Enid Blyton (11 page)

He went on reading. "'Fanny is a thief. She took my rubber at school.

Paddy-Paws is a thief, too. He steals fish from the fish shop."

"I never did steal fish, you know," said Paddy-Paws, pulling at Pink-Whistle's trousers. "And my little mistress, Fanny, isn't a thief. She's honest and truthful and good. And Betty isn't a cry baby—but she can't help feeling miserable when her tooth aches, can she? And George isn't a coward, and-----"

ON THE WALL, WRITTEN IN DIFFERENT COLOURED CHALKS, WERE A
 
GREAT MANY HORRID SENTENCES.

Pink-Whistle frowned as he looked at the rows of horrid writing on the wall, and read on further—"'Old Mrs. Brown is mean. Nancy cheats at sums.* Good gracious me, what an unpleasant person this boy must be!" said the little man. "What's his name, Paddy-Paws?"

"Harold, sir," said the tabby cat. "Look—here he comes, with one of his bits of chalk!"

In a trice Pink-Whistle made himself invisible. Paddy-Paws stared round and about in surprise. Where had this nice little man gone to so suddenly?

"Fm still here, but you can't see me," said Pink-Whistle, in a whisper.

"You go home now, Paddy-Paws, and leave this boy to me. I'll soon cure him."

Pink-Whistle went up close to Harold's back, and watched what he was writing. Harold wrote very clearly and quickly. "Ellen took some apples off Mr. Henry's tree when he wasn't there."

Just as he was finishing this, a boy and girl came up. "Hallo, Ellen!" said Harold, with a big grin. "I saw you up that apple tree. You're a bad girl!"

Ellen gave a scream when she saw what Harold had written. "You horrid boy! Mr. Henry
said
I could pick six apples because I fed his hens for him. And oh, look, George, he has written that you're a coward. Fight him!"

But George, the boy with her, was very small, much smaller than the big Harold. He stared at Harold and tried to speak boldly. "You're NOT to write things like this, you're—

But he didn't say any more, because Harold knocked him right over, bang, wallop! Ellen pulled George up to his feet and they both ran away at once. Harold was too big to fight!

Mr. Pink-Whistle frowned. When Harold left the wall and walked away, whistling, Mr. Pink-Whistle followed him, still invisible.

He was quite surprised at all the things that Harold did on his way home. He slipped into Mr. Henry's field and took three pears growing on the wall there. He went into old Mrs. Brown's garden and cut her washing-line so that all the clean clothes fell to the ground. He chased a small kitten up a tree and then threw stones at it.

Pink-Whistle was amazed. To think that a bad boy like this dared to write horrid things about other children, where everyone could read them!

He followed Harold very closely indeed. What was this awful boy going to do next?

Harold walked by the greengrocer's shop. Outside were boxes of all kinds of goods. Harold took a quick look round to make sure no one was about and quickly picked up two bananas. He put them under his coat.

Pink-Whistle could hardly believe his eyes!

Then Harold saw a small boy walking down the road and ran quietly behind him. He snatched the boy's cap off his head and threw it over a garden hedge up into a tree. The boy swung round fiercely, but when he saw Harold, he said nothing. Harold was so big and strong!

Pink-Whistle watched everything that Harold did. He followed him all the way home and indoors. He saw him tiptoe to the larder and take two jam-tarts. He saw him take some chocolates out of his mother's box. What a dreadful boy!

Soon Harold's mother came home from her shopping. "Hallo, dear,"

she said, "have you had a nice day at school?"

"Yes," said Harold. "I was top in class. The other children are so stupid. Katie's a tell tale, and Fanny is a dreadful thief, and George is an awful coward."

"Your father will be pleased to hear you were top again," said his mother. "Here he conies. Put the kettle on for tea, Harold."

Pink-Whistle stood quietly in a corner behind the couch, out of the way of the family as they got tea and sat down to it. Then the little man crept out of his corner, still invisible, and put his hand into the right-hand pocket of Harold's coat. He pulled out some pieces of coloured chalk. Ah—Pink-Whistle was going to have a fine time now!

