Kitabı oku: «More about Mary Poppins / И снова о Мэри Поппинз», sayfa 2
Laughing Gas*
“Are you quite sure he will be at home?” said Jane, as they got off the Bus, she and Michael and Mary Poppins.
“Would my Uncle ask me to bring you to tea if he intended to go out, I’d like to know?” said Mary Poppins, who was evidently very offended by the question. She was wearing her blue coat with the silver buttons and the blue hat to match, and on the days when she wore these it was the easiest thing in the world to offend her.
All three of them were on the way to pay a visit to Mary Poppins’s uncle, Mr Wigg,* and Jane and Michael had looked forward to the trip for so long that they were more than half afraid that Mr Wigg might not be in, after all.
“Why is he called Mr Wigg – does he wear one?” asked Michael, hurrying along beside Mary Poppins.
“He is called Mr Wigg because Mr Wigg is his name. And he doesn’t wear one. He is bald,” said Mary Poppins. “And if I have any more questions we will just go Back Home.” And she sniffed her usual sniff of displeasure.
Jane and Michael looked at each other and frowned. And the frown meant: “Don’t let’s ask her anything else or we’ll never get there.”
Mary Poppins put her hat straight at the Tobacconist’s Shop at the corner. It had one of those curious windows where there seem to be three of you instead of one, so that if you look long enough at them you begin to feel you are not yourself but a whole crowd of somebody else. Mary Poppins sighed with pleasure, however, when she saw three of herself, each wearing a blue coat with silver buttons and a blue hat to match. She thought it was such a lovely sight that she wished there had been a dozen of her or even thirty. The more Mary Poppins the better.
“Come along,” she said sternly, as though they had kept her waiting. Then they turned the corner and pulled the bell of Number Three, Robertson Road. Jane and Michael could hear it faintly echoing from a long way away and they knew that in one minute, or two at the most, they would be having tea with Mary Poppins’s uncle, Mr Wigg, for the first time ever.
“If he’s in, of course,” Jane said to Michael in a whisper.
At that moment the door flew open and a thin, watery-looking lady appeared.
“Is he in?” said Michael quickly.
“I’ll thank you,” said Mary Poppins, giving him a terrible glance, “to let me do the talking.”
“How do you do, Mrs Wigg,” said Jane politely.
“Mrs Wigg!” said the thin lady, in a voice even thinner that herself. “How dare you call me Mrs Wigg? No, thank you! I’m plain Miss Persimmon and proud of it. Mrs Wigg indeed!” She seemed to be quite upset, and they thought Mr Wigg must be a very odd person if Miss Persimmon was so glad not to be Mrs Wigg.
“Straight up and first door on the landing,” said Miss Persimmon, and she went hurrying away down the passage saying: “Mrs Wigg indeed!” to herself in a high, thin, outraged voice.
Jane and Michael followed Mary Poppins upstairs. Mary Poppins knocked at the door.
“Come in! Come in! And welcome!” called a loud, cheery voice from inside. Jane’s heart was pitter-pattering* with excitement.
“He is in!” she signalled to Michael with a look.
Mary Poppins opened the door and pushed them in front of her. A large cheerful room lay before them. At one end of it a fire was burning brightly and in the centre stood an enormous table laid for tea – four cups and saucers, piles of bread and butter, crumpets*, coconut cakes* and a large plum cake* with pink icing*.
“Well, this is indeed a Pleasure,” a huge voice greeted them, and Jane and Michael looked round for its owner. He was nowhere to be seen. The room appeared to be quite empty. Then they heard Mary Poppins saying crossly,
“Oh, Uncle Albert – not again? It’s not your birthday, is it?”
And as she spoke she looked up at the ceiling. Jane and Michael looked up too and to their surprise saw a round, fat, bald man who was hanging in the air without holding on to anything. Indeed, he appeared to be sitting on the air, for his legs were crossed and he had just put down the newspaper which he had been reading when they came in.
“My dear,” said Mr Wigg, smiling down at the children, and looking apologetically at Mary Poppins, “I’m very sorry, but I’m afraid it is my birthday.”
