Mr Ape, page 4
‘Talking of names,’ said Ape, ‘what are we going to call this foal, Jake?’
Jake smiled.
‘I don’t really know. I’m so glad I’ll be able to watch her grow up.’
If, thought Ape, you and your father don’t move on, as gypsies will, and he suddenly realized with a pang of sadness how lonely he would be when they did. ‘Of course, of course,’ he said gruffly. ‘Now then, Jake, you choose a name for her. What about a flower? Her mother’s called after a flower. Have you got a favourite one?’
Jake thought for a bit, frowning with the effort. Then he said, ‘Hollyhock.’
‘Perfect!’ said Ape. ‘Hollyhock she is. And by the way, she’s not the only new arrival. The grey rabbit’s had six. Come and have a look.’
But when Ape and Jake entered the butler’s pantry, they found that the rabbit population of Penny Royal was now two dozen. Within the last few hours the black doe had also given birth to six babies.
‘That reminds me, we shall need more rabbit food before long, Mr Ape,’ Jake said, ‘and canary seed.’
‘Let’s go and have a check-up,’ said Ape.
Together they walked across the hall to the first of two smaller rooms that were now used as stores.
In the flower room were kept the bedding materials, sawdust and straw, and also hay. Here too was kept something Jake had found in the attics, a big old-fashioned pram in which, long ago, the young Spring-Russells had been wheeled about the grounds of Penny Royal by their nursemaids. Into this each day Jake loaded all that he needed – the food, the bedding, the sawdust, fresh water in plastic bottles, a broom, a dustpan and brush, a shovel, a bucket – and pushed it round from room to room.
In the sewing room were kept the food supplies, in old biscuit-tins and tea-canisters (also found in the attics). Only thus were the stocks of rabbit-mixture and canary-seed safe from other greedy little mouths. Ape’s pets were not the only creatures in the house: there were a great many mice.
At either side of these small rooms stood two large ones, the library and the billiard room. Each was unchanged from its original use, for Ape loved his books and his billiards, a game he had now begun to teach to Jake: the boy was not yet quite tall enough and had to stand upon an apple-box to play his shots.
Now, in the sewing room, Jake checked over the supplies of food as Ape watched. ‘I think we’ll last till the weekend,’ he said.
‘I can pop down to the pet shop any time,’ said Ape. ‘Tomorrow, if you like.’
‘School,’ said Jake.
‘What? Oh yes, I get it, you want to come too. All right, we’ll go on Saturday morning.’
On Saturday the owner of the pet shop rubbed his hands at the sight of Ape. He knew a good customer when he saw one. ‘Good morning, Mr Spring-Russell!’ he said. ‘What can we do for you today?’
‘My assistant has a list of the stuff we need,’ said Ape. ‘I’ll just have a look round,’ and leaving Jake to it, he lumbered off to see what was for sale.
To be fair, Ape had not come with the intention of buying any animals. He had a look at some hamsters (but they were all asleep), and at some pet mice (‘But we’ve already got enough of your sort at home,’ he said).
‘Home, sweet home,’ said a voice. ‘Bob’s your uncle!’
‘I beg your pardon?’ said Ape, turning to see who had spoken. There was no-one near – Jake and the shopkeeper were busy at the other end of the shop but otherwise it was empty of people.
‘Beg your pardon, grant your grace. Mind the cat don’t scratch your face,’ said the voice, and then Ape, looking up, saw, in a large cage above his head, a green parrot.
‘Bob’s your uncle!’ it said again.
‘By Jove!’ said Ape. ‘D’you know, I did have an uncle called Bob! I must say, old chap, you talk extremely well.’
‘Ding dong bell,’ said the parrot. ‘Pussy’s in the well. Pass the mustard. God save the Queen!’
Ape was fascinated by the clarity of the bird’s speech. ‘I say!’ he called to the shopkeeper. ‘Is this parrot for sale?’
The man came over, Jake following. ‘Oh yes, Mr Spring-Russell,’ he said. ‘He’s a wonderful talker, he is. He doesn’t make a lot of sense but he’s very quick at copying things, aren’t you, you silly old chap.’
‘Silly old chap,’ said the parrot.
‘How much d’you want for him?’ said Ape.
