The Serial Garden: The Complete Armitage Family Stories (6 page)

A large glass dome was brought, of the kind which is placed over skeleton clocks, with the hours and minutes marked on one side.

"There,” said the gentleman, tucking Mr. Armitage under one arm. “Now, in the study, perhaps? On one's desk, for inspiration. When I place the bird in position, Hawkins, pray cover him with the case. Thank you. A most tasteful ornament, I flatter myself, and perhaps in time we may even teach him to announce the hours."

"Your father's being a long time,” said Mrs. Armitage rather anxiously to the children. “I do hope he isn't getting into trouble."

"Oh, I don't suppose it's worth expecting him before lunch,” said Mark. “He'll argue with everybody and then probably go for a walk and start drafting a letter to
The Times
."

So they sat down to lunch in Mrs. Foster's house, but just as they were raising the first bites to their mouths, Harriet gave a little squeak and said:

"Goodness! We've forgotten all about Sarah! She'll arrive at the house and won't know what's happened to us."

"Oh, she's sure to see Father somewhere around, and he'll bring her along,” Mark pointed out. “I wouldn't worry. We can go along afterwards and see, if they don't turn up soon."

At this moment Sarah was walking onward to her doom. She found the front door of the Armitage house open, and nobody about. This seemed to her a good moment to plant some of her practical jokes, so she opened her suitcase and stole into the dining room. The long table was already set for tea. There were thirteen places, which puzzled her, but she supposed her aunt and uncle must be giving a party. Some plates of sandwiches and cakes covered with damp napkins were standing on a side table, so she doctored them with sneezing powder, and placed fizz-bangs in some of the teacups.

She was surprised to see that the rooms had been split in two by partitions of beaverboard, and wondered where the family was, and what was going on. Hearing some hammering upstairs, she decided to tiptoe up and surprise them. Feeling around in her suitcase again, she dug out her water pistol, and charged it from a jug which stood on the sideboard. Then she went softly up the stairs.

The door facing the top of the stairs was open, and she stole through it. This was Mr. Armitage's study, which Mr. Whizzard had decided should be his private office. Just now, however, he was out having his lunch, and the room was empty. Sarah went to work at once. She laid a few thumbtacks carefully on what she supposed to be her uncle's chair, and was just attaching a neat contrivance to the telephone, when there came an interruption. The huge black cat, Walrus, who had stayed behind when the family left, had strolled into the study after Sarah and was taking a deep interest in the dejected-looking cuckoo sitting under the glass dome. While Sarah was busy laying the thumbtacks, he leaped onto the desk, and after a moment's reflection, knocked the glass case off the desk with one sweep of his powerful paw.

"Sarah!” cried Mr. Armitage in terror. “Save me from this murdering beast!"

Completely startled, thinking that her uncle must have come in unheard while her back was turned, Sarah spun around and let fly with her water pistol. The jet caught the unfortunate bird in mid-air, and at once (for the weather was very cold) he turned to a solid block of ice, and fell to the ground with a heavy thud. The cat pounced at once, but his teeth simply grated on the ice, and he sprang back with a hiss of dismay.

At that moment Mr. Whizzard returned from lunch.

"Dear me!” he said peevishly. “What is all this? Cats? Little girls? And who has been meddling with my cuckoo?” But when he saw Mr. Armitage's frozen condition, he began to laugh uncontrollably.

"Warlock! Warlock! Come in and look at this,” he shouted, and another man came in, wearing a mortarboard and magician's gown.

"The lads have just arrived in the dragon-bus,” he said. “I told them to go straight in to tea, as the workmen haven't quite finished dividing up the classrooms. What have you got there?"

"Poor Armitage has become quite seized up,” said Mr. Whizzard. “If we had a deep-freeze—"

Before he could finish, several young student-magicians dashed into the room, with cries of complaint. They were all sneezing.

"Really it's too bad, when we're all tired from our journey! Sneezing powder in everything and tea all over the floor. A joke's a joke, but this is going too far. Someone ought to get the sack for this."

"What is the matter, my lads?” enquired Mr. Whizzard.

"Someone's been playing a lot of rotten practical jokes."

Sarah quailed and would gladly have slipped away, but she was jammed in a corner. She tried to squeeze past the desk, but one of the drawers was open and caught her suitcase. A small bomb fell out and exploded on the carpet, amid yelps of terror from the students.

"Seize that child,” commanded Mr. Whizzard. Two of them unwillingly did so, and stood her before him. He cast his eye over the diabolical contents of her suitcase, and then the label attracted his attention.

"Armitage. Ah, just so, this is plainly an attempt at sabotage from the evicted family. They shall pay dearly for it. Nightshade, fetch an electric heater, will you? There's one in the front hall."

While they were waiting, Mr. Whizzard sat down in his chair, but shot up again at once, with a murderous look at Sarah.

"Good. Now place the bird before it, in this pencil tray, so as not to dampen the carpet. The cat sits at hand on this chair, ready for when the thawing process commences. It should not be long, I fancy. Now my young friends, you may return to your interrupted meal, and as for you,” with a savage glance at Sarah, “a little solitary confinement will do you no harm, while I reflect on how to dispose of you."

Sarah was dragged away and locked into a beaverboard cell, which had once been part of Harriet's bedroom.

"Now I think we deserve a quiet cup of tea, after all this excitement,” said Mr. Whizzard to Mr. Warlock, when they were left alone. “We can sip it as we watch poor Mr. Armitage melt. I'll ring down to the kitchen.” He lifted the telephone, and instantly a flood of ink poured into his ear.

Meanwhile, Mark and Harriet had decided to come in search of their father and cousin.

