19 Mr Jenkins and His Son

Mr Jenkins and His Son Mr Jenkins came striding up to our table with a very purposeful look on his face. 'Where is that grandson of yours?' he said to my grandmother. He spoke rudely and looked very angry. My grandmother put on her frostiest look, but didn't answer him. 'My guess is that he and my son Bruno are up to some devilment,' Mr Jenkins went on. 'Bruno hasn't turned up for his supper and it takes a lot to make that boy miss his food!' 'I must admit he has a very healthy appetite,' my grandmother said. 'My feeling is that you're in on this as well,' Mr Jenkins said. 'I don't know who the devil you are and I don't much care, but you played a nasty trick on me and my wife this afternoon. You put a dirty little mouse on the table. That makes me think all

three of you are up to something. So if you know where Bruno's hiding, kindly tell me at once.' 'That was no trick I played on you,' my grandmother said. 'That mouse I tried to give you was your own little boy, Bruno. I was being kind to you. I was trying to restore him to the bosom of his family. You refused to take him in.' 'What the blazes do you mean, madam?' shouted Mr Jenkins. 'My son isn't a mouse!' His black moustache was jumping up and down like crazy as he spoke. 'Come on, woman! Where is he? Out with it!' The family at the table nearest to us had all stopped eating and were staring at Mr Jenkins. My grandmother sat there puffing away calmly at her black cigar. 'I can well understand your anger, Mr Jenkins,' she said. 'Any other English father would be just as cross as you are. But over in Norway where I come from, we are quite used to these sorts of happenings. We have learnt to accept them as part of everyday life.' 'You must be mad, woman!' cried Mr Jenkins. 'Where is Bruno? If you don't tell me at once I

shall summon the police!' 'Bruno is a mouse,' my grandmother said, calm as ever. 'He most certainly is not a mouse!' shouted Mr Jenkins. 'Oh yes I am!' Bruno said, poking his head up out of the handbag. Mr Jenkins leapt about three feet into the air. 'Hello, Dad,' Bruno said. He had a silly sort of mousy grin on his face. Mr Jenkins's mouth dropped open so wide I could see the gold fillings in his back teeth. 'Don't worry, Dad,' Bruno went on. 'It's not as bad as all that. Just so long as the cat doesn't get me.' 'B-B-Bruno!' stammered Mr Jenkins. 'No more school!' said Bruno, grinning a broad and asinine mouse-grin. 'No more homework! I shall live in the kitchen cupboard and feast on raisins and honey!'

'B-b-but B-B-Bruno!' stammered Mr Jenkins again. 'H-how did this happen?' The poor man had no wind left in his sails at all. 'Witches,' my grandmother said. 'The witches did it.' 'I can't have a mouse for a son!' shrieked Mr Jenkins. 'You've got one,' my grandmother said. 'Be nice to him, Mr Jenkins.'

'Mrs Jenkins will go crazy!' yelled Mr Jenkins. 'She can't stand the things!' 'She'll just have to get used to him,' my grandmother said. 'I hope you don't keep a cat in the house.' 'We do! We do!' cried Mr Jenkins. 'Topsy is my wife's favourite creature!' 'Then you'll just have to get rid of Topsy,' my grandmother said. 'Your son is more important than your cat.' 'He certainly is!' Bruno shouted from inside the handbag. 'You tell Mum she's got to get rid of Topsy before I go home!' By now half the Dining-Room was watching our little group. Knives and forks and spoons had been put down and all over the place heads were turning round to stare at Mr Jenkins as he stood there spluttering and shouting. They couldn't see either Bruno or me and they were wondering what all the fuss was about. 'By the way,' my grandmother said, 'would you like to know who did this to him?' There was a

mischievous little smile on her face and I could see that she was about to get Mr Jenkins into trouble. 'Who?' he cried. 'Who did it?' 'That woman over there,' my grandmother said. 'The small one in a black dress at the head of the long table.' 'She's RSPCC!' cried Mr Jenkins. 'She's the Chairwoman!' 'No, she's not,' my grandmother said. 'She's The Grand High Witch Of All The World.' 'You mean she did it, that skinny little woman over there!' shouted Mr Jenkins, pointing at her with a long finger. 'By gad, I'll have my lawyers on to her for this! I'll make her pay through the nose!' 'I wouldn't do anything rash,' my grandmother said to him. 'That woman has magic powers. She might decide to turn you into something even sillier than a mouse. A cockroach perhaps.' 'Turn me into a cockroach!' shouted Mr Jenkins, puffing out his chest. 'I'd like to see her