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Authors: Enid Blyton
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to the
Village Hall some time," said Fatty. "You can help me with that. I
wonder how your uncle will get on with Smith and Harris. It's possible that
Smith may be the man mentioned in the notes. Well, we shall soon know."
Mr. Goon was not getting on very well in his afternoon's work. In
fact, he was having rather a bad time. He had arrived at the Nursery in a bad
temper, owing to Em's failure to spot the messenger who brought the last
anonymous note. He rode in at the gate at top speed and almost knocked down a
man coming up the path wheeling a barrow.
"Look where you're going!" shouted the man, as a
flower-pot crashed to the ground. Goon dismounted, and spoke in
his most official manner.
"[ want to see Smith and Harris."
"Well, you're speaking to half of them," said the man,
setting the barrow legs down on the path. "I'm Harris. What do you want?
I've got a licence for my dog, and one for my radio, and one for my van, and
..."
"I haven't come about licences," said Goon, with a
feeling that the man was making fun of him. "I want to see Mr.
Smith."
"Oh now—that's rather difficult," said Mr. Harris,
rubbing his chin, and making a rasping noise as he did so. "Yes, rather
difficult."
"Is he in the house?" said Mr. Goon, impatiently.
"Or out in the nursery gardens?"
"No, no. You won't find him there," said Mr. Harris, who
had taken a real dislike to the bumptious policeman. "I couldn't rightly
put my finger on him at the moment."
"Well, I must see him," said Goon. "It's
important. Don't put me off, please. Take me to him."
"Oh, I haven't time to do that," said Mr. Harris.
"It's too far to take you when I'm busy, like. I've only one man working
for me, and time's precious."
Mr. Goon began to feel exasperated. Where was this elusive Mr.
Smith? He decided to put a leading question.
"Is Mr. Smith his real name?" he asked, bluntly. Mr.
Harris looked very startled indeed. He stared at Mr. Goon and rasped his rough
chin again.
"Far as I know it is," he said. "Known him all my
life I have, and he always went by the name of Smith, since he was a tiddler. You
being funny?"
"No," said Mr. Goon, shortly, disappointed to hear that
Smith's name was apparently correct. "Er—can you tell me if this place was
ever called 'The Ivies'?"
"And why for should it be?" demanded Mr. Harris.
"It was Haylings Nursery when I bought it, and Hay-lings Nursery afore
that, and probably Haylings Nur sery
afore you were born, Mr. Nosey Policeman. What's this about The Ivies?"
"Well—you've got ivy growing up the wall," said Mr.
Goon, beginning to feel very foolish, and wishing he had looked up how old the
Haylings Nursery was. "Now please—I want you to show me where Mr. Smith
is."
"All right. Seeing as you insist," said Mr. Harris, and
leaving his barrow on the path, he took Mr. Goon indoors. He led him to a big
round globe of the world, and swung it a little, so that South America came
into view. Mr. Harris then pointed to a town marked there.
"See that place Rio de Janeiro? Well, that's where he
is. Retired there twenty years ago, he did, and I carried on by myself—but I
still keep the old name going—Smith and Harris. You catch the next plane there,
Mister, and ask him if his name's Smith. He won't mind telling you."
And with that he burst into such a roar of laughter that Goon was
almost deafened. Very angry at the joke played on him, the policeman departed,
looking as dignified as he could. But right to the end of the lane he could
hear Mr. Harris's delighted guffaws.
Why hadn't he let that fat boy interview Mr. Harris? It would have
done him good to have that silly joke played on him. Policemen should be
treated with more respect! Mr. Goon was Very Annoyed Indeed.
Fatty comes to a Full Stop.
Mr. Goon never told anyone all that had happened at Haylings
Nursery. When Fatty telephoned him that evening to ask if he had had any
success, Mr. Goon said very little.
"There is no Mr. Smith there now," he said. "He
left
the firm twenty
Village Hall some time," said Fatty. "You can help me with that. I
wonder how your uncle will get on with Smith and Harris. It's possible that
Smith may be the man mentioned in the notes. Well, we shall soon know."
Mr. Goon was not getting on very well in his afternoon's work. In
fact, he was having rather a bad time. He had arrived at the Nursery in a bad
temper, owing to Em's failure to spot the messenger who brought the last
anonymous note. He rode in at the gate at top speed and almost knocked down a
man coming up the path wheeling a barrow.
"Look where you're going!" shouted the man, as a
flower-pot crashed to the ground. Goon dismounted, and spoke in
his most official manner.
"[ want to see Smith and Harris."
"Well, you're speaking to half of them," said the man,
setting the barrow legs down on the path. "I'm Harris. What do you want?
I've got a licence for my dog, and one for my radio, and one for my van, and
..."
"I haven't come about licences," said Goon, with a
feeling that the man was making fun of him. "I want to see Mr.
Smith."
"Oh now—that's rather difficult," said Mr. Harris,
rubbing his chin, and making a rasping noise as he did so. "Yes, rather
difficult."
"Is he in the house?" said Mr. Goon, impatiently.
"Or out in the nursery gardens?"
"No, no. You won't find him there," said Mr. Harris, who
had taken a real dislike to the bumptious policeman. "I couldn't rightly
put my finger on him at the moment."
"Well, I must see him," said Goon. "It's
important. Don't put me off, please. Take me to him."
"Oh, I haven't time to do that," said Mr. Harris.
"It's too far to take you when I'm busy, like. I've only one man working
for me, and time's precious."
Mr. Goon began to feel exasperated. Where was this elusive Mr.
Smith? He decided to put a leading question.
"Is Mr. Smith his real name?" he asked, bluntly. Mr.
Harris looked very startled indeed. He stared at Mr. Goon and rasped his rough
chin again.
"Far as I know it is," he said. "Known him all my
life I have, and he always went by the name of Smith, since he was a tiddler. You
being funny?"
"No," said Mr. Goon, shortly, disappointed to hear that
Smith's name was apparently correct. "Er—can you tell me if this place was
ever called 'The Ivies'?"
"And why for should it be?" demanded Mr. Harris.
"It was Haylings Nursery when I bought it, and Hay-lings Nursery afore
that, and probably Haylings Nur sery
afore you were born, Mr. Nosey Policeman. What's this about The Ivies?"
"Well—you've got ivy growing up the wall," said Mr.
Goon, beginning to feel very foolish, and wishing he had looked up how old the
Haylings Nursery was. "Now please—I want you to show me where Mr. Smith
is."
"All right. Seeing as you insist," said Mr. Harris, and
leaving his barrow on the path, he took Mr. Goon indoors. He led him to a big
round globe of the world, and swung it a little, so that South America came
into view. Mr. Harris then pointed to a town marked there.
"See that place Rio de Janeiro? Well, that's where he
is. Retired there twenty years ago, he did, and I carried on by myself—but I
still keep the old name going—Smith and Harris. You catch the next plane there,
Mister, and ask him if his name's Smith. He won't mind telling you."
And with that he burst into such a roar of laughter that Goon was
almost deafened. Very angry at the joke played on him, the policeman departed,
looking as dignified as he could. But right to the end of the lane he could
hear Mr. Harris's delighted guffaws.
Why hadn't he let that fat boy interview Mr. Harris? It would have
done him good to have that silly joke played on him. Policemen should be
treated with more respect! Mr. Goon was Very Annoyed Indeed.
Fatty comes to a Full Stop.
Mr. Goon never told anyone all that had happened at Haylings
Nursery. When Fatty telephoned him that evening to ask if he had had any
success, Mr. Goon said very little.
"There is no Mr. Smith there now," he said. "He
left
the firm twenty
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