“Tch, tch, tch!” said Mary Poppins.
“I only remembered last night and there was no time then to send you a postcard asking you to come another day. Very distressing, isn’t it?” he said, looking down at Jane and Michael.
“I can see you’re rather surprised,” said Mr Wigg. And, indeed, their mouths were so wide open with astonishment that Mr Wigg, if he had been a little smaller, might almost have fallen into one of them.
“I’d better explain, I think,” Mr Wigg went on calmly. “You see, it’s this way. I’m a cheerful sort of man and very disposed to laughter. You wouldn’t believe, either of you, the number of things that strike me as being funny. I can laugh at pretty nearly everything, I can.”
And with that Mr Wigg began to bob up and down, shaking with laughter at the thought of his own cheerfulness.
“Uncle Albert!” said Mary Poppins, and Mr Wigg stopped laughing with a jerk.
“Oh, beg pardon, my dear. Where was I? Oh, yes. Well, the funny thing about me is – all right, Mary, I won’t laugh if I can help it*! – that whenever my birthday falls on a Friday, well, it’s all up with me. Absolutely U.P.,*” said Mr Wigg.
“But why —?” began Jane.
“But how —?” began Michael.
“Well, you see, if I laugh on that particular day I become so filled with Laughing Gas that I simply can’t keep on the ground. Even if I smile it happens. The first funny thought, and I’m up like a balloon. And until I can think of something serious I can’t get down again.” Mr Wigg began to chuckle at that, but he caught sight of Mary Poppins’s face and stopped the chuckle, and continued, “It’s awkward, of course, but not unpleasant. Never happens to either of you, I suppose?”
Jane and Michael shook their heads.
“No, I thought not. It seems to be my own special habit. Once, after I’d been to the Circus the night before, I laughed so much that – would you believe it? – I was up here for a whole twelve hours, and couldn’t get down till the last stroke of midnight. Then, of course, I came down with a flop because it was Saturday and not my birthday any more. It’s rather odd, isn’t it? Not to say funny?
“And now here it is Friday again and my birthday, and you two and Mary P.* to visit me. Oh, Lordy, Lordy,* don’t make me laugh, I beg of you – ” But although Jane and Michael had done nothing very amusing, except to stare at him in astonishment, Mr Wigg began to laugh again loudly, and as he laughed he went bouncing and bobbing about in the air, with the newspaper rattling in his hand and his spectacles half on and half off his nose.
He looked so comic, floundering in the air like a great human bubble, clutching at the ceiling sometimes and sometimes at the gas-bracket* as he passed it, that Jane and Michael, though they were trying hard to be polite, just couldn’t help doing what they did. They laughed. And they laughed. They shut their mouths tight to prevent the laughter escaping, but that didn’t do any good. And presently they were rolling over and over on the floor, squealing and shrieking with laughter.
“Really!” said Mary Poppins. “Really, such behaviour!”
“I can’t help it, I can’t help it!” shrieked Michael as he rolled into the fender. “It’s so terribly funny. Oh, Jane, isn’t it funny?”
Jane did not reply, for a curious thing was happening to her. As she laughed she felt herself growing lighter and lighter, just as though she were being pumped full of air. It was a curious and delicious feeling and it made her want to laugh all the more. And then suddenly, with a bouncing bound, she felt herself jumping through the air. Michael, to his astonishment, saw her go soaring up through the room. With a little bump her head touched the ceiling and then she went bouncing along it till she reached Mr Wigg.
“Well!” said Mr Wigg, looking very surprised indeed. “Don’t tell me it’s your birthday, too?” Jane shook her head.
“It’s not? Then this Laughing Gas must be catching*! Hi* – whoa* there, look out for* the mantelpiece!” This was to Michael, who had suddenly risen from the floor and was swooping through the air, roaring with laughter, and just grazing the china ornaments on the mantelpiece as he passed. He landed with a bounce right on Mr Wigg’s knee.
