Mary Poppins Opens the Door. P. Travers L.

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ can’t tell me you’re Methuselah’s father!” The Policeman smiled a knowing smile.

      “Grandfather!” Mr Twigley retorted, as he sailed gracefully round.

      “Now, that’s enough. You just come down! This spinning and twirling is bad for the ’Ealth. And not permitted in Private Dwellings. ’Ere! ’Oo’s that pulling me! Let me go!” The Policeman gave a frightened shriek as he shot off his feet and through the air. A music box broke into noisy song as he dropped like a stone upon it.

      “Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer, do!

      I’ve gone crazy, all for the love of you!”

      it shouted.

      “’Elp! ’Elp! It’s me – PC 32 calling!” The Policeman wildly snatched at his whistle and blew a resounding blast.

      “Officer!” shouted Mrs Clump. “You do your duty or I’ll have the Law on you too. Get down and arrest that woman!” She thrust a huge finger at Mary Poppins. “I’ll have you put behind bars, my girl. I’ll have you – Here! Stop spinning me round!” Her eyes grew wide with angry amazement. For a curious thing was happening.

      Slowly, on the spot where she stood, Mrs Clump began to revolve. She had no musical box, no platform, she simply went round and round on the floor. The boards gave a loud protesting creak as the huge shape turned upon them.

      “Well, that’s fixed you!” cried Mr Twigley.

      “Try and jump

      Dear Mrs Clump!”

      he advised her, with a gleeful shriek.

      A shudder of horror shook Mrs Clump as she tried to move her large black boots. She struggled. She writhed. She wriggled her body. But her feet were firmly glued to the floor.

      “Clever girl, Mary! I’d never have thought it!” Mr Twigley smiled at Mary Poppins with pride and admiration.

      “This is your doing – you wilful, wicked, cold-hearted Varmint!” Mrs Clump gave an angry shout as she tried to clutch at Mary Poppins. “But I’ll get even with you yet – or my name’s not Sarah Clump!”

      “It’ll never be Twigley, anyway!” shrieked Mr Twigley joyously.

      “I want to go home! I want the Police Station!” wailed the Policeman, spinning madly.

      “Well, nobody’s keeping you, I’m sure!” said Mary Poppins, sniffing. As she spoke the Policeman’s box came to a standstill and he stumbled off it, panting.

      “Scotland Yard!” he cried, staggering to the door. “I must see the Chief! I must make a Report.” And, blowing a frantic peal on his whistle, he fled downstairs and out of the house.

      “Come back, you Villain!” screamed Mrs Clump. “He’s gone!” she went on, as the front door banged. “Oh, what shall I do? Help! Murder! Fire!”

      Her face grew red as she tried to free herself. But it was no good. Her feet were firmly fixed to the floor, and she flung out her arms with a cry of anguish.

      “Mr Twigley!” she begged. “Please help me, sir! I’ve always cooked you tasty meals. I’ve always kept you clean and tidy. You won’t have to marry me, I promise. If you’ll only wish for something to set me free!”

      “Be careful, Fred!” warned Mary Poppins, as she twirled in a dignified manner.

      “A Wish in Time saves Nine! Now let me think!” murmured Mr Twigley.

      He pressed his fingers to his eyes. Jane and Michael could see he was making an effort to wish Something Really Useful. For a moment he spun round, deep in thought. Then he looked up, smiling, and clapped his hands.

      “Mrs Clump,” he cried gaily. “You shall be free! I wish for you a Golden Palace and Peacock Pie every day for dinner. But – ” he winked across at Mary Poppins – “my kind of palace, Mrs Clump! And my kind of pie!”

      A roll of drums boomed through the attic.

      Mrs Clump looked at Mary Poppins and smiled a smile of triumph.

      “Aha!” she said smugly. “What did I tell you?”

      But even as she spoke the proud smile faded. It changed to a look of purest terror.

      For Mrs Clump was no longer a large fat woman. Her buxom body was rapidly shrinking. Her feet as they spun on the creaking floor grew smaller with every turn.

      “What’s this?” she panted. “Oh, what can it be?” Her arms and legs grew short and skinny as her figure dwindled to half its size.

      “Police! Fire! Murder! SOS!” Her voice grew thinner as she shrank.

      “Oh, Mr Twigley! What have you done? Police! Police!” squeaked the tiny voice.

      As she spoke the floor gave an angry heave and flung her, spinning, into the air. She bounced back with a frantic shriek and stumbled away across the room. And as she ran she grew smaller than ever and her movement more and more jerky. One moment she was the size of a kitten and the next no bigger than a small-sized mouse. Away she went, stumbling and bouncing and tripping, till at the end of the attic she dashed into a tiny golden palace that had suddenly appeared.

      “Oh, why did I speak to him? What has he done?” Mrs Clump cried out in a tinny voice.

      And looking through one of the golden windows, the children saw her collapse on a chair before a small tin pie. She began to cut it with jerky movements as the palace door closed with a bang.

      At that moment the boxes ceased to spin. The music stopped and the attic was silent.

      Down from his box sprang Mr Twigley and ran to the golden palace. With a cry of delight he picked it up and gazed at the scene within.

      “Very clever! I really must congratulate myself. All it needs now is a penny-in-the-slot and then it will do for Brighton Pier. One Penny, Only One Penny, folks! To see the Fat Woman Eating the Pie! Roll up! Roll up! Only One Penny!”

      Waving the palace, Mr Twigley went gaily capering round the room. Jane and Michael, leaping down from their boxes, ran after him and caught his coat-tails. They peered through the windows at Mrs Clump. There was a look of horror on her mechanical face as she cut her mechanical pie.

      “That was your sixth wish!” Michael reminded him.

      “It was indeed!” Mr Twigley agreed. “A Really useful idea, for once! Where there’s a wish there’s a way, you see! Especially if she’s around!” He nodded at Mary Poppins, who was stepping off her musical box in the most majestic manner.

      “Get your hats, please!” she commanded sharply. “I want to get home for a Cup of Tea. I am not a Desert Camel.”

      “Oh, just one moment, please, Mary Poppins! Mr Twigley’s got one more wish!”

      Jane and Michael, both talking at once, were tugging at СКАЧАТЬ