by J. P. Martin
“It can’t be helped,” said Uncle. “At any rate they have had a terrific lesson.”
By the evening many thousands of visitors had arrived and it seemed impossible to avoid some sort of public ceremony.
Uncle and the Old Monkey sat side by side on a marble bench supported by six stone lions, and after a few words of congratulation from the King Uncle spoke.
“Friends,” he said, “it is always encouraging when skilfully laid schemes of crime come to nothing, and you have all been rejoicing with me in a mighty and glorious victory. I greatly value the many unexpected gifts that have been sent to me. It is hard to single out any when all have been so good, but I was greatly touched when your revered monarch brought from his private art gallery a hitherto unknown picture of myself opening the dwarfs’ drinking fountains. It is by the great artist Waldovenison Smeare, and, as you know, his works are practically priceless.
“I thank you all for your kind thoughts. Most of all I thank all my supporters for their prompt and brave support last night. Under the leadership of Captain Walrus, you all, Cowgill, Cloutman and Gubbins, Mig, Butterskin Mute, and Whitebeard, formed a strong attacking party. Goodman the cat used his knowledge of spells to get Wizard Blenkinsop to act swiftly. Mr Will Shudder and Mr Benskin held the fort here. All behaved nobly, and I thank you, but my chief desire today is to give special honour to my faithful friend, the Old Monkey. Last night he outdid all his previous achievements. Alone he made his way to Badfort, after spending the whole of his life savings in the purchase of one powerful spell with which he succeeded in liberating me!”
Here the applause became deafening.
“He put down one hundred pounds to save me. All he had. I now take this bag containing one thousand gold pieces and hand it to him.”
Screams of delight greeted this.
“All I have left to say,” continued Uncle, “is that I would give my friend far more, but he has scarcely room to stow it. I will merely say he can always count on me to the full resources of my fortune.”
Uncle seized the Old Monkey in his trunk, and, holding him high above the crowd, said:
“Three cheers for the most faithful friend in the world!”
As Uncle put the Old Monkey gently down again the King of the Badgers came forward with a glittering medal attached to a broad golden ribbon.
“The King of the Badgers,” Uncle announced, “wishes to bestow on the Old Monkey the highest honour in his kingdom. Our friend now becomes a Knight of Bustard Land!”
The order was bestowed, and the cheering began again. As it was at last dying down Uncle held up his trunk for silence.
“And now, my friends,” he said, “I want you to spend the rest of the evening in rejoicing. Cowgill, please turn on the illuminations.”
Uncle had hardly stopped speaking before everywhere shone out in blue, red, silver, green and yellow light, and high, high, above Lion Tower, on the edge of which Walrus Tower stands like a pencil, shone Captain Walrus’s tremendous new star.
The revelry was in full swing when a young badger brought Uncle a letter that had just been handed in at the gate.
It was from Beaver Hateman and read as follows:
To the Dictator and Swindler
So you got away last night did you, you oily bounder? Just like you to set our noble mansion on fire, but I’ll tell you, you firebug, that you did us a good turn. All the moneylenders’ offices have been burnt out. We owed a lot to these gentry, but now all the books and I.O.U.s are burnt and we are free of debt!
I said we would get a lot out of you and we have.
We are at once starting a revenge so fearful that anyone who speaks of it will develop lockjaw.
B.H.
“That fellow takes some putting down, I must say,” said Uncle. “He’d get out of anything.”
The Old Monkey was looking through the telescope at Badfort.
“They’ve got out some broken chairs and made a little fire. I think I can hear faint singing, sir. They seem to be having some sort of party.”
“Party!” said Uncle in disgust. “Come, let’s forget them and have a good sleep and then a few days of congratulation and comfort.”
About the Author
J. P. Martin (Author) was born in Scarborough in the county of Yorkshire in summer 1879 and became a Methodist minister in 1902 before serving as a missionary in South Africa and as an army chaplain in Palestine during the First World War. After the Second World War he lived in the village of Timberscombe in Somerset, where he died in March 1966.
Born in Mafeking in 1907, R N Currey (Author) was a soldier, poet and at one time a school teacher in Colchester.
Also by J. P. Martin
Uncle
Uncle Cleans Up
Uncle and His Detective
Uncle and the Treacle Trouble
Uncle and Claudius the Camel
Uncle and the Battle for Badgertown
UNCLE CLEANS UP
AN RHCP DIGITAL EBOOK 978 1 448 19746 0
Published in Great Britain by RHCP Digital,
an imprint of Random House Children’s Publishers UK
A Penguin Random House Company
This ebook edition published 2015
Copyright © J.P. Martin, 1983
Illustrations © Quentin Blake, 1983
First Published in Great Britain
Red Fox 9780099294504 1983
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