"It might be wise not to go in the front way, don't you think?” said Harriet. “After all, it's rather odd that we haven't heard
something
of them by now. I feel there must have been some trouble."

So they went stealthily round through the shrubbery and climbed up the wisteria to Harriet's window. The first thing they saw when they looked in was Sarah, pacing up and down in a distracted manner.

"Good gracious—” Harriet began, but Sarah made frantic gestures to silence her. They climbed in as quietly as they could.

"Thank heaven you've come,” she whispered. “Uncle Armitage is being roasted to death in the study, or else eaten by Walrus. You must rescue him at once.” They listened in horror, as she explained the position, and then hurriedly climbed out again. Sarah was no climber, so she hung out anxiously watching them, and thinking of the many times her uncle had given her half-crowns and pats on the head.

Harriet ran to the back door, where the cat's tin plate still lay, and began to rattle it, calling “Walrus, Walrus, Walrus! Dinner! Walrus! Fish!"

Mark climbed along the wisteria to the study window, to wait for the result of this move.

He saw the cat Walrus, who was still sitting on the chair, attentively watching the melting process, suddenly prick up his ears and look towards the door. Then, as Harriet's voice came faintly again, he shot out of it and disappeared.

"Confound that animal!” exclaimed Mr. Whizzard. “Catch him, Warlock!” They both ran out of the door, looking to right and left. Mark wasted no time. He clambered through the window, grabbed the cuckoo, and was out again before the two men returned, frustrated and angry.

"Good heavens, now the bird's gone,” cried Mr. Warlock. “What a fool you were to leave the window open. It must have flown out."

"Impossible! This is more of that wretched child's doing. I'm going along to see her, right away."

He burst in on Sarah, looking so ferocious that she instinctively caught up the first weapon she could see, to defend herself. It was a screwdriver, left lying on the floor by one of the workmen.

"What have you done with the cuckoo?” Mr. Whizzard demanded.

"I haven't touched it,” Sarah truthfully replied.

"Nonsense. Do you deny that you enticed the cat away by black arts, and then kidnapped the cuckoo?” He approached her threateningly.

Downstairs in the dining room the young wizards, having cleared away tea, were enjoying a singsong.

"Ha ha ha, he he he [they sang],

Little broom stick, how I love thee."

They were interrupted by Mr. Warlock.

"Have any of you boys seen Mr. Whizzard?” he inquired. “He went to interview the young female prisoner, and I haven't seen him since."

"No sir, he hasn't been in here,” the eldest one said. “Won't you come and play for us, Mr. Warlock? You do play so beautifully."

"Well, just for five minutes, if you insist.” They began to sing again.

"Necromancers come away, come away, come come away,

This is wizard's holiday,"

When suddenly they were aware of the three children, Mark, Harriet, and Sarah, standing inside the door, holding the red-and-blue crackers in their hands.

"What is the meaning of this?” said Mr. Warlock severely. “You are trespassing on private property."

"Yes,” said Mark. “
Our
property. This is our house, and we would like you to get out of it at once."

"Vacate it,” whispered Harriet.

"Vacate it at once."

"We shall do no such thing."

"Very well then. Do you know what we have here?” He held up one of the crackers. “Your Mr. Whizzard. And if you don't get out—vacate—at once, we shall
pull
them. So you'd better hurry up."

The wizards looked at each other in consternation, and then, slowly at first, but with gathering speed, began to put their things together and take them out to the dragon-coach. The children watched them, holding the crackers firmly.

"And you must take down all that beaverboard partitioning,” said Harriet. “I don't know
what
Mummy would say if she saw it."

"The workmen have all gone home."

"Then you must manage on your own."

The house began to resound with amateurish bangs and squeaks. “Ow, Nightshade, you clumsy clot, you dropped that board on my toe.” “Well, get out of the way then, you nitwit necromancer."

At last it was all done, and at the front gate the children handed over the twelve red and blue parts of Mr. Whizzard.

"And it's more than you deserve,” said Harriet, “seeing how you were going to treat our poor Pa."

"We should also like that screwdriver, with which I perceive you have armed yourself, or we shall not be able to restore our director to his proper shape,” said Mr. Warlock coldly.

"Oh, dear me, no. You're nuts if you think we're going to let you get away with that,” said Sarah. “We shall want it in case of any further trouble. Besides, what about poor uncle—oh dear—” she stopped in dismay. For Mr. Warlock had disappeared, and his place had been taken by a sack of coconuts.

"Oh, never mind,” said Harriet. “You didn't mean to do it. Here, do for goodness’ sake hurry up and go.” She shoved the sack into the arms of Nightshade, and bundled him into the coach, which slowly rolled off. “We must simply dash along to Mrs. Foster's. I'm sure Mummy will be worrying."

They burst in on Mrs. Armitage with their story. “And where is your father?” she asked immediately.

"Oh goodness.” Mark looked guilty. “I'd forgotten all about him.” He carefully extracted the half-stifled cuckoo from his trouser pocket.

"Out with the screwdriver, Sarah."

Sarah obediently pointed it at him and said “You're Uncle” and he was restored to himself once more, but looking much rumpled and tattered. He glared at them all.

"I must say, that's a respectful way to treat your father. Carried in your trouser pocket, indeed!"

"Well, I hope this will cure you once and for all of writing those unkind reviews,” said Mrs. Armitage coldly. “Now we have all the trouble of moving back again, and just when I was beginning to feel settled."

"And talking of cures,” said Mr. Armitage, turning on his niece, “we won't say anything
this
time, seeing it's all turned out for the best, but if ever I catch you playing any of your practical jokes again—"

"Oh, I never, never will,” Sarah assured him. “I thought people enjoyed them."

"Not in this family,” said Mark.

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