‘I’m afraid,’ said the shopkeeper, ‘that a bird like that is very expensive.’
‘How much?’ said Ape and, at the figure the man mentioned, the parrot gave a long low whistle.
‘What do you think?’ Ape asked the bird.
‘Bob’s your uncle,’ said the parrot.
‘Chuck in the cage and a packet of parrot food,’ said Ape, ‘and it’s a deal.’
‘A cage like that is very expensive, you know.’
‘Take it or leave it.’
‘All right then, Mr Spring-Russell,’ said the shopkeeper. ‘Seeing as you’re such a good customer. Mind you, I think you’ve got a bargain.’
‘A bargain,’ said the parrot.
CHAPTER 8
Ape Gets Some Advice
One evening some weeks later the gypsy and his son sat side by side on the steps of their caravan, enjoying the dusk of an unusually warm October evening. On the grass below them the lurcher bitch Swift lay upon her side, all her pups now gone. Once Ape had taken his pick of the litter, Joe had had no trouble in selling the rest. There were plenty of local sportsmen who knew the potential worth of such gypsy dogs, so fleet of foot, so quick to pick up rabbit or even hare on a dark night, very likely on someone else’s land.
All the pups, a dog and three bitches, had been brindled like the mother. Ape had picked the dog puppy, a week ago now.
As they sat and watched the moon swim up over the rim of the common, Jake said, ‘I’m worried about Mr Ape, Dada.’
‘Worried? Why?’
‘Because the way he’s going on, I think he’s going to fill every room in that great big house with animals, and then how will he manage when we move on? He’s finally released the jackdaw back into the wild, but next time we go to the pet shop, he’ll probably come back with mice and gerbils and hamsters, and they’ll all start breeding, just like the rabbits and the guinea-pigs. There are forty-two guinea-pigs now and the rabbits have got up to twenty-four and he’s put the does back with the buck so there’ll soon be loads more. Why d’you think he wants so many animals?’
‘His wife wouldn’t let him keep any,’ said Joe. ‘He told me. But you’re right, Jake, it’s all getting out of hand. And I’ll tell you another thing … he’s always talking to himself, but now he’s forever chatting away – to the small animals, to the donkey foal, to the puppy, to the parrot (and of course the parrot talks back). It’s getting like a madhouse.’
‘Mr Ape’s not mad, Dada,’ said Jake.
‘No, I know, he’s just a lonely old man. All the same, after what you’ve said I’ll have a chat with him tomorrow, after you’ve gone to school.’
The next day Joe rode the horse Billy up the long drive to Penny Royal, a drive which had once been kept neat and orderly, fringed by well-tended shrubs and bordered by white-painted iron railings. Now much of the paint had flaked off the rusting rails, the shrubs had grown into a jungle, and the surface of the drive itself was cracked and broken, with weeds sprouting through.
Joe rode across the lawns, still, despite his best efforts, not much more than a rough field, to the kitchen garden.
He called to Columbine, who ambled up, Hollyhock skittering alongside, and put a halter on her to take her down to water at the stable-yard trough. He looked about at the ruins of what had once been the pride of Penny Royal’s head-gardener, with its orderly plots of vegetables, and the fine fruit trees that grew against its walls, and its greenhouses; these were now derelict, the donkey had gnawed the bark of apple, plum and peach trees, and everywhere there was a wild tangle of bolted green stuff.
Later, Joe made his way round to the back door of the house, which led directly into the kitchen. He raised the heavy brass knocker shaped like a fish (the crest of the Spring-Russell family was a leaping salmon) and let it fall.
Before the echoes of the noise had died away, he heard a voice say loudly – in Ape’s unmistakable tones – ‘Kindly go away! I am extremely busy!’
That’s not like the old boy, Joe thought, he’s usually so polite. He walked back round the side of the house, only to see Ape coming out of the front door, carrying his puppy. He marched down the steps and put it on the ground, saying firmly, ‘Now then, my lad, that’s the place to do it – outside. Not in the middle of the hall.’
‘Sorry about disturbing you just now,’ said Joe.
‘Disturbing me?’
‘I knocked on the back door and you said to go away, you were very busy.’
Ape gave a roar of laughter. ‘That must have been Bob,’ he said. ‘He’s got my voice to a T.’
