Part 5 (1/2)

'Now look here,' said Orinoco, 'if a Womble can't just have a nice nap for a moment or two, I don't know what the world's coming to.'

Orinoco was sitting down with his paws folded in his lap and his paper carrier bag at his side. There were one or two coloured wrappers in it, a comb and a shoe for the left foot.

'Just sunning myself, you know,' said Orinoco airily. 'That's all.'

'Come and have some exercise,' said Bungo, pulling him to his back paws. 'You're getting too fat.'

Orinoco looked rather anxious, but after a moment's hesitation he gave in and followed the other two on to the course. He was even more hopeless at the game than Bungo and he panted and snorted as he was made to walk from one hole to another, blowing out his cheeks and grumbling when he had the breath left to do so.

'You'll never be able to eat any Christmas dinner,' said Bungo.

'Yes, I will.'

'No, you won't.'

'Are you going to have a fight?' Tomsk asked with interest. He had been hitting golf b.a.l.l.s in all directions and thoroughly enjoying himself. He came ambling back now, looking at the two angry young Wombles with polite interest.

'No,' said Orinoco furiously, 'it's just this silly game. I don't care if I can't play it, so there,' and he picked up Bungo's stick and swung it with all his might and by some lucky chance the metal part connected with the ball and it went flying up into the air in a lovely great arc.

'Oh, well played,' said Tomsk, dropping his own stick and clapping his paws together.

'Not bad,' Bungo agreed grudgingly.

'There, told you so,' said Orinoco. 'I can hit it all right, but not in the right direction and OH!'

And he dropped his stick and began to run very fast (for him) towards the bushes where the ball had landed.

'Mad,' said Tomsk.

'Batty,' agreed Bungo.

A howl of such awful misery reached their ears that both Wombles felt their fur rise on end. They raced for the bushes, but there was no sign of Orinoco, only the howling, which was now very m.u.f.fled.

'There,' said Tomsk, who had seen one of the bushes moving, and he plunged in with Bungo close behind him. Tomsk parted the bracken and then stepped back right into Bungo as he saw before him the back paws of Orinoco waving in the air.

'What is it?' whispered Bungo.

'Smee,' said Orinoco's m.u.f.fled voice. 'I'm stuck.'

'But what are you doing down there?' asked Bungo.

'Get me out,' wailed Orinoco, kicking harder than ever.

'You take one leg and I'll take the other,' ordered Bungo. He and Tomsk seized a paw each and pulled with all their might, but Orinoco had spoken the absolute truth: he was completely wedged in a rabbit hole.

'Get a spade,' ordered Bungo, and off went Tomsk, running across the golf course with his arms tucked into his sides and his head well back, just like a four-minute miler. He vanished over the skyline and Bungo was left with the kicking paws of Orinoco.

'Never mind, old chap,' said Bungo, trying not to laugh. 'We'll soon get you out. But what were you doing down there anyway?'

'Nothing much,' said Orinoco's m.u.f.fled voice. 'Just looking, you know.'

'What for?'

'The ball.'

'But the ball's here,' said Bungo, whose sharp eyes had just spotted it lying under some dead leaves.

'Oh, oh, oh,' howled Orinoco, kicking more than ever. 'It's a judgement on me, that's what it is. You were quite right, Bungo. I'm a fat, greedy Womble and I've got my just deserts.' And he suddenly went alarmingly limp.

'Orinoco?' said Bungo. There was no reply. 'Orinoco?' said Bungo more loudly. 'Orinoco speak to me.' But Orinoco didn't move. Bungo went stiff with fright and then he noticed that one leg was twitching slightly so he picked up a twig and just ran it down the sole of Orinoco's paw. The paw jumped and Orinoco's voice said furiously, 'Don't tickle, it's not fair.'

'Well, at least you're still alive,' said Bungo.

'Only just though,' Orinoco said feebly.

Fortunately, Tomsk, not in the least out of breath, reappeared at this moment with a spade. He began to dig all round the hole and in a very few moments he had loosened the frosty earth enough to make it crumble.

'We'll pull together,' Bungo said. 'A leg each and one, TWO, THREE!'

And the next second Orinoco came out of the hole with exactly the same noise as a cork makes when it's taken out of a flask. His head, shoulders and front paws were covered in mud and leaves, and clutched in his arms was a lemonade bottle.

'You've got a secret larder down there,' Bungo said severely, and Orinoco brushed some of the mud off his face and looked down at his toes.

'Just one or two quite little things,' he said in a small voice. 'A Womble of my build needs a few little extras to keep up his strength.'

'I'm going to have a look,' said Bungo, and although he was not slim himself he was nevertheless a great deal less chubby than Orinoco, so he had no trouble in wriggling into the hole and reappearing a few moments later with two chocolate bars, a bag of buns and a packet of chewing gum. Orinoco looked from the food to the other two Wombles and heaved an enormous sigh. Then without a word he got to his paws, dusted the leaves off his coat and set out for the burrow with Tomsk and Bungo following him.

'I don't think we'd better tell on him, do you?' asked Bungo, who had been turning matters over in his mind. He was sure that Orinoco had learnt his lesson, for it must have been extremely nasty to be stuck down a rabbit hole.

'Tell what?' asked Tomsk, who had been thinking about golf and the slice he was getting in his swing.

'Nothing really,' said Bungo and followed Orinoco into the burrow. Orinoco looked anxiously at his friend and when Bungo shook his head slightly Orinoco blew out his cheeks with relief and went to hand in his food to Tobermory. He stayed in the Workshop for a very long time and when he came out he had a rather smug expression on his round face.

'Tomorrow morning,' he said, laying his paw against one side of his nose. 'Meet me tomorrow morning by Queen's Mere.'

Bungo hadn't the faintest idea what he was up to, but Orinoco refused to say another word and went back into the Workshop and shut the door. Bungo stayed outside and heard a lot of banging and hammering and a great deal of whispering which made him more curious than ever, but Tobermory had hung a DO NOT DISTURB sign on the door, so he had to swallow his curiosity and go off and have a game of Wombles and Ladders with Alderney instead.

This is really a teaching game for very young Wombles and it was designed by Great Uncle Bulgaria and built by Tobermory. It's played in a large room where a great many ladders of all shapes and sizes are joined together with bars, planks and branches. You have to start at one end of the room, climb up the first ladder to the top, scramble along a pole and down the next ladder and then up the one next to it and so on. While all this is going on, an older Womble squeezes away at an accordion and the moment he stops you have to stop too. If you're halfway up a ladder then you have to go right back to the beginning and start again. The first Womble to reach the bottom of the last ladder is the winner.

This is how very young Wombles are taught to climb and although Bungo considered himself rather old for the game he soon joined in and enjoyed himself very much.

Early the next morning he picked up his basket and went off to Queen's Mere. It was going to be another lovely, clear but cold day and the ducks were out swimming up and down and the sparrows were pecking at the hard ground looking hopefully for worms. And it was then that Bungo saw a very curious sight.

It was Orinoco taking some exercise. But he wasn't playing golf or running or doing press-ups. He was riding a bicycle. A bicycle with a very low saddle because he had such short fat legs, so he and Tobermory had fitted a special saddle to make pedalling easier.

'Look at me,' called out Orinoco. 'This is the way to take some exercise. Splendid for the muscles. Wonderful for the const.i.tution. Much better than silly old golf.'