‘Yes,’ said Aunt Allie. ‘It’s called Quarry Cottage, because an old quarry is nearby. It’s about a mile from the village, and I believe only a farmhouse is near. We can get eggs and butter and milk and bread from there, which is lucky.’
‘I shall ask about badgers as soon as I get there,’ said Philip, from the back. ‘I wish I could get a young badger. I’ve heard they make wonderful pets.’
‘There! I knew you’d start hunting out pets of some kind,’ said Dinah. ‘We never can have a holiday without your bringing in mice or birds or insects or even worse creatures.’
‘I’ve been thinking of studying spiders these hols,’ said Philip, seriously. ‘Amazing creatures, spiders. Those great big ones, with hairy legs, are …’
Dinah shivered at once. ‘Let’s change the subject,’ she said. ‘I don’t know why, but whenever anyone even mentions spiders I seem to feel one crawling down my back.’
‘Oh, gosh-don’t say my spider’s escaped!’ said Philip at once, and pretended to look through his pockets. Gussy watched him in alarm. He didn’t like spiders either.
Dinah gave a small shriek. ‘Don’t be mean, Philip-please, please. You haven’t really got a big spider, have you?’
‘Philip!’ called his mother, warningly. ‘You’ll be dumped in the road. Remember what Bill said.’
‘All right. I haven’t got a spider,’ said Philip, regretfully. ‘You can sit in safety, Di. I say, Gus, aren’t you uncomfortable down there, on the floor, among our feet? I keep forgetting you’re there. I hope I haven’t wiped my feet on you yet.’
‘That is not a nice thing to spik,’ said Gussy, with dignity. ‘I will be angry to have your feets wiped on me.’
‘Let’s play a game,’ said Jack, seeing an argument developing. ‘We’ll look out for black dogs-white cats-piebald horses-red bicycles-and ice-cream vans. The one who is last to reach a hundred must stop at the next ice-cream van and buy ices for us all!’
This sounded exciting to Gussy. He scrambled up from the floor at once, and squeezed himself beside Dinah. Bill and Mrs. Cunningham heaved a sigh of relief. Now there would be quite a bit of peace-everyone would be looking out and counting hard.
Gussy was not at all good at this game. He missed any amount of black dogs and white cats, and kept counting ordinary horses instead of piebald ones. He looked very miserable when he was told that he couldn’t put all the brown and white horses he had seen into his score.
‘He’s going to cry!’ said Philip. ‘Wait, Gus, wait. Take my hanky.’
And he pulled out one of the kitchen tablecloths, which he had neatly purloined just before coming away, in spite of his mother’s threats.
Gussy found the tablecloth pushed into his hands. He looked at it in astonishment-and then he began to laugh!
‘Ha ha! Ho ho! This is cloth, not hanky! I will not weep in this. I will laugh!’
‘Good for you, Gussy!’ said Jack, giving him a pat on the back. ‘Laugh away. We like that!’
It was quite a surprise to everyone to find that Gussy could actually laugh at a joke against himself. They began to think he might not be so bad after all. He stopped playing the counting game after that, but displayed even more surprising behaviour at the end of the game.
Lucy-Ann was last to reach a hundred. She felt in her little purse for her money, knowing that she must buy ice-creams for everyone, because she had lost the game.
‘Please, Bill, will you stop at the next ice-cream van?’ she said. So Bill obligingly stopped.
But before Lucy-Ann could get out, Gussy had opened the door at the back, shot out and raced to the ice-cream van. ‘Seven, plizz,’ he said.
‘Wait! I lost, not you!’ shouted Lucy-Ann, half indignant. Then she stared. Gussy had taken a wallet out of his pocket-a wallet, not a purse! And from it he took a wad of pound notes-good gracious, however many had he got? He peeled off the top one and gave it to the ice-cream van, who was as surprised as anyone else.
‘You come into a fortune, mate?’ asked the ice-cream man. ‘Or is your dad a millionaire?’
Gussy didn’t understand. He took his change and put it into his pocket. Then he carried the ice-creams back to the car, and handed round one each, beaming all over his face.
‘Thanks, Gus,’ said Bill, accepting his. ‘But look here, old chap-you can’t carry all that money about with you, you know.’
‘I can,’ said Gussy. ‘All the term I had it here in my pocket. It is my pocket-money, I think. They said I could have pocket-money.’
