Arabel and Mortimer (8 page)

"Excuse me. Are you two gentlemen going as far as Foxwell?" Mrs. Jones inquired nervously, having opened the railway carriage door and poked her head through. The hand that was not holding the door handle clasped the wrist of Mrs. Jones's daughter, Arabel, who was carrying a large canvas bag.

Mrs. Jones had been opening doors and asking this question all the way along the train when she thought the occupants of the carriage looked respectable. Some of them did not. Some weren't going as far as Foxwell.

But the two men in this carriage looked
very
respectable. Both had bowler hats. One was small and stout, one was large and pale. Their briefcases were in the rack, and they were talking to each other in low, confidential, businesslike voices.

Now they stopped and looked at Mrs. Jones as if they were rather put out at being interrupted. But one of them—the small fat one—said, "Yes, madam. We are getting out
at
Foxwell, as it happens."

The other man, the large pale one, frowned, as if he wished his friend had not been so helpful.

"Oh, are you, that's ever such a relief then," cried Mrs. Jones, "for you look like nice reliable gentlemen and I'm sure you won't mind seeing that my little girl, that's Arabel here, gets out at Foxwell where her uncle Urk will be meeting her and I know it looks ever so peculiar my not going with her myself, but I have to hurry back to Rumbury Hospital where my hubby, Mr. Jones, is having his various veins seen to and he likes me to visit him all the visiting hours and I couldn't leave poor little Arabel alone at home every day, let alone Mortimer, and my sister Brenda isn't a
bit
keen to have them, but luckily my hubby's brother Urk lives in the country and said he would oblige, leastways it was his wife, Effie, that wrote but Ben said Urk would know how to manage Mortimer on account of him being used to all kinds of wild—"

Luckily, at this moment the guard blew a shrill blast on his whistle, for the two men were beginning to look even more impatient, so Mrs. Jones hastily bundled Arabel into the railway carriage and dumped her suitcase on the seat beside her.

"Now you'll be ever such a good girl, won't you dearie, and Mortimer, too, if he
can,
and take care among all those megadilloes and jumbos and do what Aunt Effie says—and we'll be down to fetch you on Friday fortnight—"

Here the guard interrupted Mrs. Jones again by slamming the carriage door, so Mrs. Jones blew kisses through the window as the train pulled away. One of the bowler-hatted men—the short fat one—got up and put Arabel's case in the rack, where she couldn't reach it to get out her picture book. He would have done the same with the canvas bag she was carrying, but she clutched that tightly on her lap, so he sat down again.

The two men then took their hats off, laid them on the seat, settled themselves comfortably, and went on with their conversation, taking no notice whatever of Arabel, who was very small and fair-haired, and who sat very quietly in her corner.

After a minute or two she opened the canvas bag, out of which clambered a very large untidy black bird—almost as big as Arabel herself—who first put himself to rights with his beak, then stood tip-claw on Arabel's lap and stared out of the window at the suburbs of London rushing past.

He had never been in a train before and was so astonished at what he saw that he exclaimed,
"Nevermore!"
in a loud, hoarse, rasping voice which had the effect of spinning round the heads of the two men as if they had been jerked by wires. They both stared very hard at Arabel and her pet.

"What kind of a bird is that?" asked one of them, the large pale one.

"He's a raven," said Arabel, "and his name's Mortimer."

"Oh!" said the pale man, losing interest. "Quite a
common
bird."

"Mortimer's not a bit common," said Arabel, offended.

"Well, I hope he behaves himself on this train," said the pale man, and then the two men went back to their conversation.

Mortimer, meanwhile, looked up and saw Arabel's suitcase in the rack above his head. As soon as he saw it he wanted to get up there, too. But Arabel could not reach the rack, and Mortimer was not prepared to fly up. He disliked flying and very rarely did so if he could find somebody to lift him. He now said, "Kaark" in a loud, frustrated tone.

"Excuse me," said Arabel very politely to the two men, "could you please put my raven up in the rack?"

This time both men looked decidedly irritated at being interrupted.

"Certainly not," said the large pale one.

