Part 1 (2/2)

'I'm not afraid of dogs,' said Bungo.

'More fool you then,' said Tobermory. 'Shut the door behind you.'

Bungo had been looking forward to his first working day, for it's the point in a Womble's life when he feels nearly grown up. He has his own name at last and he is considered old enough and clever enough to venture into the outside world. In fact, Bungo had spent the last few nights imagining just how important he would feel and what a chance it would be to prove how brave and adventurous he was, but neither Great Uncle Bulgaria nor Tobermory had made any fuss of him, indeed they had called his splendid new name 'silly'.

'I'll show 'em,' muttered Bungo, doubling up his paws as he hurried down the pa.s.sage. 'And if I meet any dogs I'll show them too.' And he gave a hop, skip and a jump because he suddenly felt excited again.

He pretended not to see all the other young Wombles whom he pa.s.sed and his nose was very much in the air until he reached the main door which opened on to the Common. Sitting beside the door and reading a comic very slowly was the Night.w.a.tch Womble, Tomsk. He blinked sleepily at Bungo, asked his name and wrote it down carefully in a large book. Then he unlocked the door and opened it and at once Bungo could smell the cool dawn air and hear the birds and a dog barking in the distance and all at once he didn't feel quite so brave after all.

However he couldn't let Tomsk know that, so Bungo whistled softly to himself and then hummed as the door was shut behind him and then very, very slowly he walked up the last winding pa.s.sage until there was nothing between him and the outside world but bushes and ferns.

Bungo's nose appeared first and then his bright little eyes and then his round, furry body. As he was not very tall he couldn't see much except the tops of the bushes, which were laced with spiders' webs and dew that glittered and danced in the early morning sunlight.

Bungo parted the bushes and edged his way between the leaves and grunted to himself as he made for the patch of Common which he was to look after. It was not a very large piece, but it had got a wooden bench on it and Bungo knew, from listening to the conversation of other Wombles, that where there was a seat for Human Beings there was also bound to be something to tidy up. He soon noticed some pieces of paper and within a few seconds Bungo's paws had picked up two chocolate bar wrappers, a handkerchief with 'D. Smith' on it, and an evening paper.

'Tsk, tsk, tsk,' said Bungo, feeling quite a Womble of the world, 'they're an untidy lot these Humans. Tsk, tsk, tsk.'

Once he started looking it was really astonis.h.i.+ng how much there was to find. A pencil, one half of a return railway ticket to Victoria Station, quite a long piece of string and a library ticket were soon added to Bungo's collection, and he became so pleased with himself that he completely failed to notice two things: first, that the barking dog was getting closer all the time and second, that there was somebody sitting on the bench; until, just as he was about to seize a rather battered straw boater hat with both eager paws, a voice said almost in Bungo's horrified ear, 'And what do you think you're doing, may I ask?'

'Eeeeep,' said Bungo, diving under the seat and covering his ears with his paws.

'That,' said the voice, 'is my hat, I'll have you know.'

Bungo opened one eye and looked up, and into the eyes of somebody who was leaning right over the edge of the seat and looking down at him. Although the face was, of course, upside down, Bungo recognised it and his heart stopped making a loud banging noise and he said weakly, 'It was a joke.'

'Poof!'

'It was,' said Bungo, climbing out from under the seat and smoothing some of the gra.s.s off his fur. 'I knew it was your hat all the time, Orinoco.'

'Poof,' said Orinoco, who was the stoutest (and laziest) of all the Wimbledon Wombles. He sat back on the bench and put on the straw boater and tilted it over his eyes. He was also wearing sungla.s.ses and a long overcoat rather strained about the middle b.u.t.tons and at his side was a walking stick with a very pointed end and an extremely small paper carrier bag which was quite empty.

'I'm Bungo now,' said Bungo.

'I always like to sit in the sun,' said Orinoco, taking no notice. 'A bit of sun does you a power of good. Hallo, there's a dog coming.'

'What shall we do?' asked Bungo, starting to tremble and quite forgetting that only a short while ago he had been so brave about dogs. But then he'd only seen a small one before now, and this dog was enormous with white fur and black spots and a long tongue.

'Do? I shan't do anything,' said Orinoco. 'I haven't had my forty winks yet.'