‘Hm, yes. But a hundred pounds or so in notes is hardly pocket-money,’ began Bill. ‘Yes, yes-I know you kept it in your pocket, but real pocket-money is-is-oh, you explain, boys.’
It proved to be very difficult to explain that all those pound notes were not pocket-money merely because Gussy kept them in his pocket. ‘You ought to have handed them in at your school,’ said Philip.
‘They said I could have pocket-money,’ said Gussy, obstinately. ‘My uncle gave it to me. It is mine.’
‘Your people must be jolly rich,’ said Jack. ‘I bet even Bill doesn’t wander round with as many pound notes as that. Is Gus a millionaire or something, Bill?’
‘Well-his people are well-off,’ said Bill. He slipped in the clutch again and the car slid off. ‘All the same, he’ll have to hand over those notes to me. He’ll be robbed sooner or later.’
‘He’s going to cry,’ reported Dinah. ‘Philip, quick-where’s that tablecloth?’
‘I am not going to weep,’ said Gussy, with dignity. ‘I am going to be sick. Always I am sick in a car. I was yesterday. Plizz, Mr. Cunningham, may I be sick?’
‘Good gracious!’ said Bill, stopping very suddenly indeed. ‘Get out of the car, then, quick! Push him out, Dinah. Why, oh, why did I let him have that ice-cream? He told me yesterday he was always car-sick.’
Mrs. Cunningham got out to comfort poor Gussy, who was now green in the face. ‘He would be car-sick!’ said Dinah. ‘Just the kind of thing he’d have-car-sickness.’
‘He can’t help it,’ said Lucy-Ann. ‘Anyway, it’s all over now. He looks fine.’
‘Plizz, I better am,’ announced Gussy, climbing back in the car.
‘Keep the cloth,’ said Philip, pushing it at him. ‘It might come in useful if you feel ill again.’
‘Everyone ready?’ called Bill. ‘Well, off we go again. We’ll stop for lunch at one o’clock, and then we’ll be at Little Brockleton by tea-time, I hope. Gussy, yell if you feel queer again.’
‘I am only sick one-time,’ said Gussy. ‘Plizz, I have lost my ice-cream. Will you stop for another?’
‘I will not,’ said Bill, firmly. ‘You’re not having any more ice-creams in the car. Doesn’t anyone want a nap? It would be so nice for me to drive in peace and quietness! Well-next stop, lunch!’
Chapter 5
QUARRY COTTAGE
LITTLE BROCKLETON was a dear little village. The car ran through it, scattering hens and a line of quacking ducks. Bill stopped at a little post-office.
‘Must just send off a message,’ he said. ‘Won’t be a minute. Then we’ll go and call at the farmhouse to ask the way to Quarry Cottage, and to pick up eggs and things, and order milk.’
He reappeared again after a moment. The children knew that Bill had to report where he was each day, because urgent jobs might come his way at any moment-secret tasks that only he could do.
They went off to the farmhouse. The farmer’s wife was delighted to see them. ‘Now, you come away in,’ she said. ‘I’ve been expecting you this last half-hour, and I’ve got tea for you. You won’t find anything ready at the cottage, I know, and a good tea will help you along.’
‘That’s very kind of you,’ said Mrs. Cunningham, gratefully. ‘My goodness-what a spread!’
It certainly was. It wasn’t an ordinary afternoon tea, it was a high-tea. A fresh ham, glistening pink. A veal-and-ham pie smothered in green parsley, like the ham. Yellow butter in glass dishes. A blue jug of thick yellow cream. Honey. Home-made strawberry jam. Hot scones. A large fruitcake as black as a plum pudding inside. Egg sandwiches. Tea, cocoa and creamy milk.
‘I’m absolutely determined to live on a farm when I’m grown up,’ said Jack, looking approvingly at all the food on the big round table. ‘I never saw such food as farmhouses have. I say, isn’t this smashing?’
Gussy felt glad that Mrs. Cunningham had insisted that he should eat very little at lunch-time. He felt sure he had an appetite three times bigger than anyone else’s.
‘What will you have?’ asked the farmer’s wife, kindly, seeing his hungry look.
‘I will have some-some pig-meat,’ said Gussy. ‘And some pie-meat with it. And I will have some cream with it, and …’