“How do you do,” said Mr Wigg, heartily shaking Michael by the hand. “I call this really friendly of you – bless my soul, I do! To come up to me since I couldn’t come down to you – eh?” And then he and Michael looked at each other and flung back their heads and simply howled with laughter.
“I say,” said Mr Wigg to Jane, as he wiped his eyes. “You’ll be thinking I have the worst manners in the world. You’re standing and you ought to be sitting – a nice young lady like you. I’m afraid I can’t offer you a chair up here, but I think you’ll find the air quite comfortable to sit on. I do.”
Jane tried it and found she could sit down quite comfortably on the air. She took off her hat and laid it down beside her and it hung there in space without any support at all.
“That’s right,” said Mr Wigg. Then he turned and looked down at Mary Poppins.
“Well, Mary, we’re fixed. And now I can enquire about you, my dear. I must say, I am very glad to welcome you and my two young friends here today – why, Mary, you’re frowning. I’m afraid you don’t approve of – er – all this.”
He waved his hand at Jane and Michael, and said hurriedly:
“I apologise, Mary, my dear. But you know how it is with me. Still, I must say I never thought my two young friends here would catch it, really I didn’t, Mary! I suppose I should have asked them for another day or tried to think of something sad or something – ”
“Well, I must say,” said Mary Poppins primly, “that I have never in my life seen such a sight. And at your age, Uncle – ”
“Mary Poppins, Mary Poppins, do come up!” interrupted Michael. “Think of something funny and you’ll find it’s quite easy.*”
“Ah, now do, Mary!” said Mr Wigg persuasively.
“We’re lonely up here without you!” said Jane, and held out her arms towards Mary Poppins. “Do think of something funny!”
“Ah, she doesn’t need to,” said Mr Wigg sighing. “She can come up if she wants to, even without laughing – and she knows it.” And he looked mysteriously and secretly at Mary Poppins as she stood down there on the hearth-rug.
“Well,” said Mary Poppins, “it’s all very silly and undignified, but, since you’re all up there and don’t seem able to get down, I suppose I’d better come up, too.”
With that, to the surprise of Jane and Michael, she put her hands down at her sides and without a laugh, without even the faintest glimmer of a smile, she shot up through the air and sat down beside Jane.
“How many times, I should like to know,” she said snappily, “have I told you to take off your coat when you come into a hot room?” And she unbuttoned Jane’s coat and laid it neatly on the air beside the hat.
“That’s right, Mary, that’s right,” said Mr Wigg contentedly, as he leant down and put his spectacles on the mantelpiece. “Now we’re all comfortable – ”
“There’s comfort and comfort,*” sniffed Mary Poppins.
“And we can have tea,” Mr Wigg went on, apparently not noticing her remark. And then a startled look came over his face.
“My goodness!” he said. “How dreadful! I’ve just realised – that table’s down there and we’re up here. What are we going to do? We’re here and it’s there. It’s an awful tragedy – awful! But oh, it’s terribly comic!” And he hid his face in his handkerchief and laughed loudly into it. Jane and Michael, though they did not want to miss the crumpets and the cakes, couldn’t help laughing too, because Mr Wigg’s mirth* was so infectious.
Mr Wigg dried his eyes.
“There’s only one thing for it,” he said. “We must think of something serious. Something sad, very sad. And then we shall be able to get down. Now – one, two, three! Something very sad, mind you!”
They thought and thought, with their chins on their hands.
Michael thought of school, and that one day he would have to go there. But even that seemed funny today and he had to laugh.
Jane thought: “I shall be grown up in another fourteen years*!” But that didn’t sound sad at all but quite nice and rather funny. She could not help smiling at the thought of herself grown up, with long skirts and a hand-bag.
“There was my poor old Aunt Emily,” thought Mr Wigg out loud. “She was run over by an omnibus. Sad. Very sad. Unbearably sad. Poor Aunt Emily. But they saved her umbrella. That was funny, wasn’t it?” And before he knew where he was, he was heaving and trembling and bursting with laughter at the thought of Aunt Emily’s umbrella.
