Uncle Cleans Up
Page 4
Beaver Hateman was blowing a trumpet and rattling a great money-box.
By the side of the procession walked that odious man, Alonzo S. Whitebeard’s father. He was playing very badly on an accordion, ‘See The Conquering Hero Comes’.
At last they reached the moat bridge, and Beaver Hateman got down. He pulled the cheque out of his pocket and said in a menacing voice:
“Well, Uncle, we’ve come for the million pounds. This is your cheque, isn’t it?”
Uncle smiled.
“It is,” he said.
“I suppose you’re going to try to get off paying?”
“You’ll be paid all right, but remember that you can be paid in either goods or money, as I wish,” Uncle replied.
“Stop talking. Cash it and be quick about it!” said Beaver Hateman.
Uncle answered this rudeness with one calm and impressive sentence:
“I’ve decided to pay you the whole sum in the form of pig iron which will be melted down in a great mass in front of your house this afternoon.”
Beaver Hateman was furious.
“I don’t want iron, you oily old shark!” he shouted.
“Well, that’s all you’ll get,” said Uncle with a smile of quiet triumph.
Beaver Hateman now tried to put the cheque back in his pocket, but he had forgotten the length of Uncle’s trunk. In a moment Uncle had seized it and torn it up.
“Now,” he said, “push off!. . . Oldeboy, have you got that flame-thrower ready?”
“Yes, sir,” exclaimed that ready youth, emerging from a clump of bushes with what looked like the nozzle from a fire engine in his hand.
“Well, turn it on when I’ve counted ten!”
But before he had, the Hateman crowd were walking sulkily back to Badfort. They have a wholesome dread of Oldeboy’s flame-thrower.
Whitebeard’s father, however, did not go with them. With a ghastly smile he came up and offered his services to Uncle.
“Can I do anything for you, sir?” he asked. “You heard me playing ‘The Conquering Hero’ for you.”
“You were playing it for Beaver Hateman,” shouted Uncle.
The sight of Whitebeard’s father is nearly enough to make Uncle lose his temper. Now this flattery sickened him. Turning on the lying shifty old scoundrel in righteous indignation, he took a quick run and fairly kicked him up!
It was a magnificent kick. The body of the old hypocrite went up, up, up, in the sunlight, looking far more attractive than it had ever done before, and then came down, down, down, on the hideous statue of Goatsby that disfigured the front of Badfort. That monstrosity with its hateful projecting ears was knocked to bits.
“Well,” said Uncle, “perhaps that was a shade violent, but I just had to do it, and I will say this – a better kick I never made.”
After a light lunch, the great removal began. Uncle’s plan was to make several journeys, and from the distance the dwarfs looked just like a swarm of ants carrying sticks and leaves. By six o’clock the whole million pounds’ worth had been taken across, and then the little men sat down to devour their meal of fish and rice. You could hear their jaws making a faint rustling sound like leaves stirring in the wind.
Then Cowgill’s work began. He had gathered together, during the day, a hundred portable blast furnaces. They were wheeled into a semi-circle in front of Badfort. As night came on, the sight was magnificent. From the hundred flaming furnaces melted iron was pouring in streams. They cast the great mass of iron in a hollow place, and it took two or three days to melt it all. At last it was done, the furnaces were wheeled off, and in front of Badfort was a low dull-red mound of solid iron. It cooled down into an almost unbreakable mass.
Beaver did his best to sell it, but it took too much carting, and very few people wanted it.
The Wooden-Legged Donkey pulled over a few loads to Cheapman’s, but he soon rebelled at the hard work. Even Beaver Hateman’s great offer: ‘A ton of iron for a single ham – fetch it yourself’ met with no response. Finally he had to admit that the stuff was no good to him.
But he sent a threatening letter to Uncle:
To Uncle, the old crab of Humbug Lodge. Hootman is making a catapult and the whole of your iron will be returned to you in ton pieces. I hope they hit you and crush you flat!