"Fanny is an awful thief," said Harold, eating his bread and jam. "She stole my rubber yesterday and to-day she took my best pencil."

Just as he finished, there came a faint squeaking sound from the big bare wall opposite the table. It was made by the red chalk that Pink-Whistle was suddenly using to write with!

Everyone stared in amazement as a line of very neat writing began to appear on the wall. The words followed one another fast.

"Harold is a thief. He stole two bananas from the greengrocer's shop.

He stole three pears from Mr. Henry's wall-trees. They are in his pockets now."

Harold's father stared at the writing in the greatest astonishment.

"What's all this?" he said. "Who's written that? Have you
really
stolen pears and bananas, Harold?"

There came another line of writing.

"Harold is a coward. He knocks down children smaller than himself.

He is cruel. He chased a tiny kitten up a tree. He is unkind. He threw a small boy's cap over a garden hedge."

Harold sat glued to his chair, his eyes following the strange writing that went on and on across the wall. He began to whimper, because he was so frightened.

"Harold is a cry baby," wrote the chalk. "Look at him whimpering now!

He took two jam-tarts from the larder. He stole two chocolates from the box over there. He------"

Harold gave a loud cry and rushed over to the wall, pulling his hanky out of his pocket as he ran. He rubbed it over the wall, so that it smudged and blurred the writing.

But Pink-Whistle immediately went to the next wall and went on writing there!

"Harold cut Mrs. Brown's washing-line and made all the clothes fall to the ground. He------"

"Oh! Harold—surely that wasn't
you
who did that!" said his mother.

"Mrs. Brown told me someone had cut her line—oh, Harold, what is all this writing? Who is doing it?"

"It is Mr. Pink-Whistle," wrote Pink-Whistle. "I have seen the wicked things that Harold scribbles on walls, so I am doing the same to him. But the things I write are true, and what
he
writes is untrue!"

"Mr. Pink-Whistle!"
said Harold, in fear. He had read many tales of the little half-brownie man, and he knew all about him. He snatched the chalk as it wrote, and felt round and about for Pink-Whistle—but he was safely behind the couch again, still quite invisible!

Pink-Whistle gave a little laugh. "Beware, Harold!" he said.

"Whenever you write on walls outside, I shall come and write on your walls here. If
you
can do it, so can I!"

And with that he skipped over the couch, went to the window and jumped neatly out. He set off home, longing for a cup of tea. Sooty was most interested to hear all that had happened!

"Now, Sooty, I want you to go each night and see if anything is written by Harold on that wall," said Pink-Whistle, drinking a nice hot cup of tea. Sooty nodded. He went that very night, with Paddy-Paws—but, dear me, someone had been along and wiped the wall clean!

"That's Harold!" said Paddy-Paws, "I saw him go by with a duster. I guess he won't ever scribble on walls again, Sooty!"

For a whole week Sooty went to look at that wall, but it was as clean as could be. Harold wasn't going to have Pink-Whistle coming along to his home and writing things about
him!
That wasn't funny at all.

Paddy-Paws was very grateful. He caught three rats in Pink-Whistle's garden and laid them in a row on his front door-step to show him how grateful he was. Pink-Whistle was surprised to see them there!

"Thank you, Paddy-Paws," he said. "I'm always pleased to put wrong things right, you know. Tell me, if you want my help for anyone, another time!"

He's nice, isn't he? I'd love to have a friend like old Pink-Whistle!

MR. PINK-WHISTLE'S CAT 
IS BUSY

ONE day, just as Mr. Pink-Whistle was about to go and catch the train to visit his old aunt, Sooty, his cat, came running to

"Master—there's a black cat with white paws come to see you. He wants your help."

"Well, Sooty, I can't miss my train," said Pink-Whistle. "See if
you
can help him. After all, you're a cat too, and you know my ways —you can surely put right whatever the cat has come about. You can use anything out of my spell-cupboard if you like."

