Heavy Weather Read Free

here it would be agreeable to leave him - the good man restoring his morale with refreshing draughts at the fount of wholesome literature. But this happy ending was not to be. Once more it was to be proved that this was not Lord Tilbury's lucky morning. Scarcely had he begun to read, when his eyes suddenly protruded from their sockets, his stout body underwent a strong convulsion, and from his parted lips there proceeded a loud snort. It was as if a viper had sprung from between the pages and bitten him on the chin.
    And this was odd, because Tiny Tots is a journal not as a rule provocative of violent expressions of feeling. Ably edited by that well-known writer of tales for the young, the Rev. Aubrey Sellick, it strives always to take the sane middle course. Its editorial page, in particular, is a model of non-partisan moderation. And yet, amazingly, it was this same editorial page which had just made Lord Tilbury's blood-pressure hit a new high.
    It occurred to him that mental strain might have affected his eyesight. He blinked and took another look.
    No, there it was, just as before.
    uncle woggly to his chicks
    Well, chickabiddies, how are you all? Minding what Nursie says and eating your spinach like good little men ? That's right. I know the stuff tastes like a motorman's glove, but they say there's iron in it, and that's what puts hair on the chest.
    Lord Tilbury, having taken time out to make a noise like a leaking siphon, resumed his reading.
    Well, now let's get down to it. This week, my dear little souls, Uncle Woggly is going to put you on to a good thing. We all want to make a spot of easy money these hard times, don't we ? Well, here's the lowdown, straight from the horse's mouth. All you have to do is to get hold of some mug and lure him into betting that a quart whisky bottle holds a quart of whisky.
    Sounds rummy, what ? I mean, that's what you would naturally think it would hold. So does the mug. But it isn't. It's really more, and I'll tell you why.
    First you fill the bottle. This gives you your quart. Then you shove the cork in. And then - follow me closely here - you turn the bottle upside down and you'll find there's a sort of bulging-in part at the bottom. Well, slosh some whisky into that, and there you are. Because the bot. is now holding more than a quart and you scoop the stakes.
    I have to acknowledge a sweet little letter from Frankie Kendon (Hendon) about his canary which goes tweet-tweet-tweet. Also one from Muriel Poot (Stow-in-the-Wold), who is going to lose her shirt if she ever bets anyone she knows how to spell ' tortoise'. . . .
    Lord Tilbury had read enough. There was some good stuff further on about Willy Waters (Ponders End) and his cat Miggles, but he did not wait for it. He pressed the buzzer emotionally.
    ' Tots!'' he cried, choking. ' Tiny Tots! Who is editing Tiny Tots now?'
    'Mr Sellick is the regular editor, Lord Tilbury,' replied his secretary, who knew everything and wore horn-rimmed spectacles to prove it, 'but he is away on his vacation. In his absence, the assistant editor is in charge of the paper, Mr Bodkin.'
    'Bodkin!'
    So loud was Lord Tilbury's voice and so sharply did his eyes bulge that the secretary recoiled a step, as if something had hit her.
    'That popinjay!' said Lord Tilbury, in a strange, low, grating voice. ‘I might have guessed it. I might have foreseen something like this. Send Mr Bodkin here at once.'
    It was a judgement, he felt. This was what came of going to public dinners and allowing yourself to depart from the principles of a lifetime. One false step, one moment of weakness when there were wheedling snakes of Baronets at your elbow, and what a harvest, what a reckoning!
    He leaned back in his chair, tapping the desk with a paper-knife. He had just broken this, when there was a knock at the door and his young subordinate entered.
    'Good morning, good morning, good morning,' said the latter affably.' Want to see me about something ?'
    Monty Bodkin was