“It’s no good,” he said, blowing his nose. “I give it up. And my young friends here seem to be no better at sadness than I am. Mary, can’t you do something?* We want our tea.”
To this day Jane and Michael cannot be sure of what happened then. All they know for certain is that, as soon as Mr Wigg had appealed to Mary Poppins, the table below began to wriggle on its legs. Presently it was swaying dangerously, and then with a rattle of china and with cakes lurching off their plates on to the cloth, the table came soaring through the room, gave one graceful turn, and landed beside them so that Mr Wigg was at its head.
“Good girl!” said Mr Wigg, smiling proudly upon her. “I knew you’d fix* something. Now, will you take the foot of the table and pour out, Mary? And the guests on either side of me. That’s the idea,” he said, as Michael ran bobbing through the air and sat down on Mr Wigg’s right. Jane was at his left hand. There they were, all together, up in the air and the table between them. Not a single piece of bread-and-butter or a lump of sugar had been left behind.
Mr Wigg smiled contentedly.
“It is usual, I think, to begin with bread-and-butter,” he said to Jane and Michael, “but as it’s my birthday we will begin the wrong way – which I always think is the right way – with the Cake!”
And he cut a large slice for everybody.
“More tea?” he said to Jane. But before she had time to reply there was a quick, sharp knock at the door.
“Come in!” called Mr Wigg.
The door opened, and there stood Miss Persimmon with a jug of hot water on a tray.
“I thought, Mr Wigg,” she began, looking searchingly round the room, “you’d be wanting some more hot – Well, I never!* I simply never!” she said, as she caught sight of them all seated on the air round the table. “Such goings on I never did see.* In all my born days I never saw such. I’m sure, Mr Wigg, I always knew you were a bit odd. But I’ve closed my eyes to it – being as how* you paid your rent regular. But such behaviour as this – having tea in the air with your guests – Mr Wigg, sir, I’m astonished at you! It’s that undignified, and for a gentleman of your age – I never did – ”
“But perhaps you will, Miss Persimmon!” said Michael.
“Will what?” said Miss Persimmon haughtily.
“Catch the Laughing Gas, as we did,” said Michael.
Miss Persimmon flung back her head scornfully.
“I hope, young man,” she retorted, “I have more respect for myself than to go bouncing about in the air like a rubber ball on the end of a bat. I’ll stay on my own feet, thank you, or my name’s not Amy Persimmon, and – oh dear, oh dear, my goodness, oh DEAR – what is the matter? I can’t walk, I’m going, I – oh, help, HELP!”
For Miss Persimmon, quite against her will, was off the ground and was stumbling through the air, rolling from side to side like a very thin barrel, balancing the tray in her hand. She was almost weeping with distress as she arrived at the table and put down her jug of hot water.
“Thank you,” said Mary Poppins in a calm, very polite voice.
Then Miss Persimmon turned and went wafting* down again, murmuring as she went: “So undignified – and me a well-behaved, steady-going woman. I must see a doctor – ”
When she touched the floor she ran hurriedly out of the room, wringing her hands, and not giving a single glance backwards.
“So undignified!” they heard her moaning as she shut the door behind her.
“Her name can’t be Amy Persimmon, because she didn’t stay on her own feet!” whispered Jane to Michael.
But Mr Wigg was looking at Mary Poppins – a curious look, half-amused, half-accusing.
“Mary, Mary, you shouldn’t – bless my soul, you shouldn’t, Mary. The poor old body will never get over it. But, oh, my Goodness, didn’t she look funny waddling* through the air – my Gracious Goodness, but didn’t she?”
And he and Jane and Michael were off again, rolling about the air, clutching their sides and gasping with laughter at the thought of how funny Miss Persimmon had looked.
“Oh dear!” said Michael. “Don’t make me laugh any more. I can’t stand it! I shall break!”
“Oh, oh, oh!” cried Jane, as she gasped for breath, with her hand over her heart. “Oh, my Gracious, Glorious, Galumphing Goodness!*” roared Mr Wigg, dabbing his eyes with the tail of his coat because he couldn’t find his handkerchief.