"Rack ain't the place for birds," said the short fat one. "No knowing
what
he might not get up to there."

"By rights he ought to be in the guard's van," said the first. "Any more bother from you and we'll call the guard to take him away."

They both stared hard and angrily at Arabel and Mortimer, and then began talking to each other again.

"We'd better hire a truck in Ditchingham—Fred will be there with the supplies; he can do it—have the truck waiting at Bradpole crossroads—you carry the tranquilizers, I'll have the nets—twenty ampoules ought to be enough, and a hundred yards of netting—"

"Don't forget the foam rubber—"

"Nevermore," grumbled Mortimer to himself, very annoyed at not getting what he wanted the instant he wanted it.

"Look at the sheep and the dear little lambs in that field, Mortimer," said Arabel, for the train had now left London and was running through green country. But Mortimer was not the least interested in dear little lambs. While Arabel was watching them, he very quietly and neatly hacked one of the men's bowler hats into three pieces with his huge beak and then swallowed the bits in three gulps. Neither of the men noticed what he had done. They were deep in plans.

"
You
take care of the ostriches—mind, they kick—and
I'll
look after the zebras."

"They kick, too."

"Just have to be quick with the tranquilizer, that's all."

Mortimer, coming to the conclusion that nobody was going to help him, hoisted himself up into the rack with one strong shove-off and two flaps. The men were so absorbed in their plans that they did not notice this either.

"Here's a map of the area—the truck had better park here, by the ostrich enclosure—"

Mortimer, up above them, suddenly did his celebrated imitation of the sound of a milk truck rattling along a cobbled street.
"Clinketty-clang, clang, clink, clanketty clank."

Both men glanced about them in a puzzled manner.

"Funny," said the short fat man, "could have sworn I heard a milk truck."

"Don't be daft," said the large pale one. "How could you hear a
milk cart
in a
train
? Now—we have to think how to get rid of the watchman—"

Mortimer now silently worked his way along the rack until he was over the men's heads. He wanted to have a look at their luggage. From one of the two flat black cases there stuck out a small thread of white down. Mortimer took a quiet pull at this. Out came a straggly piece of ostrich feather. Mortimer studied the bit of plume for a long time, sniffed at it, listened to it, and finally poked it under his wing. Presently, forgetting about it, he hung upside down from the rack, swaying to and fro with the motion of the train, and breathing deeply with pleasure.

"Please take care, Mortimer," said Arabel softly.

Mortimer gave her a very carefree look. Then, showing off, he let go with one claw. However, at that moment the train went over a set of switches—
kerblunk
—and Mortimer's hold became detached. He fell, heavily.

By great good luck, Arabel, who was anxiously watching, saw Mortimer let go, and so she was able, holding wide the two handles of the canvas bag, to catch him—he went into the bag headfirst.

The ostrich plume drifted to the floor.

The two men, busy with their plans, noticed nothing of this.

The fat one was saying, "The giraffes are the most important. Reckon we should pack them in first? They take up most room."

"Nah, can't. Giraffes have to be
un
loaded first. They're wanted by a costumer in Woking."

"Why the blazes should somebody want
giraffes
in
Woking
?"

"How should
I
know? Not our business, anyway."

Mortimer poked his head out of the canvas bag. He was very annoyed at his mortifying fall, and ready to make trouble if possible. His eyes lit on the second bowler hat.

Fortunately, at this moment the train began to slow down.

"Nearly at Foxwell now, little girl," said the fat man. He took down Arabel's case and put it by her on the seat.

"You being met here?" he said.

"Yes," said Arabel. "My uncle Urk is meeting me. He is—" But the two men weren't paying any attention to her. The large one was looking for his hat. "Funny, I put it just here. Where the devil could it have got to?"

"Oh dear," said Arabel politely, when no hat could be found. "I'm afraid my raven may have eaten it. He
does
eat things sometimes."

"Rubbish," said the hatless man.

"Don't be silly," said the fat man.

Now the train came to a stop, and Arabel, through the window, saw her uncle Urk on the platform. She waved to him and he came and opened the door.

"There you are, then," he said. "Enjoy your trip? This all your luggage?"