Uncle took no notice of this except to laugh, but he felt more serious when he saw the machine they set up to throw over the pieces of iron. That doubtful character, Abdullah the Clothes-Peg Merchant, was helping Hootman to construct it. There was an immense spring in it which was coiled down by the aid of hundreds of captive badgers.
Uncle could only hope that, like so many of the Badfort schemes, it would not work.
Unfortunately it did work, at least once, for Uncle had gone to the front door of Homeward to welcome the King of the Badgers when a great lump of iron came zooming through the air and hit the outside dining-table, burying it deep in the ground.
“Oh, sir,” cried the Old Monkey, “what an escape!”
“Don’t worry,” said Uncle, “the labour of breaking off a piece that size must be almost unbearable. They won’t do it often.”
On the whole, in spite of the catapult, Uncle was very pleased with the iron scheme, and the King of the Badgers was so full of admiration for the way Cowgill had managed the big casting that he came on a special visit to see Cowgill’s works.
The King of the Badgers often comes to see Uncle and is very friendly, but it’s a pity that he often seems to be hard up. He never buys at Cheapman’s for some reason, and such a lot of his subjects are taken into captivity by Hateman that he is always having to ransom them, and this keeps his kingdom rather poor.
Uncle took him with great pleasure to see Cowgill’s works, which are part of Homeward. It is a very interesting place as there are all sorts of workers there including a lot of birds. Crows, especially, are very good at screwing on nuts in awkward places. They fly up with the nut, and then, grasping it with their beaks, they fly round and round in circles, and they get it on splendidly.
Cowgill had got all his portable furnaces stowed away, and everything in such good order, that the King bestowed on him one of his highest honours, the Order of the Golden Goat.
With this on his coat, Cowgill felt six inches taller. Uncle also gave him seventy cases of mixed fruit and twelve hundredweight of choice lard, besides a silver tripe bowl, so he felt very happy indeed.
SIX
They Visit the Fish-Frying Academy
FOR A LONG time Uncle had intended to visit the Fish-Frying Academy. You may remember that on the roof of a great lonely tower he had noticed a big square door battened down, with the words ‘Fish-Frying Academy – Goods Entrance’ on it. He was a little doubtful about going so far from Homeward as he was pretty certain that Beaver Hateman was planning a tremendous return blow, but they all felt that they wanted a change so he decided to go. He got Captain Walrus to come down and watch the door of Homeward, with the help of Cloutman, Gubbins and Alonzo S. Whitebeard. Captain Walrus was quite pleased. He brought down a great box of marlinspikes and belaying-pins.
“Now,” he said, “let the swabs come, and they’ll regret it for the rest of their days!”
Uncle decided to take Cowgill this time, as another little reward for his splendid engineering. Also Uncle had heard that it was very hard to get into the Fish-Frying Academy, so they might need to break open that great door, and then Cowgill and his tools would be invaluable.
Also, of course, they took the cat Goodman, and I really believe that he would have done something desperate if he had been left behind. Goodman has a strong turn for adventure and reads a lot of detective stories. Sometimes he lies on the floor in the library gently turning the leaves with his paws and purring loudly at exciting places. When he gets to a very thrilling part, he mews, and sometimes he leaves the book and rushes round the room.
Of course, the One-Armed Badger went. There is nothing he likes better than going on an expedition wit
h Uncle and loading himself to the ground with things that might be wanted. Today he had outdone himself by devising a great pack that so covered him that you could scarcely see him at all. He looked like a great bale of goods shuffling along. Meat-juice, lint, bandages, cocoa, hams, mince-pies, bottles of milk, preserved fruits, clean socks, telescopes, compasses, axes – there was nothing that he had forgotten.
Cowgill brandished a great four-foot spanner.
“If we do meet any doubtful customers, sir, this will be as good as a stone club any day.”
