Mouse Noses on Toast Read Free Page A

Perhaps Paul’s nose was poking out from behind the Tinby, and the rich man could see it, and had invented the meal as a joke?
    But no.
    A minute later, the waiter returned with a silver tray and placed two plates on the table. And there, on one of the plates, was a slice of toast, and on the slice of toast were half a dozen little brown noses.

TINBY TROUBLE
    T HE T INBY WAS COOL, SO COOL THAT IT SOMETIMES SMELLED of mint. It took a lot for the Tinby to lose its cool, but something about the plate of mouse noses on toast pushed it over the edge.
    Before Paul and Sandra could stop it, the Tinby was on the toast, rolling in the butter and kicking the noses with its little square legs.
    The lady cried out in horror. Her husband tried to grab the Tinby, but it ran up the silk tie and onto his head. The man leaped up from his chair and began waving his arms madly, trying to knock the Tinby from his hair, but the Tinby was nimble and would step out of the way with split-second timing.
    Some customers carried on eating as though nothing hadhappened. Others decided that the man was under attack from a swarm of bees, and ran to the toilet to hide.
    The waiter tried to help by hitting the man on the head with a French loaf, but this made him even more frantic, and gave the Tinby a chance to escape. It ran up the side of the French loaf and somersaulted onto the top of the charming antique dresser, where it disappeared into the dust.
    Bertrand Violin, the restaurant manager, came out of the kitchen to see what the fuss was about. Bertrand was an old man with a bad back. His back was so bad he was bent almost double, and could only look at tabletops and shoes.
    With no Tinby to hide them, Paul and Sandra had crouched behind a small silver bowl. As Bertrand made his way through the restaurant, Paul and Sandra began to fear for their lives.

    “Quick! In here!” Sandra cried. They lifted the lid from the silver bowl and climbed inside.
    The sides of the bowl were decorated with a pattern of tiny holes. Paul put his eye to one of the holes and peered out.
    Bertrand Violin was studying the rich man’s tie. He knew a lot about ties, and could tell that this tie ought to be plain, not covered in buttery footprints. “What has happened?” he said, holding the tie to his tongue.
    “Mr. Violin,” the waiter said, “we did have a minor incident with an overgrown bug, but it has been dealt with, I assure you.”
    The rich man was so timid that this would have been the end of it, buttery tie or no buttery tie, but his wife had other ideas. “Demand an apology,” she said, jabbing him in the ribs with the diamond wedding ring.
    “My wife demands an apology!”
    “Demand compensation,” yelled the rich woman, unscrewing the ring from her finger, “or this ring goes in the soup!”
    “Sir, madam,” Bertrand Violin said gently, “please return to your chairs. This matter will be dealt with, you have my word.”
    “We don’t want your word,” the rich lady said. “We want dinner free of charge. And a double helping of pudding.”
    “Certainly,” Bertrand said, leading them back to their chairs. “Waiter! A bottle of champagne, on the house.”
    Inside the silver bowl, Paul and Sandra began to wonder what they were lying on. It was dry and powdery, and smelled of unwashed socks.
    “It’s cheese,” Sandra whispered. “We’re inside a bowl of Parmesan cheese!”
    “My bottom will be purple,” Paul whispered back. “If we don’t get out of here soon, it will fall off, and I won’t have anything to sit on.”
    Outside the bowl, the rich married couple was discussing what had happened. “It looked like an insect,” the man said. “A huge yellow beetle, with exotic lime-green markings.”
    “We should call the health inspector, have the place closed down,” his wife said. “It’s unhygienic. And look at that!”
    “What, dear wife?”
    “A rat’s tail, poking out of the silver bowl.”
    “How odd,” the man said.