Bungo looked at Orinoco, who had folded his paws across his stomach and then at the dog, which was racing towards them, and one second later Bungo, that adventurous and fearless Womble, was running too. Across the gra.s.s he went with his ears back and his breath coming in great gasps until he reached the nearest tree and up that he clambered until he was lost among the golden yellow leaves.

The dog pranced and danced round the bottom and far up above Bungo shut his eyes and dug his claws into the wood and wished very hard indeed that he was just a young Womble again and safe deep inside the burrow.

'Grrrrrr,' said the Dalmatian, pawing at the tree trunk.

'Come here, Fred,' said the Dalmatian's owner, striding across the gra.s.s towards the bench where Orinoco was now gently snoring.

Much to Bungo's relief the Dalmatian shook its head and then reluctantly retreated to where its owner was about to sit down on the bench. Bungo parted the leaves and watched with his mouth open as he remembered Great Uncle Bulgaria's words of warning about mixing with Human Beings. There was a terrible story that once long, long ago a Womble had been taken away by some men and had never been seen again. What had happened to him n.o.body knew and Bungo s.h.i.+vered so hard as he remembered this awful tale that the leaves shook gently.

'Lovely morning, sir,' said the man, sitting down and hanging on tightly to his dog's collar to stop it from sniffing round Orinoco's ankles.

'Zzzzzz,' said Orinoco sleepily. He was dreaming of breakfast and he scratched his stomach contentedly at the thought of food. The man moved away slightly, pulling his dog with him. The dog whined and showed his teeth and Bungo trembled so violently that some leaves drifted down off the tree.

'A very mild autumn we're having,' the man said.

'Slup, slup, slup,' said Orinoco, licking his lips as a picture of blackberries and cream slid before his eyes.

'Well, I must be getting along,' said the man rather nervously. 'Slup' is a strange noise, especially when made by a stranger.

'Oooof,' said Orinoco, blowing out his cheeks and having a really good scratch.

'Nice meeting you,' the man said. 'Come along then, Fred,' and he caught hold of the Dalmatian's collar and pulled him away and went off very quickly without looking back. It wasn't until he was quite out of sight that Bungo slid down the tree and then, still feeling rather shaky, went over to Orinoco and nudged him.

'Wha.s.sat?' said Orinoco, sitting bolt upright. 'Oh, it's you again. What a restless creature you are. Isn't it breakfast time yet? Where's my hat?'

'On your head,' said Bungo. 'Weren't you frightened of that man and his dog?'

'Man? What man? Dog? What dog?' said Orinoco, yawning. Then he took off his sungla.s.ses and looked at Bungo and his eyes weren't at all sleepy as he added, 'When I've got these spectacles on there's a lot I don't see, although I'm not saying that I miss much. Such as young Wombles who run away from dogs . . .'

'But . . .' said Bungo, shuffling his paws.

'Or,' said Orinoco, picking up his stick, 'I might notice that my tidy-bag's rather empty while somebody else's basket seems quite full.'

'But . . .' said Bungo and then stopped and thought for a bit. And then he sighed and picked up his basket and began to take out some of the things and to put them in the bag.

'Nothing like a nice nap in the sun to make you feel fit,' said Orinoco, shutting his eyes again.

That evening Tobermory went along to have a goodnight chat with Great Uncle Bulgaria, who was just finis.h.i.+ng the back page of The Times.

'Sit down, sit down,' said Great Uncle Bulgaria, pus.h.i.+ng over the stool. Tobermory sat down and spread out his paws to the electric fire.

'Nothing to read in the paper these days,' said Great Uncle Bulgaria, hitching his tartan shawl more firmly round his shoulders. 'Well, how's young Bungo silly name that how's he coming along?'

'He'll do,' said Tobermory and smiled to himself behind his paw. 'Thinks he's the greatest Womble in the world at the moment, but he'll soon get that knocked out of him. One way and another.'

'He's young yet,' said Great Uncle Bulgaria and for a moment the two wise old Wombles looked at each other and then Great Uncle Bulgaria got out the chess game which he and Tobermory had been playing for years and years and quite soon both of them had forgotten all about Bungo.

And as for Bungo himself, he was fast asleep with a happy smile on his face, for he was dreaming that he was chasing an enormous black and white Dalmatian clean across Wimbledon Common while all the other Wombles watched him admiringly . . .

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