighed.

  “We’ll shake paws on the agreement,” Splodge replied hol
ding out a paw to Mrs Koala who solemnly took it, and both shook with a grunt.

  “That’s done it!” Blinky whispered to Nutsy. “A guest house of all things! Rabbits and rats in the best beds, and snails and spiders using the bathroom. I’m off! And I’m going in a minute too.”

  “I don’t think I’d like living in a guest house either,” Nutsy remarked.

  “‘Course you wouldn’t!” Blinky exclaimed. “You’d be made a waitress. And you’d have to carry plates of soup up and down the tree all day long, and peel potatoes and onions till your eyes drowned.”

  “And what would you do?” Nutsy asked, not very impressed with this horrible picture.

  “Me? Oh, I suppose I’d just ring the dinner-bell and sit down to eat with the guests and laugh and tell them my ’speriences,” Blinky said with a bored look on his face.

  “You’d be made a waitress.”

  “Indeed you wouldn’t!” Nutsy replied indignantly. “You’d have to clean Mr Centipede’s boots every morning, and help your mother to make stews and stews, and you’d have to eat porridge, lumps and all!”

  “‘Ndeed I won’t — and wouldn’t — and shan’t!” Blinky replied, and started to scramble through the thick bracken fern that grew at the foot of the tree. Nutsy hurried after him calling out in a whisper:

  “Wait on! Wait on! I’m coming.”

  Mrs Koala and her manager were too busy to notice what was happening just round the gum-tree.

  Blinky pushed straight ahead, while Nutsy stumbled and struggled to catch up with him.

  “Where are we going?” Nutsy panted as she came up to his side.

  “I’m going to see the pelicans,” Blinky announced.

  “I’m coming too,” Nutsy replied.

  “Gosh! Can’t you see you’re in the way?” Blinky asked crossly. “Can’t a fellow go pelicanning by himself?”

  “I might be useful,” Nutsy replied. “Anyhow I’m coming.” She tossed her little head in the air and pushing past Blinky took the lead.

  “Stand back! Halt! In the name of the policeman!” Blinky shouted, scarlet with rage. (How dare a girl be so rude to him!)

  “I won’t stand back; and I won’t halt; and you’re not a policeman!” Nutsy called back, still scrambling ahead.

  “You’re arrested!” Blinky shouted. “Stop!”

  “Here! Here! What’s all the noise about?” a stern voice demanded, frightening the two little koalas almost out of their skins. There, right in front of them, stood Wally Wombat junior. He was old Wombo’s great great grandson, and very like his great great grandfather he was. He had the same small eyes, wide brow, and that arrogant air of his ancestor.

  “Oh, it’s you, Wallo!” Blinky gasped with relief. “My word, you did give me a fright.”

  “And who told you to call me Wallo?” Mr Wombat junior asked, looking very displeased. “I’m Walter Wombat — Wally to only my oldest acquaintances. Remember that!”

  “He’s snaky!” Nutsy whispered to Blinky. “Be polite or he might kill us.”

  “Where are you going?” Mr Walter Wombat asked. “To see my great great grandmother,” Blinky replied, never blinking an eyelid.

  “Is she ill?” Walter inquired.

  “Terribly ill. If we don’t get there very soon she’ll be dead.”

  “Oh well, under those circumstances I’ll let you pass,” Walter declared. “Only remember, next time you meet me, salute and say: ‘Good morning, Your Eminence. How goes it?’ Then pass on.”

  “And who told you to call me Wallo?” Mr Wombat junior asked. “I’m Walter Wombat.”

  “Certainly, Wallo.”

  “What’s that?” Mr Walter Wombat roared.

  “I didn’t say a word,” Blinky replied, shaking with fear.

  “Keep on that way, my young man, and some day you’ll be as great a fellow as I am.” Mr Walter Wombat gave his walking-stick a swish and passed on.

  “How would you like to have to carry his shaving-water to him every morning at the guest house?” Nutsy asked mockingly.

  “I’d put gum in it so’s it would gum up all his whiskers,” Blinky replied coldly.

  Nutsy remained silent after this remark, and found herself once more padding behind Blinky. He had taken the opportunity to get in the lead again, and things went along much more smoothly. Presently, to Blinky’s surprise, he found himself walking along paw-in-paw with Nutsy as the journey progressed.

  “How far is it to the pelicans’ place?” Nutsy inquired.

  “A long way off. Over two hills and then down along the swamp until we come to the lake,” Blinky answered.

  “How do you know?” Nutsy asked.

  “I saw it when we were coming back from the zoo,” Blinky replied, “and I counted all the hills home from that place.

  “What’s that noise?” he asked suddenly. “Listen! Someone is coming.”

  “Hide,” Nutsy whispered.

  Together they scuttled under the bushes and crouched silently peeping through the leaves.