Uncle rather doubted this. He has such a liking for stone clubs that he feels uncomfortable without one when he is going on a journey. All the same, the spanner would be a good stand-by.
He had found out, after some trouble, the best way to the Fish-Frying Academy. You walk along the outside of Homeward until you come to a little room called ‘waiting-room’. Then you go in, and simply wait. There’s no way out of this room, except through the door by which you came in, but if you wait for a time the whole room begins to move and takes you with it.
On the wall is a card with this message:
Passengers to the Fish-Frying Academy
must be content to wait their turn.
There are always more visitors
than we can accommodate.
Keep quiet, do not cough or sneeze, or sing.
Passengers requiring lunch can telephone Hungry 87659.
Passengers can play games if quiet,
but Tiddlywinks, Noughts-and-Crosses, and Halma
are strictly forbidden.
Slogan for today: ‘Patience in the waiting-room
means joy in the Fish-Frying Academy.’
Uncle read this notice through, yawned, and sat down on the one decent chair in the place.
“We might as well have a spot of lunch,” he said.
They were all agreeable to this, and the One-Armed Badger soon had a splendid repast ready. When it was finished, Uncle said:
“Well, I vote we have a game. If I had Tiddlywinks with me I should play. I’m the master of this castle!” He turned to the One-Armed Badger. “Next time you come this way, bring a set of Tiddlywinks with you.”
They felt a bit sorry for the One-Armed Badger; he thought he had brought everything. He offered to go and fetch a set.
“No!” said Uncle. “You’ll get left. It doesn’t really matter.” And he gave the One-Armed Badger a threepenny piece as consolation.
“But I’ll tell you what,” said Uncle, as another hour dragged by, “I think we might manage a game of spigots. The room is rather small, but I fancy we could do it. There are half a dozen of those round Dutch cheeses and six cake boxes.”
Just as he said this someone shouted: “Hold tight!” And they felt the room move.
The next instant they felt a jar, and the same voice shouted:
“This way out!”
To their surprise one of the sides of the room had vanished and they were looking down a long tunnel like those in the Underground. They walked along till they came to two branching passages, one labelled ‘To The Academy’ and the other ‘To The Sinking Parade’.
“I wonder what the Sinking Parade is,” said Uncle, as they took the other passage.
After a few steps they found themselves at the foot of an immense escalator. It went up very slowly, and more and more people kept getting on to it.
At last they found themselves outside an enormous door of brown wood with the words ‘Fish-Frying Academy’ on it in brass letters.
Inside they had to pass through a turnstile where a little sharp-featured woman told them to turn out their pockets.
“We’ve had some bad thefts of fish lately,” she said, “so we look as you go in and we look as you go out.”
Uncle was a bit uncomfortable about the cat, for Goodman has an idea that it’s all right to steal postage stamps and fish. He never takes anything else, but it seems impossible to cure him of these two faults.
However, there was no time to worry about this now, for a menacing roar came from the people behind who were having to wait while the One-Armed Badger’s huge bale of goods was being examined.
“Seems to me this place is more bother than it’s worth,” said Uncle.
At last they reached the first department of the Fish-Frying Academy. A lot of boys were sitting at desks earnestly reading books and repeating sentences.
The teacher, a lean, anxious-looking man called Will Shudder, greeted Uncle.
“They’re not allowed to touch a fish till they’ve been two years in this department,” he said, “but now and then they get through in a year and a half. Here’s one of our scholars who is getting moved up in seventeen months. Come here, Figby.”
A pale boy, wearing an eyeshade and two pairs of spectacles, came up.
“Now Figby has got a good hold of the theory of fish frying. He can repeat by memory nine hundred and eighty-one ways of cooking hake. Would you like to hear him?”
“No, thank you,” said Uncle hastily, and they passed on.
Just as they were moving, Uncle heard a woman say:
“Look, there’s Edgar in the crab-and-whelk class! Doesn’t he look nice?”
