poodle, glaring at Goliath and Limpy.
“Sorry,” said Limpy as the poodle stamped away in a huff.
“It was shiny like a snake,” protested Goliath.
By the time they finally found the airfield, Goliath was complaining that his feet were sore. He hopped through the fence and onto the first plane he saw.
“Goliath,” said Limpy wearily, climbing into a wheel bay and wriggling into the fuselage. “This is a crop duster.”
Limpy knew about crop dusters. A grasshopper had described once how a crop duster had killed eight million of his family and given his grandfather a skin rash.
“No, it's not,” Goliath said.
Limpy pointed to the big tanks of spray inside the crop duster. Goliath looked doubtful and was onlyconvinced when he'd drunk some and his tongue had turned blue.
“Come on,” said Limpy, even more wearily. “It's getting light outside. Let's find a local who can show us the right plane.”
Limpy jolted awake as the small plane struggled up into the smoggy Los Angeles sky. He breathed a sigh of relief through all his skin pores and several of his warts.
He and Goliath were finally on their way to the Amazon.
“Well done, Goliath,” said Limpy. “I'm proud of you.”
“Get nicked,” said Goliath. “My tummy hurts, and my feet, and my tongue.”
Limpy peered into Goliath's mouth. He was relieved to see that Goliath's tongue was almost back to normal.
“Try to relax and enjoy the flight,” said Limpy.
“This plane isn't as good as the one we came over on,” grumbled Goliath. “There's no movie, or meal service, or seats.”
Limpy had to admit he was right. This plane wasn't much bigger than the crop duster. It was just a hollow metal tube full of empty wooden cages.
“I reckon these cages are to put the passengers in,”said Goliath loudly. “When they discover there's no meal service and try to throw themselves out the window.”
“Not so loud,” said Limpy. “There aren't meant to be any passengers. We're stowaways, remember?”
Limpy glanced anxiously through the cages at the pilot, hoping he hadn't heard Goliath's noise.
He didn't seem to have. Limpy could see he was wearing headphones, and from the way his head was moving rhythmically backward and forward, Limpy guessed he was either listening to music or to an airtraffic controller he agreed with very much.
Goliath was sifting through the dust on the floor of the plane.
“There's got to be something to eat on this dumb crate,” he said. He peered doubtfully at something in his hand. “Oh well, this is better than nothing.” He popped it onto his tongue.
Limpy caught a glimpse of it just before Goliath's tongue disappeared into his mouth. He leapt at his startled cousin, pulled his lips apart, and dragged his tongue back out.
“Sorry,” said Limpy, warts tingling with excitement.“But I think I recognize this.”
He plucked the morsel from Goliath's tongue, wiped off the mucus, and studied it more closely.
Yes.
It was a dried mouse eye, just like the ones on the necklace Aunty Pru had given Charm.
“This must have fallen off Charm's necklace,” said Limpy. “She must have been on this plane yesterday. Which means we're on the right track.”
Goliath stared at the mouse eye.
“Poor Charm,” he said. “Hope the little tyke's OK.”
“So do I,” said Limpy, moved by Goliath's concern.
Goliath took the mouse eye and put it back in his mouth.
“Better keep our strength up,” he said. “In case she's not.”
Limpy was dozing when he felt Goliath shaking him.
“We're going down,” croaked his cousin.
For a moment Limpy thought Goliath meant the pilot had banged his head on the dashboard during a lively dance number and the plane was crashing.
Then he realized they were coming in for landing.
“There aren't any seat belts,” said Goliath. “This airline's a joke.”
Limpy dragged a toolbox over to the window, staggering as the plane tilted its nose down even further. He hopped up and peered
“Sorry,” said Limpy as the poodle stamped away in a huff.
“It was shiny like a snake,” protested Goliath.
By the time they finally found the airfield, Goliath was complaining that his feet were sore. He hopped through the fence and onto the first plane he saw.
“Goliath,” said Limpy wearily, climbing into a wheel bay and wriggling into the fuselage. “This is a crop duster.”
Limpy knew about crop dusters. A grasshopper had described once how a crop duster had killed eight million of his family and given his grandfather a skin rash.
“No, it's not,” Goliath said.
Limpy pointed to the big tanks of spray inside the crop duster. Goliath looked doubtful and was onlyconvinced when he'd drunk some and his tongue had turned blue.
“Come on,” said Limpy, even more wearily. “It's getting light outside. Let's find a local who can show us the right plane.”
Limpy jolted awake as the small plane struggled up into the smoggy Los Angeles sky. He breathed a sigh of relief through all his skin pores and several of his warts.
He and Goliath were finally on their way to the Amazon.
“Well done, Goliath,” said Limpy. “I'm proud of you.”
“Get nicked,” said Goliath. “My tummy hurts, and my feet, and my tongue.”
Limpy peered into Goliath's mouth. He was relieved to see that Goliath's tongue was almost back to normal.
“Try to relax and enjoy the flight,” said Limpy.
“This plane isn't as good as the one we came over on,” grumbled Goliath. “There's no movie, or meal service, or seats.”
Limpy had to admit he was right. This plane wasn't much bigger than the crop duster. It was just a hollow metal tube full of empty wooden cages.
“I reckon these cages are to put the passengers in,”said Goliath loudly. “When they discover there's no meal service and try to throw themselves out the window.”
“Not so loud,” said Limpy. “There aren't meant to be any passengers. We're stowaways, remember?”
Limpy glanced anxiously through the cages at the pilot, hoping he hadn't heard Goliath's noise.
He didn't seem to have. Limpy could see he was wearing headphones, and from the way his head was moving rhythmically backward and forward, Limpy guessed he was either listening to music or to an airtraffic controller he agreed with very much.
Goliath was sifting through the dust on the floor of the plane.
“There's got to be something to eat on this dumb crate,” he said. He peered doubtfully at something in his hand. “Oh well, this is better than nothing.” He popped it onto his tongue.
Limpy caught a glimpse of it just before Goliath's tongue disappeared into his mouth. He leapt at his startled cousin, pulled his lips apart, and dragged his tongue back out.
“Sorry,” said Limpy, warts tingling with excitement.“But I think I recognize this.”
He plucked the morsel from Goliath's tongue, wiped off the mucus, and studied it more closely.
Yes.
It was a dried mouse eye, just like the ones on the necklace Aunty Pru had given Charm.
“This must have fallen off Charm's necklace,” said Limpy. “She must have been on this plane yesterday. Which means we're on the right track.”
Goliath stared at the mouse eye.
“Poor Charm,” he said. “Hope the little tyke's OK.”
“So do I,” said Limpy, moved by Goliath's concern.
Goliath took the mouse eye and put it back in his mouth.
“Better keep our strength up,” he said. “In case she's not.”
Limpy was dozing when he felt Goliath shaking him.
“We're going down,” croaked his cousin.
For a moment Limpy thought Goliath meant the pilot had banged his head on the dashboard during a lively dance number and the plane was crashing.
Then he realized they were coming in for landing.
“There aren't any seat belts,” said Goliath. “This airline's a joke.”
Limpy dragged a toolbox over to the window, staggering as the plane tilted its nose down even further. He hopped up and peered
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