The Flat Stanley Collection. Jeff Brown

Чтение книги онлайн.

      They had to put a great many stamps on the envelope to pay for both airmail and insurance, but it was still much less expensive than a train or aeroplane ticket to California would have been.

      The next day Mr and Mrs Lambchop slid Stanley into his envelope, along with the egg-salad sandwich and the cigarette case full of milk, and mailed him from the box on the corner. The envelope had to be folded to fit through the slot, but Stanley was a limber boy and inside the box he straightened up again.

      Mrs Lambchop was nervous because Stanley had never been away from home alone before. She rapped on the box.

      ‘Can you hear me, dear?’ she called. ‘Are you all right?’

      Stanley’s voice came quite clearly. ‘I’m fine. Can I eat my sandwich now?’

      ‘Wait an hour. And try not to get overheated, dear,’ Mrs Lambchop said. Then she and Mr Lambchop cried out ‘Goodbye, goodbye!’ and went home.

      Stanley had a fine time in California. When the visit was over, the Jeffreys returned him in a beautiful white envelope they had made themselves. It had red-and-blue markings to show that it was airmail, and Thomas Jeffrey had lettered it ‘Valuable’ and ‘Fragile’ and ‘This End Up’ on both sides.

      Back home Stanley told his family that he had been handled so carefully he never felt a single bump. Mr Lambchop said it proved that jet planes were wonderful, and so was the Post Office Department, and that this was a great age in which to live.

      Stanley thought so too.

CHAPTER 3

       STANLEY THE KITE

      Mr Lambchop had always liked to take the boys off with him on Sunday afternoons to a museum or roller-skating in the park, but it was difficult when they were crossing streets or moving about in crowds. Stanley and Arthur would often be jostled from his side and Mr Lambchop worried about speeding taxis or that hurrying people might accidentally knock them down.

      It was easier after Stanley got flat.

      Mr Lambchop discovered that he could roll Stanley up without hurting him at all. He would tie a piece of string around Stanley to keep him from unrolling and make a little loop in the string for himself. It was as simple as carrying a parcel, and he could hold on to Arthur with the other hand.

      Stanley did not mind being carried because he had never much liked to walk. Arthur didn’t like walking either, but he had to. It made him mad.

      One Sunday afternoon, in the street, they met an old college friend of Mr Lambchop’s, a man he had not seen for years.

      ‘Well, George, I see you have bought some wallpaper,’ the man said. ‘Going to decorate your house, I suppose?’

      ‘Wallpaper?’ said Mr Lambchop. ‘Oh, no. This is my son Stanley.’

      He undid the string and Stanley unrolled.

      ‘How do you do?’ Stanley said.

      ‘Nice to meet you, young feller,’ the man said. He said to Mr Lambchop, ‘George, that boy is flat.’

      ‘Smart, too,’ Mr Lambchop said. ‘Stanley is third from the top in his class at school.’

      ‘Phooey!’ said Arthur.

      ‘This is my younger son, Arthur,’ Mr Lambchop said. ‘And he will apologise for his rudeness.’

      Arthur could only blush and apologise.

      Mr Lambchop rolled Stanley up again and they set out for home. It rained quite hard while they were on the way. Stanley, of course, hardly got wet at all, just around the edges, but Arthur got soaked.

      Late that night Mr and Mrs Lambchop heard a noise out in the living room. They found Arthur lying on the floor near the bookcase. He had piled a great many volumes of the Encyclopaedia Britannica on top of himself.

      ‘Put some more on me,’ Arthur said when he saw them. ‘Don’t just stand there. Help me.’

      Mr and Mrs Lambchop sent him back to bed, but the next morning they spoke to Stanley. ‘Arthur can’t help being jealous,’ they said. ‘Be nice to him. You’re his big brother, after all.’

      Stanley and Arthur were in the park. The day was sunny, but windy too, and many older boys were flying beautiful, enormous kites with long tails, made in all the colours of the rainbow.

      Arthur sighed. ‘Some day,’ he said, ‘I will have a big kite and I will win a kite-flying contest and be famous like everyone else. Nobody knows who I am these days.’

      Stanley remembered what his parents had said. He went to a boy whose kite was broken and borrowed a large spool of string.

      ‘You can fly me, Arthur,’ he said. ‘Come on.’

      He attached the string to himself and gave Arthur the spool to hold. He ran lightly across the grass, sideways to get up speed, and then he turned to meet the breeze.

      Up, up, up . . . UP! went Stanley, being a kite.

      He knew just how to manage on the gusts of wind.

      He faced full into the wind if he wanted to rise, and let it take him from behind when he wanted speed. He had only to turn his thin edge to the wind, carefully, a little at a time, so that it did not hold him, and then he would slip gracefully down towards the earth again.

      Arthur let out all the string and Stanley soared СКАЧАТЬ