Five Children and It, E. Nesbit [good summer reads TXT] 📗

like my brother’s there. And we didn’t bring him up to the Fair because people do stare so, and they seem to go into kind of standing-up fits when they see him. And we thought perhaps you’d like to show him and get pennies; and if you like to pay us something, you can⁠—only, it’ll have to be rather a lot, because we promised him he should have a double share of whatever we made.”

The woman murmured something indistinct, of which the children could only hear the words, “Swelp me!” “balmy,” and “crumpet,” which conveyed no definite idea to their minds.

She had taken Anthea’s hand, and was holding it very firmly; and Anthea could not help wondering what would happen if Robert should have wandered off or turned his proper size during the interval. But she knew that the Psammead’s gifts really did last till sunset, however inconvenient their lasting might be; and she did not think, somehow, that Robert would care to go out alone while he was that size.

When they reached the barn and Cyril called “Robert!” there was a stir among the loose hay, and Robert began to come out. His hand and arm came first⁠—then a foot and leg. When the woman saw the hand she said “My!” but when she saw the foot she said “Upon my civvy!” and when, by slow and heavy degrees, the whole of Robert’s enormous bulk was at last completely disclosed, she drew a long breath and began to say many things, compared with which “balmy” and “crumpet” seemed quite ordinary. She dropped into understandable English at last.

“What’ll you take for him?” she said excitedly. “Anything in reason. We’d have a special van built⁠—leastways, I know where there’s a secondhand one would do up handsome⁠—what a baby elephant had, as died. What’ll you take? He’s soft, ain’t he? Them giants mostly is⁠—but I never see⁠—no, never! What’ll you take? Down on the nail. We’ll treat him like a king, and give him first-rate grub and a doss fit for a bloomin’ dook. He must be dotty or he wouldn’t need you kids to cart him about. What’ll you take for him?”

“They won’t take anything,” said Robert sternly. “I’m no more soft than you are⁠—not so much, I shouldn’t wonder. I’ll come and be a show for today if you’ll give me,”⁠—he hesitated at the enormous price he was about to ask⁠—“if you’ll give me fifteen shillings.”

“Done,” said the woman, so quickly that Robert felt he had been unfair to himself, and wished he had asked thirty. “Come on now⁠—and see my Bill⁠—and we’ll fix a price for the season. I dessay you might get as much as two quid a week reg’lar. Come on⁠—and make yourself as small as you can, for gracious’ sake!”

This was not very small, and a crowd gathered quickly, so that it was at the head of an enthusiastic procession that Robert entered the trampled meadow where the Fair was held, and passed over the stubbly yellow dusty grass to the door of the biggest tent. He crept in, and the woman went to call her Bill. He was the big sleeping man, and he did not seem at all pleased at being awakened. Cyril, watching through a slit in the tent, saw him scowl and shake a heavy fist and a sleepy head. Then the woman went on speaking very fast. Cyril heard “Strewth,” and “biggest draw you ever, so help me!” and he began to share Robert’s feeling that fifteen shillings was indeed far too little. Bill slouched up to the tent and entered. When he beheld the magnificent proportions of Robert he said but little⁠—“Strike me pink!” were the only words the children could afterwards remember⁠—but he produced fifteen shillings, mainly in sixpences and coppers, and handed it to Robert.

“We’ll fix up about what you’re to draw when the show’s over tonight,” he said with hoarse heartiness. “Lor’ love a duck! you’ll be that happy with us you’ll never want to leave us. Can you do a song now⁠—or a bit of a breakdown?”

“Not today,” said Robert, rejecting the idea of trying to sing “As Once in May,” a favourite of his mother’s, and the only song he could think of at the moment.

“Get Levi and clear them bloomin’ photos out. Clear the tent. Stick up a curtain or suthink,” the man went on. “Lor’, what a pity we ain’t got no tights his size! But we’ll have ’em before the week’s out. Young man, your fortune’s made. It’s a good thing you came to me, and not to some chaps as I could tell you on. I’ve known blokes as beat their giants, and starved ’em too; so I’ll tell you straight, you’re in luck this day if you never was afore. ’Cos I’m a lamb, I am⁠—and I don’t deceive you.”

“I’m not afraid of anyone’s beating me,” said Robert, looking down on the “lamb.” Robert was crouched on his knees, because the tent was not big enough for him to stand upright in, but even in that position he could still look down on most people. “But I’m awfully hungry⁠—I wish you’d get me something to eat.”

“Here, ’Becca,” said the hoarse Bill. “Get him some grub⁠—the best you’ve got, mind!” Another whisper followed, of which the children only heard, “Down in black and white⁠—first thing tomorrow.”

Then the woman went to get the food⁠—it was only bread and cheese when it came, but it was delightful to the large and empty Robert; and the man went to post sentinels round the tent, to give the alarm if Robert should attempt to escape with his fifteen shillings.

“As if we weren’t honest,” said Anthea indignantly when the meaning of the sentinels dawned on her.

Then began a very strange and wonderful afternoon.

Bill was a man who knew his business. In a very little while, the photographic views, the spyglasses you look at them through so that they really seem rather real, and the lights