  “Dear, dear! This is dreadful — terrible — shocking,” the voice was saying, as its owner pit-a-pattered nearer and nearer.

  “I wonder what’s the matter?” Nutsy asked in a whisper.

  “Keep quiet,” Blinky said, giving her a pinch.

  “Shell die, I’m sure, if I don’t get help,” the voice was saying, “and I’ll never have such a kind friend again.” Here the poor animal started to sob.

  Blinky and Nutsy, peering from their hiding-place, saw Mrs Field Mouse wiping her eyes with the corner of her apron. Over her arm she carried a basket almost as large as herself, and in it was a bottle almost as large as the basket.

  Blinky gave a cough.

  Mrs Field Mouse sprang in the air. “Good gracious!” she cried. “Are there robbers or cats about?”

  “It’s only us, Mrs Field Mouse, Don’t be afraid,” Nutsy called, scrambling through the bushes to her side. “What is the matter? You seem to be in trouble.”

  “Oh, my dear, such a dreadful thing has happened! I don’t know what to do,” Mrs Field Mouse sobbed. “My very, very best friend is terribly sick, and I’ve run and run for miles to get a bottle of eucalyptus oil from Dr Owl. And now I don’t know how I’m going to rub it on her chest. What will I do?” She sniffed back her tears and wiped her whiskers with a tiny paw.

  “Why! We’ll come and help you. Won’t we, Blinky?” Nutsy turned to her companion who looked sorrowfully at the poor distressed little mouse.

  “Only too pleased,” Blinky replied. “Let me carry your basket, Mrs Field Mouse.”

  “How lucky I am to meet you,” Mrs Field Mouse said as she dabbed her eyes.

  “Is your friend terribly, terribly sick?” Nutsy asked sympathetically as they started to walk along.

  “She’s got whooping-cough most dreadfully,” Mrs Field Mouse replied. “All last night I sat beside her; listening to her whoops. And the sneezing — it was dreadful too. So this morning I set out to see Dr Owl and tell him all about it. I’ve been away all day, and I’ve run for miles. Oh dear! I hope we’re in time to save her.”

  “What did Dr Owl say?” Nutsy asked.

  “He told me to put the patient in a mustard bath and poultice her chest and back,” Mrs Field Mouse replied; “but I said I couldn’t do it, as I’m not a nurse, so he gave me this bottle of oil, and told me to rub her chest with it.”

  “That’ll make her better,” Nutsy said. “And I’ll do it for you and help you all I can. Where does she live?”

  “At the bottom of my house,” Mrs Field Mouse answered. “I have the attic and she has the ground floor. It’s over on the other side of the hill. It’s in one of Farmer Scratchet’s wheat fields.”

  “Oh!” Blinky said with a knowing look at Nutsy. “Is it anywhere near his peanuts?”

  “Not exactly near; but not very far away,” his tiny friend replied — “but of course we don’t go near his peanuts,” she said hastily.

  “Of course not!” B
linky said cheekily. “Does your friend like peanuts?”

  “No, they give her indigestion,” the little mouse replied. “Besides, she likes wheat much better, so we always have supper together. Oh! I hope she doesn’t die. I hope she doesn’t die!” And poor little mousie started to cry all over again.

  “Is it anywhere near his peanuts?”

  “Let’s hurry!” Nutsy said. “We might get there in time to save her.”

  They ran and ran; then stopped for a few moments to get their breath; then ran on, until the top of the hill was reached. Down the other side they rushed, panting and puffing. Farmer Scratchet’s house came into view, and to save time they scrambled under the fence instead of going through the new wire gate. Over the cabbage patch, and over the lettuce and asparagus beds, and through the potato field they rushed. Past the pigs’ pen — giving Mrs Hog the most dreadful fright. She and the squealers were on a fossicking expedition, rooting up everything within sight.

  “It’s disgusting the way this farm’s run!” she declared. “If Farmer Scratchet isn’t discussing bacon in a most untactful manner, he’s allowing dogs, cows, and all the rest of the good-for-nothing animals to tear and rush about this place, upsetting the nerves of the most important tenants. Come on, piglets, root in this corner.” Squeals and a grand rush greeted her command; and to an onlooker one would have thought great earthworks were in progress.

  “We’re nearly there!” Mrs Field Mouse announced as they hurried through the wheat field. “Just another few yards to go,” she panted.

  She zigzagged through the tall grain stalks until a loud hacking cough was heard.

  “She’s still alive!” Mrs Field Mouse cried with joy. More coughing came, and sneezes by the yard.

  “Good gracious!” Nutsy said in an alarmed voice. “Your friend has a terribly big cough and sneeze. She must have double whooping-cough.”

  “She has!” Mrs Field Mouse exclaimed. “But don’t make too much noise; it may frighten her.”

  Now they were almost at the spot where the patient lay, hidden from sight.