The boys, their ears pressed hard against the cold steel of the door, listened as the sound of his footsteps disappeared into the distance
“Did you hear that?” said Eric, in disgust. “The little beggar’s gone off and left us.”
They waited and they waited and they waited some more for the miserable looking man to return with the owner of the factory. Eric became so tired of waiting he felt like giving up. He wanted to give up. He was about to give up. “Listen,” he said, “he’s been gone for ages. Do you really believe he’s coming back?”
“He’d better!” Jimmy replied, pressing his ear harder against the door. “Listen, what’s that?”
Listening, Jimmy and Eric heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps on the other side of the door. True to his word, the man had returned. Sliding the bolts back, he pulled the door slowly open. Poking his head round it, he droned, “Mr Viscous will now see you. Please enter.”
Stepping into the factory, onto a red-painted floor, the boys were amazed to see nobody, no workers in evidence. “Where are the workers?” Eric asked Mr Gaunt.
Pointing to an office adjacent the door, Mr Gaunt replied, “There are no workers; the factory is fully automated. Mr Viscous will see you in there.”
On entering the office, a fat, moustached, bald-headed man with piggy eyes, wearing a garishly checked suit, sitting behind a desk, barked belligerently at them, “Yes? What is it? What’s so important that I have been dragged all the way down here?”
Happy to leave the explaining to Jimmy, Eric said nothing.
“Well?” said the factory owner, belligerently eyeballing Jimmy, “Or has the cat got your tongue?”
“Mr Viscous,” Jimmy began, “sir, we were wondering…“
“Yes?” the factory owner bellowed. “What is it? Come on, spit it out!”
“We were wondering about the…”
“Come on, boy. I haven’t got all day, you know!” he barked gruffly.
“THE HORSES!” Jimmy cried out, all in a tizz. “IT’S THE HOURSES!”
The factory stared even more belligerently at Jimmy, his piggy eyes burning into him. When he spoke again, it was strangely calm, he said, “The what?”
“The horses,” said Jimmy, in a much shakier voice than before, “the horses…”
After twiddling with his moustache, the factory owner, lifting his hands, with palms facing upwards, said ever so quietly, “What horses?”
“The horses – they’re outside!” said Eric, feeling braver. “We heard them!”
For a second time Mr Viscous became silent, but this time he aimed his piggy-eyed stare at Eric.
Poking his head round the door of the office, Mr gaunt asked, “Mr Viscous, shall I show these, cough, boys to the door?”
Nodding that he should, Mr Viscous stood up from his chair. Leaning across his desk, he said, “Leave.”
“Leave?”
“Yes,” he replied, his voice rising by the second.” Go! GO! GO!”
Running out of the office, Eric did not have to be told a second time. Jimmy, however, standing his ground, folding his arms defiantly, said, “I will go, but only after you have told me the truth!”
Studying him, with interest, Mr Viscous said, “You are either incredibly brave or unbelievably foolhardy.”
His goat being up, feeling braver by the second, stamping his foot in further defiance, Jimmy said, “Well?”
“For the moment I will give you the benefit of the doubt, I will accept that you are brave,” said the factory owner. Laughing slightly, quietly, he continued, he said, “The truth it shall be…” Then he added, “I hope you are prepared for it…” Clicking his fingers, calling his assistant, he said, “Mr Gaunt!” He poked his head round the door, into the office. “Please ensure that we are not interrupted. Nodding, Mr Gaunt pulled the door closed behind him.
“Well, the truth it shall be. Where shall I begin?” Mr Viscous asked, in mock concern that he might miss something out.
“The beginning?” Jimmy suggested, folding his arms, waiting.
Twiddling his moustache, Mr Viscous said, “The beginning? How novel! So be it, the beginning it shall be. “My story,” he said, “begins a long time ago, when times were even harder than they are now…”
“Harder?” said Jimmy, thinking it impossible for times to be any harder than they were.
“Yes, much harder,” he replied. “Back then, everyone was poor.”
“An eyebrow rising, Jimmy asked, “Were you poor, back then?”
“I wasn’t as rich as I am today, if that’s what you mean,” he said, “Now where was I?”
“Hard times?”
“Yes, times were indeed hard. But one day, I saw – an opening.”
“An opening?”
Has anyone ever told you the uncanny resemblance you have to a parrot?”
