Part 4 (1/2)

That made everyone laugh. ”Edgar, the Dog's Dinner!” said Anne. ”Any biscuits in that tin on the sideboard, do you think, George?”

George got up to see. Timothy slipped out of doors and went to the dish put down for.him. He sniffed at it. George, coming back from the sideboard, looked out of the window as she pa.s.sed and saw him. At once the thought of poison came back to her mind and she yelled to Timothy, making the others jump out of their skins.

TIM! TIM! Don't touch it!”

Timothy wagged his tail as if to say he didn't mean to touch it, anyway. George rushed out of doors, and picked up the mess of raw meat. She sniffed at it.

”You haven't touched it, have you, Timothy?” she said, anxiously.

d.i.c.k leaned out of the window.

. ”No, he didn't eat any. I watched him. He sniffed all round and about it, but he wouldn't touch it. I bet it's been dosed with rat-poison or something.”

George was very white. ”Oh Timmy!” she said. ”You're such a sensible dog. You wouldn't touch poisoned stuff, would you?”

”Woof!” said Timmy, decidedly. Stinker heard the bark and put his nose out of the kitchen door.

George called to him in a loud voice: ”Stinker, Stinker, come here! Timmy doesn't want his dinner. You can have it. Come along, Stinker, here it is!”

Edgar came rus.h.i.+ng out behind Stinker. ”Don't you give that to him,” he said.

”Why not?” asked George. ”Go on, Edgar-tell me why not.”

”He don't eat raw meat,” said Edgar, after a pause. ”He only eats dog biscuits.”

”That's a lie!” said George, flaming up. ”I saw him eating meat yesterday. Here, Stinker - you come and eat this.”

Edgar s.n.a.t.c.hed the bowl from George, almost snarling at her, and ran indoors at top speed. George was about to go after him, but Julian, who had jumped out of the window when Edgar came up, stopped her.

”No good, old thing!” he said. ”You won't get anything out of him. The meat's probably at the back of the kitchen fire by now. From now on, we feed Timothy ourselves with meat bought from the butcher with our own money. Don't be afraid that he'll eat poisoned stuff. He's too wise a dog for that.”

”He might, if he was terribly, awfully hungry, Julian,” said George, looking rather green now. She felt sick inside. ”I wasn't going to let Stinker eat that poisoned stuff, of course, but I guessed that if.it was poisoned, one of the Sticks would come rus.h.i.+ng out and stop Stinker eating it. And Edgar did. So it proves it was poisoned, doesn't it?”

”I rather think it does,” said Julian. ”But don't worry, George. Timmy won't be poisoned.”

”But he might, he might,” said George, putting her hand on the big dog's head. ”Oh, I can't bear the thought of it, Julian. I can't, I really can't.”

”Don't think about it then,” said Julian, taking her indoors again. ”Here, have a biscuit!”

”You don't think the Sticks would poison us, do you?” said Anne, looking suddenly scared and gazing at her biscuit as if it might bite her.

”No, idiot. They only want to get Timmy out of the way because he guards us so well,” said Julian. ”Don't look so scared. All this will settle down in a day or two, and we'll have a grand time after all. You'll see!”

But Julian only said this to comfort his little sister. Secretly he was very worried. He wished he could take Anne, d.i.c.k and George back to his own home. But he knew George wouldn't come. And how could they leave her to the Sticks? It was quite impossible. Friends must stick together, and somehow they must face things until Aunt f.a.n.n.y and Uncle Quentin came back.

Chapter Seven.

BETTER NEWS.

”Do you think we'd better slip down after the Sticks have gone to bed and get some food out of the larder again?” said d.i.c.k, when no supper appeared that evening.

Julian didn't feel inclined to sneak down and confront Mr. Stick again. Not that he was afraid of him, but the whole thing was so unpleasant. This was their house, the food was theirs-so why should they have to beg for it, or take it on the sly? It was ridiculous.

”Come here, Timothy!” said Julian. The dog left George's side and went to Julian, looking up at the boy inquiringly. ”You're going to come with me and persuade dear kind Mrs. Stick to give us the best things out of the larder!” said Julian, with a grin.

The others laughed, cheering up at once.

”Good idea!” said d.i.c.k. ”Can we all come and see the fun.”

”Better not,” said Julian. ”I can manage fine by myself.”

He went down the pa.s.sage to the kitchen. The radio was going inside, so no one in the kitchen heard Julian till he was actually standing inside the door. Then Edgar looked up and saw Timothy as well as Julian.

Edgar was scared of the big dog, who was now growling fiercely. He went behind the kitchen sofa and stayed there, eyeing Timmy fearfully.

”What do you want?” said Mrs. Stick, turning off the radio.

”Supper,” said Julian, pleasantly. ”Supper! The best things out of the larder-bought with my uncle's money, cooked on my aunt's stove with gas she pays for-yes, supper! Open the larder door and let's see what there is in there.”

”Well, of all the nerve!” began Mr. Stick, in amazement.

”You can have a loaf of bread and some cheese,” said Mrs. Stick, ”and that's my last word.”

”Well, it isn't my last word,” said Julian, and he went to the larder door. Timmy, keep to heel! Growl all you like, but don't bite anybody-yet!”

Timmy's growls were really frightful. Even Mr. Stick put himself at the other end of the room. As for Stinker, he was nowhere to be seen. He had gone into the scullery at the very first growl, and was how s.h.i.+vering behind the wringer.

Mrs. Stick's mouth went into a hard straight line. ”You take the bread and cheese and clear out,” she said.

Julian opened the larder door, whistling softly, which annoyed Mrs. Stick more than anything else. ”My word!” said Julian, admiringly. ”You do know how to stock a larder, I must say, Mrs. Stick. A roast chicken! I thought I smelt one cooking. I suppose Mr. Stick killed one of our chickens today. I thought I heard a lot of squawking. And what fine tomatoes! Best to be got from the village, I've no doubt. And oh, Mrs. Stick-what a perfectly marvellous treacle tart! I must say you're a good cook, I really must.”

Julian picked up the chicken, the dish of tomatoes, and then balanced the plate with the treacle tart on the top.

Mrs. Stick yelled at him. ”

”You leave them things alone! That's our supper! You leave them there.”