She pointed to a small obstinate-looking boy who was busy writing in an exercise book.
“How’s he getting on?” she asked the teacher.
“Well, ma’am,” replied Will Shudder, “I’m sorry to say he’s not doing too well. He actually brought a real crab to the class the other day, and offered to prepare it for the table. He said it only wanted turning out of its shell. Of course, we couldn’t allow that, and now he’s engaged in writing out a thousand times: ‘Crab cooking is difficult, and takes months of careful study before one can even begin to understand it.’”
Just as he said this, the small boy took the exercise book and threw it on the floor.
“This fish-frying stunt is soft!!” he cried.
The teacher held up his hand in horror.
“Oh, I’m afraid that means expulsion!” he said. “You’d better come over to Professor Gandleweaver. He may give you another chance, but I’m very doubtful!”
“Oh Edgar!” wailed his mother. “After all the trouble we took to get you into the Academy!”
But Uncle stepped in.
“I think, madam,” he said, “that I can give your son a part-time job in my kitchen, say for two hours a day.”
“Oh sir!” said the woman. “This is good of you. Come out of the class at once, Edgar.”
She was all smiles because it’s a grand thing to work for Uncle.
They went on to a huge hall. In the middle of it, before a range, stood Professor Gandleweaver. He was a short stout man with shifty eyes, and he did not look very learned. Yet he must have been, for he had all sorts of diplomas pinned up on the wall behind the range.
In front of him, on a small table, was a single hake.
“Now, good friends,” he exclaimed, in a pompous voice, “you’re going to have a treat. I’m glad to see a bigger crowd than ever today, including the celebrated owner of the castle. I hope you didn’t mind having your pockets turned out at the gate, but the fact is we’ve had some pretty bad cases of fish-stealing lately. A haddock vanished a few days ago, and yesterday a couple of herrings, though dead, managed to swim off!”
This was a joke, and was greeted with roars of laughter.
“But,” continued Gandleweaver, “it’s no laughing matter. Fish is dear. The expense of carrying on the Academy is heavy, and the cost of frying is always rising. However, you have come to see a bit of first-class frying, and I promise you you shall not be disappointed!”
He was just flourishing his pan before greasing it, when the cat Goodman darted upon the hake, and dashed out of the room with it.
Gandleweaver turned to Uncle with a furious look.
“You are a scoundrel, sir,” he said. “You brought your cat here purposely to steal fish!”
Uncle waved his trunk in silence.
There was a howl of rage from the crowd. They clearly didn’t believe him. But Uncle waved for silence once again and continued:
“However, in order that you may suffer no loss, I will send you—” He shouted the next words:
“10 stone best hake,
7 stone plaice,
100 first-grade crabs
and 20 cod-fish.
“I think, after this,” added Uncle, mildly but impressively, “that everyone will be satisfied.”
Gandleweaver came forward all smiles, but Uncle turned haughtily away.
“I may say,” he said, in tones of ice, “I shall take my own measures with my cat, but I am not altogether satisfied with conditions here!”
The crowd began to hiss, and, as Uncle didn’t want a row, he decided to withdraw and take action later.
The moment he and his party got out of the crowd, they were forgotten. The Professor had started frying a conger eel in an enormous pan, and this is one of his star turns; and nobody thinks about anything else when he does it.
Goodman was waiting outside the door of the Academy. As soon as he saw Uncle, he brought the hake and laid it at his feet in spite of screams of rage from the woman at the entrance.
“Be silent, madam,” said Uncle. “I must remind you that this is my castle.”
“Excuse my taking this fish, sir,” said Goodman, “but that old Gandleweaver is a liar. Did you notice the pan of stale batter he was using? And his pockets were bulging with money. I never like a chap whose eyes are like a rat’s. Now I’ve had a lot to do with rats—”
“Shut up,” said Uncle. “You let me down by your conduct, and I’ve half a mind to punish you severely.”