Mr Gum and the Secret Hideout Read Free

pollutions. It’s time for THE DEPARTMENT OF CLOUDS AN’ YOGURTS to gets to work!’
    ‘Are you the one who’s doing all the pollution?’ they asked a little girl called Peter.
    ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m just playing with my doll.’
    ‘Are you the one who’s doing all the pollution?’ they asked David Casserole, the town mayor.
    ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m just playing with
my
doll.’
    ‘Are you the one who’s doing all the pollution?’ they asked William Shakespeare.
    ‘Probably not,’ he said. ‘You see, I’ve been dead for about five hundred years. Now leave me alone, I’m trying to write
Hamlet II – Yorick’s Revenge
.’

    ‘FRUSTRATERS!’ exclaimed Polly at the end of a long morning’s work. ‘We done millions of ’vestigations an’ no one knows nothin’, an’ it’s all boilin’ hot an’ itchy an’ I had ENOUGHS!’
    ‘Let’s go back to the office,’ suggested Friday.
    But just then, they came upon a forlorn-looking fellow sitting in a silver birdcage at the side of the road. It was Crazy Barry Fungus.
    ‘Tweet tweet?’ he said hopefully. ‘Tweet tweet?’
    Now, Crazy Barry Fungus suffered from a rare medical condition called ‘Stupidity’. Or in other words, he thought he was a chaffinch. Most people just passed him by as if he wasn’t there. But Polly was far too kind-hearted for that.
    ‘Here you goes, little birdy,’ she said, fishing a handful of birdseed from her skirt pocket.
    ‘Tweet tweet,’ said Crazy Barry, licking it gratefully from her palm. It was the kindest thing anyone had done for him in years.
    ‘I don’t expect he can help us,’ said Friday. ‘He’s only a chaffinch. He knows nothing of the danger our town is in.’
    But as Crazy Barry Fungus watched his visitors go, a gleam of light came into his eyes. ‘Tweet tweet,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Tweet tweet tweet tweet tweet.’

    Back at the office, Polly and Friday coloured in all the places they’d visited on the map. It was quite fun. Polly did her bits in pink and Friday did his bits in ‘bunch-paraka’, which was a new colour he had invented that morning.
    ‘Well, Mr Polly,’ said Friday. ‘We covered quite a lot of the town today – but there are still a few places left to investigate. Now, how about a nice cup of tea?’
    So Polly put the kettle on, Polly put the kettle on, Polly put the kettle on –
    ‘Hey, are you playin’ with the photocopier again, Mr Friday?’ said Polly.
    ‘Sorry,’ said Friday. ‘Hey, let’s have a rubber-band fight!’
    But just then, the office door flew open – and there stood Crazy Barry Fungus, flapping away in his birdcage, his face full of excitement and his mouth full of birdseed.
    ‘Tweet!’ he cried as he struggled through the doorway. ‘Tweet tweet!’
    ‘I think he wants to tell us somethin’!’ said Polly. ‘Come in, Mr Crazy! Come in!’
    Very carefully, Crazy Barry Fungus bent his head and began spitting out a message on the floor. A message written in birdseed.
    ‘I’m sorry I have to spell out messages in birdseed,’ he spelt, ‘but I cannot talk as I am only a chaffinch. But you were kind to me earlier, and now I want to help you in return. For I see –’

    Then he ran out of birdseed and had to lick it all up off the floor and start spitting it out again to carry on with his message.
    ‘I see a lot of strange things on my travels,’ wrote Barry Fungus, ‘and lately I have seen something very peculiar. Something very –’
    Then he ran out of birdseed and had to lick it all up again.
    ‘This is really, really disgusting,’ said Friday – but Polly hushed him.
    ‘Something very peculiar indeed,’ spat Barry Fungus. ‘I have seen mysterious comings and goings down by the river. Yes, down by the river, when it’s late and only us chaffinches are awake!’
    ‘Comin’s an’ goin’s down by the river?’ said Polly. ‘But what’s that gots to do with them pollutions?’
    Crazy Barry Fungus ran out of birdseed