“A parrot?”
“Oh, never mind,” he replied. Speaking under his breath, he said, “Perhaps I was wrong, foolhardy does fit you better.” Returning to his story, he said, “Times were indeed hard, and with each new day more and more businesses were going to the wall – bust.”
Jimmy, watching, waiting, listening intently, wanted to hear more, he wanted to know what happened next.
“I see that I have caught your interest,” said Mr Viscous. “That’s good, because I am now getting to the interesting part…”
“And that is?”
“There was a shortage of glue…. The recent war had used up what little reserves there were. There was a national shortage of glue – there was an international shortage of glue. Everyone wanted it, yet no one had any to sell,” he said, becoming ever more excited. “And so I pounced!” he said, whacking one hand hard into the other.
“You pounced?”
Yes, I pounced,” he replied. “I pounced! I made a killing, and in more ways than one, hah, hah!”
‘This man, this factory owner is in more ways than one a little bit mad,’ Jimmy thought, but wanting to hear more, never for one minute forgetting about the poor horses, wherever they were, he said, “You began to make glue, right?”
“Hah, hah, that I did, that I did!” the factory owner cried out, laughing even louder. “Do you have any idea how I was able to do it, huh? To make glue, when no one else could, huh, huh?”
“You found some new, secret ingredient?” said Jimmy, speaking the first thought that entered his head.
Frowning, pointing suspiciously at him, Mr Viscous asked, “Are you sure you haven’t heard this story before? Suddenly leaping across the desk, he roared, “Did Frosdyke, my competitor, send you here?” Well, did he?”
Reeling in shock that he considered him a spy, Jimmy protested his innocence, saying, “No! No! I’ve never even heard of him – never!”
“Then what are you here for?” he asked, returning to the other side of his desk by the traditional route.
Gulping hard, Jimmy said, “It’s those horses, I told you. We heard them… I think they were scared, even frightened! They-”
“They? They – what?” said Mr Viscous, plopping hard into his chair. “Come on, out with it?”
It was no good, Jimmy’s case had simply run out of steam, and he had no idea what to say next…
Opening the door of the office, Mr Gaunt asked if he might show Jimmy the way out.
“Yes, yes, you do that, Mr Gaunt, show him the door,” the factory owner replied. “I have more important things to be concerned about than two interfering children telling me what I should or should not be doing!”
“But, I never said anything like that!” Jimmy protested.
Turning his back on him, the factory owner opened a window. Staring out of it, he roared, “GET HIM OUT OF HERE!”
“Come on,” said Mr Gaunt, “your friend is already outside, waiting for you.”
Turning to leave, Jimmy heard the sound of horses whinnying coming in through the open window. Running to it, standing on tiptoes, he looked out and saw a yard packed full of horses. Ther
e must have been fifty of them, perhaps even more. “What are they, then!” he roared at the factory owner. “Plum puddings?”
Pulling the window shut and then closing the blind, Mr Viscous smiled, he smiled gloatingly and he replied, “They are glue! They are, as you so aptly described, my secret ingredient, ready for me to render into my next batch of glue, hah, hah! And there’s nothing you can do about it, nothing at all!” Motioning to his assistant, he said, “Now get him out of here!”
Outside the factory, on the path leading up to the building, the two boys watched as the steel door slammed shut, and the four bolts returned to their closed positions. “Well,” said Eric, walking away from the factory, “a fat lot of use that was.”
“What are you doing?” said Jimmy.
“Going to the shop, to spend my penny, of course,” he replied. “Are you coming?”
Jimmy felt like giving Eric a piece of his mind, to tell him there were more important things in life than sweets, but holding his tongue, thinking it perhaps better not to, at least not until he had worked out a plan, he said, “Okay, I’ll race you there!” With that, they sped down the street, heading for Mr Smith’s Wonderful Emporium.
What Shall We Do, Mr Smith?
The little bell over the door jingled, jangled and then jingled again, as Jimmy and Eric burst excitedly into the shop. Looking out over his spectacles lenses, away from the newspaper he had been reading (The Cryptic Agenda), Mr Smith said, “Hello boys, back so soon?”
Despite wanting (and so desperately) to answer him, to tell Mr Smith all that had happened, the two boys were so out of breath they just stood there, speechless. Seeing their dilemma, recalling the time many
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