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Authors: Richmal Crompton
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and left it there. He was beginning to feel desperate. Then:
‘What can I do?’ he said bitterly to Ethel, who was still at the window.
‘You’d better find some quiet, improving hobby,’ she said unkindly as she went away.
It is a proof of the utterly broken state of William’s spirit that he did actually begin to think of hobbies, but none of those that occurred to him interested him. Stampcollecting,
pressed flowers, crest-collecting – Ugh!
He set off down the road, his hands in his pockets and his brows drawn into a stern frown. He amused himself by imagining Uncle George in various predicaments, lost on a desert island, captured
by pirates, or carried off by an eagle. Then something in the window of a house he passed caught his eye and he stopped suddenly. It was a stuffed bird under a glass case. Now that was something like a hobby, stuffing dead animals! He wouldn’t mind having that for a hobby. And it was quite quiet. He could do it while Uncle George was resting. And it must be quite easy. The
first thing to do of course was to find a dead animal. Any old thing would do to begin on. A dead cat or dog. He would do bigger ones like bears and lions later on. He spent nearly an hour in a
fruitless search for a dead cat or dog. He searched the ditches on both sides of the road and several gardens. He began to have a distinct sense of grievance against the race of cats and dogs in
general for not dying in his vicinity. At the end of the hour he found a small dead frog. It was very dry and shrivelled, but it was certainly a dead frog and would do to begin on. He took
it home in his pocket. He wondered what they did first in stuffing dead animals. He’d heard something about ‘tannin" them. But what was ‘tannin’,’ and how did one get
it? Then he remembered suddenly having heard Ethel talk about the ‘tannin’’ in tea. So that was all right. The first thing to do was to get some tea. He went to the
drawing-room. It was empty, but upon the table near the fire was a tea tray and two cups. Evidently his mother and sister had just had tea there. He put the frog at the bottom of a cup and
carefully filled the cup with tea from the teapot. Then he left it to soak and went out into the garden.
A few minutes later William’s mother entered the drawing-room.
Uncle George had finished resting and was standing by the mantelpiece with a cup in his hand.
‘I see you poured out my tea for me,’ he said. ‘But rather a curious taste. Doubtless you boil the milk now. Safer, of course. Much safer. But it imparts a curious
flavour.’
He took another sip.
‘But – I didn’t pour out your tea—’ began Mrs Brown.
Here William entered. He looked quickly at the table.
‘Who’s meddlin’ with my frog?’ he said angrily. ‘It’s my hobby, an’ I‘M stuffin’ frogs an’ someone’s been an’ took my
frog. I left it on the table.’
‘On the table?’ said his mother.
‘Yes. In a cup of tea. Gettin’ tannin’. You know. For stuffin’. I was puttin’ him in tannin’ first. I—’
Uncle George grew pale. In frozen silence he put a spoon into his cup and investigated the contents. In still more frozen silence Mrs Brown and William watched. That moment held all the
cumulative horror of a Greek tragedy. Then Uncle George put down his cup and went silently from the room. On his face was the expression of one who is going to look up the first train home. Fate
had sent him a buffet he could not endure with equanimity, a misfortune at which he could not smile, and Fate had avenged William for much.
IN FROZEN SILENCE UNCLE GEORGE PUT A SPOON INTO HIS CUP AND INVESTIGATED THE CONTENTS. IN STILL MORE FROZEN SILENCE MRS BROWN AND WILLIAM WATCHED.
CHAPTER 6
THE RIVALS
W illiam was aware of a vague feeling of apprehension when he heard that Joan Clive, the little girl who lived next door, was having a strange
cousin to stay for three weeks. All his life, William had accepted
‘What can I do?’ he said bitterly to Ethel, who was still at the window.
‘You’d better find some quiet, improving hobby,’ she said unkindly as she went away.
It is a proof of the utterly broken state of William’s spirit that he did actually begin to think of hobbies, but none of those that occurred to him interested him. Stampcollecting,
pressed flowers, crest-collecting – Ugh!
He set off down the road, his hands in his pockets and his brows drawn into a stern frown. He amused himself by imagining Uncle George in various predicaments, lost on a desert island, captured
by pirates, or carried off by an eagle. Then something in the window of a house he passed caught his eye and he stopped suddenly. It was a stuffed bird under a glass case. Now that was something like a hobby, stuffing dead animals! He wouldn’t mind having that for a hobby. And it was quite quiet. He could do it while Uncle George was resting. And it must be quite easy. The
first thing to do of course was to find a dead animal. Any old thing would do to begin on. A dead cat or dog. He would do bigger ones like bears and lions later on. He spent nearly an hour in a
fruitless search for a dead cat or dog. He searched the ditches on both sides of the road and several gardens. He began to have a distinct sense of grievance against the race of cats and dogs in
general for not dying in his vicinity. At the end of the hour he found a small dead frog. It was very dry and shrivelled, but it was certainly a dead frog and would do to begin on. He took
it home in his pocket. He wondered what they did first in stuffing dead animals. He’d heard something about ‘tannin" them. But what was ‘tannin’,’ and how did one get
it? Then he remembered suddenly having heard Ethel talk about the ‘tannin’’ in tea. So that was all right. The first thing to do was to get some tea. He went to the
drawing-room. It was empty, but upon the table near the fire was a tea tray and two cups. Evidently his mother and sister had just had tea there. He put the frog at the bottom of a cup and
carefully filled the cup with tea from the teapot. Then he left it to soak and went out into the garden.
A few minutes later William’s mother entered the drawing-room.
Uncle George had finished resting and was standing by the mantelpiece with a cup in his hand.
‘I see you poured out my tea for me,’ he said. ‘But rather a curious taste. Doubtless you boil the milk now. Safer, of course. Much safer. But it imparts a curious
flavour.’
He took another sip.
‘But – I didn’t pour out your tea—’ began Mrs Brown.
Here William entered. He looked quickly at the table.
‘Who’s meddlin’ with my frog?’ he said angrily. ‘It’s my hobby, an’ I‘M stuffin’ frogs an’ someone’s been an’ took my
frog. I left it on the table.’
‘On the table?’ said his mother.
‘Yes. In a cup of tea. Gettin’ tannin’. You know. For stuffin’. I was puttin’ him in tannin’ first. I—’
Uncle George grew pale. In frozen silence he put a spoon into his cup and investigated the contents. In still more frozen silence Mrs Brown and William watched. That moment held all the
cumulative horror of a Greek tragedy. Then Uncle George put down his cup and went silently from the room. On his face was the expression of one who is going to look up the first train home. Fate
had sent him a buffet he could not endure with equanimity, a misfortune at which he could not smile, and Fate had avenged William for much.
IN FROZEN SILENCE UNCLE GEORGE PUT A SPOON INTO HIS CUP AND INVESTIGATED THE CONTENTS. IN STILL MORE FROZEN SILENCE MRS BROWN AND WILLIAM WATCHED.
CHAPTER 6
THE RIVALS
W illiam was aware of a vague feeling of apprehension when he heard that Joan Clive, the little girl who lived next door, was having a strange
cousin to stay for three weeks. All his life, William had accepted
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