“IT IS TIME TO GO HOME.” Mary Poppins’s voice sounded above the roars of laughter like a trumpet.
And suddenly, with a rush, Jane and Michael and Mr Wigg came down. They landed on the floor with a huge bump, all together. The thought that they would have to go home was the first sad thought of the afternoon, and the moment it was in their minds the Laughing Gas went out of them.
Jane and Michael sighed as they watched Mary Poppins come slowly down the air, carrying Jane’s coat and hat.
Mr Wigg sighed, too. A great, long, heavy sigh.
“Well, isn’t that a pity?” he said soberly. “It’s very sad that you’ve got to go home. I never enjoyed an afternoon so much – did you?”
“Never,” said Michael sadly, feeling how dull it was to be down on the earth again with no Laughing Gas inside him.
“Never, never,” said Jane, as she stood on tiptoe and kissed Mr Wigg’s withered-apple cheeks. “Never, never, never, never…!”
* * *
They sat on either side of Mary Poppins going home in the Bus. They were both very quiet, thinking over the lovely afternoon. Presently Michael said sleepily to Mary Poppins,
“How often does your Uncle get like that?”
“Like what?” said Mary Poppins sharply, as though Michael had deliberately said something to offend her.
“Well – all bouncy and boundy and laughing and going up in the air.”
“Up in the air?” Mary Poppins’s voice was high and angry. “What do you mean, pray, up in the air?”
Jane tried to explain.
“Michael means – is your Uncle often full of Laughing Gas, and does he often go rolling and bobbing about on the ceiling when – ”
“Rolling and bobbing! What an idea! Rolling and bobbing on the ceiling! You’ll be telling me next he’s a balloon!” Mary Poppins gave an offended sniff.
“But he did!” said Michael. “We saw him.”
“What, roll and bob? How dare you! I’ll have you know that my uncle is a sober, honest, hardworking man, and you’ll be kind enough to speak of him respectfully. And don’t bite your Bus ticket! Roll and bob, indeed – the idea!”
Michael and Jane looked across Mary Poppins at each other. They said nothing, for they had learnt that it was better not to argue with Mary Poppins, no matter how odd anything seemed.
But the look that passed between them said: “Is it true or isn’t it? About Mr Wigg. Is Mary Poppins right or are we?”
But there was nobody to give them the right answer.
The Bus roared on, wildly lurching and bounding.
Mary Poppins sat between them, offended and silent, and presently, because they were very tired, they crept closer to her and leant up against her sides and fell asleep, still wondering…
Miss Lark’s Andrew
Miss Lark lived Next Door.
But before we go any further I must tell you what Next Door looked like. It was a very grand house, by far the grandest in Cherry-Tree Lane. Even Admiral Boom had been known to envy Miss Lark her wonderful house, though his own had ship’s funnels instead of chimneys and a flagstaff in the front garden. Over and over again the inhabitants of the Lane heard him say, as he rolled past Miss Lark’s mansion: “Blast my gizzard!* What does she want with a house like that?”
And the reason of Admiral Boom’s jealousy was that Miss Lark had two gates. One was for Miss Lark’s friends and relations, and the other for the Butcher and the Baker and the Milkman.
Once the Baker made a mistake and came in through the gate reserved for the friends and relations, and Miss Lark was so angry that she said she wouldn’t have any more bread ever.
But in the end she had to forgive the Baker because he was the only one in the neighbourhood who made those little flat rolls with the curly twists of crust on the top. She never really liked him very much after that, however, and when he came he pulled his hat far down over his eyes so that Miss Lark might think he was somebody else. But she never did.
Jane and Michael always knew when Miss Lark was in the garden or coming along the Lane, because she wore so many brooches and necklaces and earrings that she jingled and jangled just like a brass band. And, whenever she met them, she always said the same thing,
“Good-morning!” (or “Good-afternoon!” if it happened to be after luncheon), “and how are we today?”
And Jane and Michael were never quite sure whether Miss Lark was asking how they were, or how she and Andrew were.
