Mystery of the Strange Bundle Read Free Page A

temperature is down. Bets, bring the tray down when you want the next course - and don’t let Frederick gobble up your soup as well as his!”
     

That Afternoon
     
    The two ate their soup in a pleasant silence. It was hot and well-flavoured. Fatty took two pieces of toast with it and crunched them up with appetite. He seemed to be hungrier even than Bets!
    A distant bark came to their ears. Fatty listened and frowned. “I do think Mother might have let me have Buster in today,” he said. “He’d be good for me.”
    “You didn’t want him in yesterday,” said Bets, spooning up the last of her soup. “You said his bark would drive you mad.”
    “Did I really?” said Fatty in surprise. “Fancy my thinking old Buster’s bark would ever drive me mad. I think he’s got a very nice bark - not too yappy and not too woofy - a proper Scottie bark. I wish you’d ask Mother if I could have him in here this afternoon, Bets. She might do it if you asked her.”
    “All right. I’ll ask her,” said Bets, getting up to take the tray. “But I bet she won’t let him get on the bed, Fatty. Do you really want some chicken now? I feel a bit full up already.”
    “Yes. And plenty of bread sauce,” said Fatty. “And some more toast. That soup’s made me feel warm and comfortable, but it hasn’t done much else. Sure you don’t want me to carry the tray for you, Bets?”
    “Idiot,” said Bets happily, and walked out with the tray. Mrs. Trotteville was surprised to hear that Fatty really wanted chicken. She filled a plate for him and one for Bets. “The pudding is stewed apple and rice pudding,” she said. “He said he wanted two helpings, but I’m sure he won’t want even one. There - can you manage, Bets?”
    Bets arrived in the bedroom with the tray, and put it down by Fatty’s bed. He eyed it with satisfaction. “I’d better get on to that before my appetite fades away,” he said, and began to tuck in. Yes, certainly Fatty was on the mend. Nobody could eat like that if they were feeling at all ill!
    He slowed down a bit before he reached the end of the chicken and vegetables. “What’s the pudding?” he asked Bets.
    “Stewed apple and rice,” said Bets. Fatty made a face.
    “Pooh! What a pudding to plan for some one in bed. It’s bad enough to be faced with that when you’re up and about. I shan’t have any.”
    “I suppose you’re pretending you would have had two enormous helpings if it had been treacle pudding?” suggested Bets, slyly. “You’re a fibber, Fatty. You can’t eat another thing! Nor can I, as a matter of fact. I’ll take this tray down now.”
    “Don’t forget to ask Mother if Buster can come up this afternoon,” Fatty called to her.
    Bets delivered the tray, broke the news about the lack of appetite for apples and rice, and asked about Buster.
    “Well,” said Mrs. Trotteville, considering the matter, “well, I wouldn’t mind if I thought Frederick would keep quiet, and not get excited with Buster tearing all over the place. Oh, and Bets, your mother said you could stay on to tea if you like. She says Pip has got some one coming to see him this afternoon, and it would be good for you to have a change and be with Frederick for a bit. Would you like to?”
    “Oh yes,” said Bets. “But doesn’t Fatty rest a bit in the afternoon? I mean - I had to sleep after my dinner when I had ‘flu’.”
    “Yes, certainly he must,” said Mrs. Trotteville. “But you needn’t stay with him then. You can come down here and have a book to read and then go back again when he is awake. He can bang on the floor or ring the bell when he has had enough sleep. And if he still wants Buster, you can take him up then.”
    “Oh, good!” said Bets. “I’ll just go out into the kitchen and have a word with old Buster, Mrs. Trotteville. He must be missing us all so!”
    Buster gave her a frantic welcome. He tore round her on his short legs, rolled over, bounced up again, and altogether behaved as if he was about six months old. He barked non-stop, and the two maids sitting