‘The pup looks well,’ said Joe. ‘What d’you call him?’
‘Speedy,’ said Ape. ‘Because he already is. And he’s quick to learn too. That was the first and only mistake we’ve had in the house – my fault, I should have put him out earlier. Come and have a cup of tea.’
In the kitchen the green parrot sat silent in his cage.
‘I hear you’ve been a naughty boy, Uncle Bob,’ said Ape.
‘Kindly go away!’ said Uncle Bob. ‘I am extremely busy!’
‘Good imitation, isn’t it?’ said Ape.
He unlatched the door of the cage and the parrot emerged slowly, inspecting Joe with a bright considering eye.
‘Can he fly?’ asked Joe.
‘No,’ said Ape. ‘He’s grounded. His flight feathers on one wing have been clipped.’
‘Silly old chap,’ said Uncle Bob in an ordinary parrot voice, as he walked up Ape’s sleeve and sat upon his shoulder.
‘He’s handsome,’ said Joe.
‘Handsome is as handsome does,’ said the parrot, and he raised his tail and made a mess on the floor. ‘Bob’s your uncle!’ he cried triumphantly.
‘I’m afraid his house-training isn’t going as well as Speedy’s,’ said Ape.
‘Good boy, Speedy,’ said Uncle Bob in Ape’s voice, and the brindled pup’s whip-tail wagged happily.
When they had drunk their tea, Ape said, ‘I haven’t collected the eggs today yet. You might like some.’
In the drawing room, while Ape was picking up the eggs, the gypsy caught the eye of Mrs Spring-Russell on the wall. What would she say? he thought. What shall I say? How shall I start?
Ape’s next words gave him the answer to that: ‘Only four today,’ he said, straightening up. ‘Some of these birds have gone broody, that’s the trouble. Now if I only had a cockerel, they could be sitting on fertile eggs and we could have lots and lots of chicks. Perhaps I should buy one. What do you think, Joe?’
Joe took another look at Mrs Spring-Russell and a deep breath. ‘No, Mr Ape,’ he said. ‘Since you ask me, I certainly don’t think you should. At least in this room the numbers can’t increase, or in the music room where the canaries are all cock birds. Because before long you’re going to have a plague of rabbits and guinea-pigs in the dining room, and then you’ll be starting to fill the upstairs rooms and where will it all end? It’s not really my business, but I think you should be getting rid of animals, not getting more.’
‘Get rid of them all?’ said Ape. ‘Not Speedy?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘Or Hollyhock?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘Or Uncle Bob?’
‘No, of course not!’ shouted the parrot.
‘What I mean is,’ said Joe, ‘why not sell the babies you’ve bred? All those little rabbits, and then all the little guinea-pigs – there are thirty of those already, Jake said.’
‘Thirty-five,’ said Ape. ‘Another lot last night.’
‘There you are, you see. Think of all the children who’d love to have one or two of those as pets.’
‘But I don’t know any children,’ said Ape. ‘Except Jake.’
‘I do,’ said Joe. ‘All the kids at his school. They’d have them.’
‘I suppose you’re right,’ said Ape. ‘But even if I did that, there’d soon be lots more babies.’
‘If you keep both sexes. Why not just keep the doe rabbits and the guinea-pig sows? And don’t buy a cockerel.’
‘And Bob’s your uncle,’ said the parrot.
CHAPTER 9
Ape Starts a Fire
For the rest of that week Ape considered Joe’s advice. At the weekend he consulted Jake. They were playing a game of billiards at the time, and Jake, standing on his apple-box, was lining up a long pot on the red.
‘Jake!’ said Ape suddenly just as the boy was playing the shot.
‘Mr Ape!’ said Jake. ‘You put me off!’
‘Sorry,’ said Ape. ‘I was just going to ask you to do me a favour.’
‘What sort of a favour?’
‘Well, you see …’ began Ape, and then he outlined the plan on which he had decided.
‘If I write it all out,’ he said, ‘could you take the notice to your headmaster and see if it’s OK by him?’
Jake nodded.
‘Thanks,’ said Ape. ‘Look, have that shot again.’
But once more, just as the boy played the pot, Ape’s voice rang out saying, ‘Jake!’