So they just replied, “Good-afternoon!” (or, of course, “Good-morning!” if it was before luncheon).
All day long, no matter where the children were, they could hear Miss Lark calling, in a very loud voice, things like:
“Andrew, where are you?” or
“Andrew, you mustn’t go out without your overcoat!” or
“Andrew, come to Mother!”
And, if you didn’t know, you would think that Andrew must be a little boy. Indeed, Jane thought that Miss Lark thought that Andrew was a little boy. But Andrew wasn’t. He was a dog – one of those small, silky, fluffy dogs that look like a fur necklet, until they begin to bark. But, of course, when they do that you know that they’re dogs. No fur necklet ever made a noise like that.
Now, Andrew led such a luxurious life that you might have thought he was the Shah of Persia in disguise. He slept on a silk pillow in Miss Lark’s room; he went by car to the Hairdresser’s twice a week to be shampooed; he had cream for every meal and sometimes oysters, and he possessed four overcoats with checks and stripes in different colours. Andrew’s ordinary days were filled with the kind of things most people have only on birthdays. And when Andrew himself had a birthday he had two candles on his cake for every year, instead of only one.
The effect of all this was to make Andrew very much disliked in the neighbourhood. People used to laugh heartily when they saw Andrew sitting up in the back seat of Miss Lark’s car on the way to the Hairdresser’s, with the fur rug over his knees and his best coat on. And on the day when Miss Lark bought him two pairs of small leather boots so that he could go out in the Park wet or fine*, everybody in the Lane came down to their front gates to watch him go by and to smile secretly behind their hands.
“Pooh!” said Michael, as they were watching Andrew one day through the fence that separated Number Seventeen from Next Door. “Pooh, he’s a ninkypoop*!”
“How do you know?” asked Jane, very interested.
“I know because I heard Daddy call him one this morning!” said Michael, and he laughed at Andrew very rudely.
“He is not a nincompoop,” said Mary Poppins. “And that is that.*”
And Mary Poppins was right. Andrew wasn’t a nincompoop, as you will very soon see.
You must not think he did not respect Miss Lark. He did. He was even fond of her in a mild sort of way. He couldn’t help having a kindly feeling for somebody who had been so good to him ever since he was a puppy, even if she did kiss him rather too often. But there was no doubt about it that the life Andrew led bored him to distraction. He would have given half his fortune, if he had one, for a nice piece of raw, red meat, instead of the usual breast of chicken or scrambled eggs with asparagus.
For in his secret, innermost heart, Andrew longed to be a common dog. He never passed his pedigree* (which hung on the wall in Miss Lark’s drawing-room) without a shudder of shame. And many a time he wished he’d never had a father, nor a grandfather, nor a great-grandfather, if Miss Lark was going to make such a fuss of it.
It was this desire of his to be a common dog that made Andrew choose common dogs for his friends. And whenever he got the chance, he would run down to the front gate and sit there watching for them, so that he could exchange a few common remarks. But Miss Lark, when she discovered him, would be sure to call out:
“Andrew, Andrew, come in, my darling! Come away from those dreadful street arabs*!”
And of course Andrew would have to come in, or Miss Lark would shame him by coming out and bringing him in. And Andrew would blush and hurry up the steps so that his friends should not hear her calling him her Precious, her Joy, her Little Lump of Sugar.
Andrew’s most special friend was more than common, he was a Byword*. He was half an Airedale and half a Retriever and the worst half of both. Whenever there was a fight in the road he would be sure to be in the thick* of it; he was always getting into trouble with the Postman or the Policeman, and there was nothing he loved better than sniffing about in drains or garbage tins. He was, in fact, the talk of the whole street, and more than one person had been heard to say thankfully that they were glad he was not their dog.
But Andrew loved him and was continually on the watch for him. Sometimes they had only time to exchange a sniff* in the Park, but on luckier occasions – though these were very rare – they would have long talks at the gate. From his friend, Andrew heard all the town gossip, and you could see by the rude way in which the other dog laughed as he told it, that it wasn’t very complimentary.
