Read Online The Exploits of Moominpappa (Moominpappa's Memoirs) by Tove Jansson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Tove Jansson
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shelf. After a while he returned and laid a glistening white shark's tooth on Snufkin's bed.
'It's yours,' he said. 'Your daddy used to admire it.'
'What a good taste he had. Thanks a lot!' Snufkin said. He was happy again.
'What became of the other lottery prizes?' asked Sniff. 'The meerschaum tram's under the drawing-room pier-glass, but what about the others?'
'Well, we never had any champagne,' Moominpappa thoughtfully replied. 'So I expect the whisk is still somewhere at the back of the kitchen drawer. And the smoked-ring evaporated in a few years...'
'But the organ-grinding handle!' cried Sniff.
Moominpappa looked at him.
'If I only knew your birthday,' he said. 'Your daddy the Muddler always was a careless one with calendars.'
'I can choose any day,' Sniff said.
'All right, you may expect a mysterious parcel any day,' Moominpappa said. 'Shall I read some more?'
Moomintroll nodded.
And Moominpappa started to read again.
*
The door opened slightly and very slowly, and a little grey wisp of smoke floated through the crack and curled up on my carpet. Two pale and shining eyes blinked at the top of the curl. I saw it all very clearly from my hiding-place under the bed.
'It's a ghost,' I said to myself. And funnily enough it was much less frightening to look at him than it had been to listen to him coming up the stairs.
The room had suddenly grown cold with an icy draught, and the ghost sneezed.
I don't know how you'd have felt, but for my part I immediately lost much of my respect. So I crawled out from under the bed and said: 'Cold night, sir!'
'Yes,' replied the ghost in an annoyed tone. 'A bleak night of fate resounding with the horrible wails of the phantoms of the gorge!'
'What can I do for you?' I asked politely.
'On a night of fate like this,' the ghost continued stubbornly, 'the forgotten bones are rattling on the silent beach!'
'Whose bones?' I asked (still very politely).
'The forgotten bones,' said the ghost, 'Pale horror grins over the damned island! Mortal, beware!' The ghost uncurled, gave me a terrible look and floated back towards the half-open door. The back of his head met the door-jamb with a resounding bang.
'Oop!' said the ghost.
I didn't hide my delight.
With a last hiss the ghost glided downstairs and out into the moonlight. Down on the ground he turned and bade me farewell with three horrible laughs.
'I'll have to tell the others tomorrow,' I said to myself. 'Perhaps Hodgkins can invent a ghost-proof lock to put on my door.'
Hodgkins took the matter more seriously than I had expected. 'That kind of a ghost can be troublesome enough,' he said. 'If you laugh at him. When he would like to frighten you.'
'Do you know what he's done tonight?' asked the Joxter. 'He's painted a skull and crossbones and the word "poison" on the Muddler's tin, and the Muddler's feeling very offended and says he isn't that kind of person.'
'How childish,' I said.
'Yes, and then there are all kinds of warnings in red paint all over The Oshun Oxtra,' continued the Joxter, 'and I suppose he hasn't finished yet.'
He hadn't.
The Island Ghost pestered us all the week; every night became filled with owl-hoots and knocks and tables jumping around and breaking. And when he finally found a piece of chain in Hodgkins's tool chest and ratttled it for four hours at a stretch the situation became unbearable. We decided to invite the ghost to a secret council and talk some sense into him. So we nailed a message to the palm-wine tree:
Dear Island Ghost,
For obvious reasons a special Ghost Council will be held at this place on Tuesday before sunset Members' complaints will be attended to. Bring no chains, please.
Board of the Royal Colony
'Since when are we royal?' asked the Muddler.
'Since I became Inventor to the King,' answered Hodgkins.
'I must ask mother to embroider crowns on all my undies,' said the Mymble's daughter.
'It was more fun to have an Outlaw Colony,' I said. 'I'm feeling royal
'It's yours,' he said. 'Your daddy used to admire it.'
'What a good taste he had. Thanks a lot!' Snufkin said. He was happy again.
'What became of the other lottery prizes?' asked Sniff. 'The meerschaum tram's under the drawing-room pier-glass, but what about the others?'
'Well, we never had any champagne,' Moominpappa thoughtfully replied. 'So I expect the whisk is still somewhere at the back of the kitchen drawer. And the smoked-ring evaporated in a few years...'
'But the organ-grinding handle!' cried Sniff.
Moominpappa looked at him.
'If I only knew your birthday,' he said. 'Your daddy the Muddler always was a careless one with calendars.'
'I can choose any day,' Sniff said.
'All right, you may expect a mysterious parcel any day,' Moominpappa said. 'Shall I read some more?'
Moomintroll nodded.
And Moominpappa started to read again.
*
The door opened slightly and very slowly, and a little grey wisp of smoke floated through the crack and curled up on my carpet. Two pale and shining eyes blinked at the top of the curl. I saw it all very clearly from my hiding-place under the bed.
'It's a ghost,' I said to myself. And funnily enough it was much less frightening to look at him than it had been to listen to him coming up the stairs.
The room had suddenly grown cold with an icy draught, and the ghost sneezed.
I don't know how you'd have felt, but for my part I immediately lost much of my respect. So I crawled out from under the bed and said: 'Cold night, sir!'
'Yes,' replied the ghost in an annoyed tone. 'A bleak night of fate resounding with the horrible wails of the phantoms of the gorge!'
'What can I do for you?' I asked politely.
'On a night of fate like this,' the ghost continued stubbornly, 'the forgotten bones are rattling on the silent beach!'
'Whose bones?' I asked (still very politely).
'The forgotten bones,' said the ghost, 'Pale horror grins over the damned island! Mortal, beware!' The ghost uncurled, gave me a terrible look and floated back towards the half-open door. The back of his head met the door-jamb with a resounding bang.
'Oop!' said the ghost.
I didn't hide my delight.
With a last hiss the ghost glided downstairs and out into the moonlight. Down on the ground he turned and bade me farewell with three horrible laughs.
'I'll have to tell the others tomorrow,' I said to myself. 'Perhaps Hodgkins can invent a ghost-proof lock to put on my door.'
Hodgkins took the matter more seriously than I had expected. 'That kind of a ghost can be troublesome enough,' he said. 'If you laugh at him. When he would like to frighten you.'
'Do you know what he's done tonight?' asked the Joxter. 'He's painted a skull and crossbones and the word "poison" on the Muddler's tin, and the Muddler's feeling very offended and says he isn't that kind of person.'
'How childish,' I said.
'Yes, and then there are all kinds of warnings in red paint all over The Oshun Oxtra,' continued the Joxter, 'and I suppose he hasn't finished yet.'
He hadn't.
The Island Ghost pestered us all the week; every night became filled with owl-hoots and knocks and tables jumping around and breaking. And when he finally found a piece of chain in Hodgkins's tool chest and ratttled it for four hours at a stretch the situation became unbearable. We decided to invite the ghost to a secret council and talk some sense into him. So we nailed a message to the palm-wine tree:
Dear Island Ghost,
For obvious reasons a special Ghost Council will be held at this place on Tuesday before sunset Members' complaints will be attended to. Bring no chains, please.
Board of the Royal Colony
'Since when are we royal?' asked the Muddler.
'Since I became Inventor to the King,' answered Hodgkins.
'I must ask mother to embroider crowns on all my undies,' said the Mymble's daughter.
'It was more fun to have an Outlaw Colony,' I said. 'I'm feeling royal
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