This time Jake missed the red ball completely. ‘Oh honestly, Mr Ape …!’ he began, but when he turned round, Ape was shaking his head and grinning and pointing to a chair where Uncle Bob was perching.
‘Foul stroke,’ said the parrot.
Ape gave a lot of thought to the wording of the notice that Jake was to take to school on the Monday. He wanted to be sure that any animal he parted with would be properly looked after, and though he didn’t intend to ask any money for it, he thought that getting something for nothing was not a good idea.
So the notice that Jake took (and that the headmaster approved) read as follows:
‘There!’ said Ape as he finished writing this at the kitchen table. ‘What d’you think of that then?’ and Jake said, ‘Fine,’ and Speedy thumped his tail on the floor, and Uncle Bob said, ‘Kindly go away! I am extremely busy!’
By the end of October Ape’s menagerie had grown very very much smaller. So many children had written, wanting rabbits or guinea-pigs or canaries, and Ape hadn’t had the heart to refuse any of them. A surprising number of applicants claimed that Jake Hart was their best friend. Not only the buck rabbit and all the babies had gone but two of the does as well, leaving only the spotty doe. She and two female guinea-pigs (all the rest had been snapped up) had now been moved from the dining room to share the music room with its last remaining inhabitant, a cock canary who sang happily to them from his golf-club swing.
Speedy and Uncle Bob still lived in the kitchen, of course, and the hens in the drawing room, but the animal population of Penny Royal had dwindled to almost nothing.
Ape found that he could not regret this, for he had made a great many children happy. Joe was glad that no more animals of any kind could be born in the house. Jake was not sorry to have less to do – it gave him more time for his homework – and pleased because the parrot seemed to have taken a great fancy to him. Whenever he was in the house, Uncle Bob would follow him around with his rolling sailor’s gait, shouting, ‘Jake! Jake! Wait for me! Bob’s your uncle!’
One morning at the beginning of November Ape said to Joe, ‘I’m just on my way into town. It’s Guy Fawkes Night this coming Sunday and I thought I’d buy a nice lot of fireworks. Haven’t had any for years and years, but I always enjoyed them as a boy. Jake would enjoy it, wouldn’t he?’
‘He would,’ said Joe. ‘So would I.’
So Ape went off and had a lovely time buying rockets and Catherine wheels and roman candles and jumping-jacks and sparklers.
As it grew dark on the Sunday evening, everything was ready. Safety was, as always on Guy Fawkes Night, the main thing to be thought of, not just of the people but of the animals. Swift had been left at home in the caravan. Speedy was shut in the kitchen with Uncle Bob. Billy and the donkeys were far enough away to be in no danger, and the hens and the remaining small animals were of course perfectly safe inside the house.
Ape and Joe had built a big bonfire of old bits of wood and other rubbish in the middle of the sweep of gravel before the front door. In the centre of the bonfire was a guy dressed in some of Ape’s old clothes (and looking not unlike him).
Once it was dark enough, they set it alight.
Jake stood watching, twirling a sparkler, as the poor old guy burned and fell. Then the two men began to set off the fireworks, and the rockets soared and the Catherine wheels spun and the roman candles flared and the jumping-jacks fizzed and jumped. And all the time the bonfire blazed and the sparks shot upwards into the night sky.
So busy were they all with the fireworks that no-one noticed when some old, very dry planks of wood that were in the middle of the bonfire suddenly collapsed, sending up a pillar of fat sparks. No-one saw the wind catch one of those sparks and lift it high on to the roof of Penny Royal. No-one knew that just at that point of the roof stood the tall chimney stack of the disused drawing room fireplace, nor that in the top of that chimney was wedged a collection of bits of paper and straw and old sticks, the remains of that nest from which the young jackdaw had fallen down the chimney. For hundreds of years jackdaws had nested in the tops of this and the many other chimneys of Penny Royal. But now they never would again.
The single spark fell into this rubbish and set the paper and straw on fire, and then the sticks caught alight and began to burn fiercely. Unknown to all those below, this fireball fell down the drawing room chimney on to the hearth beneath, where, as they blazed up, the flames took hold of the varnished wood of the great mahogany mantelshelf above the fireplace. The terrified hens, woken suddenly from their mumuring slumber, fluttered from their perches and began to run blindly about the huge high-ceilinged room.