"Thank you, Master," said Sooty, and waved good-bye to Pink-Whistle from the door. Then he shut it and went to the back door, where the black cat with white paws was waiting patiently.

"I will put things right for you," said Sooty, rather grandly. "What's the trouble, Whiskers?"

"Well, it's the man next door," said Whiskers. "He's a thief, Sooty, and a very sly one. He only takes small things, usually what he can put into his pockets, or carry in his hands. I've known about him for years, of course, but I've never bothered about him till to-day."

"Why to-day?" asked Sooty, taking the cat indoors. "Help yourself to the milk in my saucer—it's nice and fresh. Now tell me everything!"

"Well, I belong to a very kind old lady," said Whiskers. "But she's going a bit blind, and she can't see as well as she used to—and this man next door—Mr.

Gubbs his name is—keeps coming in, pretending to ask how she is—and each time he pops something into his pockets— perhaps a sausage roll from the larder, or a book from the bookshelf, or even something from my old lady's purse."

"How wicked!" said Sooty. "Just because the old lady can't see!" Yes. And this morning my old lady missed the stick she useswhen she goes for a walk," said Whiskers. "It's a fine black one made of ebony, with a shining silver handle, and she's very proud of it. Now it's gone."

"Did this Mr. Gubbs take it?" asked Sooty.

"Of course he did! He came in to see the old lady this morning, and patted her hand, and asked her how she was—and told her not to come and see him out of the door, he knew the way all right—and he took the stick out of the hall-stand. He thought nobody saw him— but
I
saw him! I was sitting in a dark corner of the hall, watching."

"It's a pity you aren't a dog," said Sooty. "Then you could bark at him and bite him."

"I've tried hissing loudly, and putting out my claws if he comes near me," said Whiskers. "But he kicks me, and I'm afraid of him. Wouldn't Mr.

Pink-Whistle help? He likes to put wrong things right, doesn't he?"

"He's gone away. I can help instead," said Sooty. He went to Mr. Pink-Whistle's cupboard and looked at all the queer bottles and boxes there. He suddenly caught sight of a small bottle with blue-green liquid inside, and he laughed. He took it down.

"Look," he said, "this is a funny spell—it makes any tongue talk, and------

"But that's silly—tongues always do talk," said Whiskers.

"Not
all
tongues!" said Sooty. "Not the tongues of shoes, for instance! Look, Whiskers, if you can manage to rub this spell on the tongues of Mr. Gubbs' shoes, they will soon chatter away and tell the world about him — and
he
won't know who's doing the talking!"

Whiskers laughed so much that he fell into the saucer of milk. "Give me the bottle," he said. "I'll manage to spread the spell on the tongues
somehow.
Oh, what a time I'm going to have!"

He hardly waited to say good-bye to Sooty, but ran off with the bottle in his mouth. And that night, when Mr. Gubbs was in bed, and his shoes were in the kitchen, waiting to be cleaned, Whiskers hopped in at the scullery window and ran over to them. He poured a little of the blue-green liquid over the tongues of the shoes, and then nibbed it in.

"Now talk, shoes, talk as much as you like when Mr. Gubbs wears you," he mewed. "Tell the world about him and what he does!"

Well, next morning Mr. Gubbs put on his shoes as usual, and wondered where he could go that day to pick up a few more things that didn't belong to him. Yes—he would go round the market. It was market-day, and there would be plenty of chances for him to take this or that.

So off he went. On the way he met Mr. Jaunty and managed to take his nice, blue silk handkerchief out of his pocket as he passed by. Then, when he passed Miss Jinky's house, he saw a lovely pink rose blossoming by the wall, and he snipped it off and put it in his buttonhole.

At the market he wandered round, smiling at people he knew, nodding politely, and stopping to say a few words to this person and that.

He also managed to pocket half a pound of butter when Mrs. Plump, who owned the butter-stall, wasn't looking, and to put a handful of ripe white cherries into his pocket.

Then little Nicky and his sister came by and he offered them each a cherry from the ones in his pocket. "Oh thank you!" said Nicky. "Are they out of your garden?"