Then suddenly Miss Lark’s voice would be heard calling from a window, and the other dog would get up, loll out his tongue at Miss Lark, wink at Andrew and wander off, waving his hindquarters as he went just to show that he didn’t care.
Andrew, of course, was never allowed outside the gate unless he went with Miss Lark for a walk in the Park, or with one of the maids to have his toes manicured.
Imagine, then, the surprise of Jane and Michael when they saw Andrew, all alone, careering past* them through the Park, with his ears back and his tail up as though he were on the track of a tiger.
Mary Poppins pulled the perambulator up with a jerk, in case Andrew, in his wild flight, should upset it and the Twins. And Jane and Michael screamed at him as he passed.
“Hi, Andrew! Where’s your overcoat?” cried Michael, trying to make a high, windy voice like Miss Lark’s.
“Andrew, you naughty little boy!” said Jane, and her voice, because she was a girl, was much more like Miss Lark’s.
But Andrew just looked at them both very haughtily and barked sharply in the direction of Mary Poppins.
“Yap-yap!” said Andrew several times very quickly.
“Let me see. I think it’s the first on your right and second house on the left-hand side,” said Mary Poppins.
“Yap?” said Andrew.
“No – no garden. Only a back-yard. Gate’s usually open.”
Andrew barked again.
“I’m not sure,” said Mary Poppins. “But I should think so. Generally goes home at tea-time.”
Andrew flung back his head and set off again at a gallop.
Jane’s eyes and Michael’s were round as saucers with surprise.
“What was he saying?” they demanded breathlessly, both together.
“Just passing the time of day!*” said Mary Poppins, and shut her mouth tightly as though she did not intend any more words to escape from it. John and Barbara gurgled from their perambulator.
“He wasn’t!” said Michael.
“He couldn’t have been!” said Jane.
“Well, you know best, of course. As usual,” said Mary Poppins haughtily.
“He must have been asking you where somebody lived, I’m sure he must – ” Michael began.
“Well, if you know, why bother to ask me?” said Mary Poppins sniffing. “I’m no dictionary.”
“Oh, Michael,” said Jane, “she’ll never tell us if you talk like that. Mary Poppins, do say what Andrew was saying to you, please.”
“Ask him. He knows – Mr Know-All*!” said Mary Poppins, nodding her head scornfully at Michael.
“Oh no, I don’t. I promise I don’t, Mary Poppins. Do tell.”
“Half-past three. Tea-time,” said Mary Poppins, and she wheeled the perambulator round and shut her mouth tight again as though it were a trap-door. She did not say another word all the way home.
Jane dropped behind with Michael.
“It’s your fault!” she said. “Now we’ll never know.”
“I don’t care!*” said Michael, and he began to push his scooter very quickly. “I don’t want to know.”
But he did want to know very badly indeed. And, as it turned out, he and Jane and everybody else knew all about it before tea-time.
Just as they were about to cross the road to their own house, they heard loud cries coming from Next Door, and there they saw a curious sight. Miss Lark’s two maids were rushing wildly about the garden, looking under bushes and up into the trees as people do who have lost their most valuable possession. And there was Robertson Ay, from Number Seventeen, busily wasting his time by poking at the gravel on Miss Lark’s path with a broom as though he expected to find the missing treasure under a pebble. Miss Lark herself was running about in her garden, waving her arms and calling: “Andrew, Andrew! Oh, he’s lost. My darling boy is lost! We must send for the Police. I must see the Prime Minister. Andrew is lost! Oh dear! oh dear!”
“Oh, poor Miss Lark!” said Jane, hurrying across the road. She could not help feeling sorry because Miss Lark looked so upset.
But it was Michael who really comforted Miss Lark. Just as he was going in at the gate of Number Seventeen, he looked down the Lane and there he saw —
“Why, there’s Andrew, Miss Lark. See,* down there – just turning Admiral Boom’s corner!”
“Where, where? Show me!” said Miss Lark breathlessly, and she peered in the direction in which Michael was pointing.
