“But perhaps you will, Miss Persimmon!” said Michael.
“Will what?” said Miss Persimmon haughtily.
“Catch the Laughing Gas, as we did,” said Michael.
Miss Persimmon flung back her head scornfully.
“I hope, young man,” she retorted, “I have more respect for myself than to go bouncing about in the air like a rubber ball on the end of a bat. I’ll stay on my own feet, thank you, or my name’s not Amy Persimmon, and – oh dear, oh dear, my goodness, oh DEAR – what is the matter? I can’t walk, I’m going, I – oh, help, HELP!”
For Miss Persimmon, quite against her will, was off the ground and was stumbling through the air, rolling from side to side like a very thin barrel, balancing the tray in her hand. She was almost weeping with distress as she arrived at the table and put down her jug of hot water.
“Thank you,” said Mary Poppins in a calm, very polite voice.
Then Miss Persimmon turned and went wafting down again, murmuring as she went: “So undignified – and me a well-behaved, steady-going woman. I must see a doctor— ”
When she touched the floor she ran hurriedly out of the room, wringing her hands, and not giving a single glance backwards.
“So undignified!” they heard her moaning as she shut the door behind her.
“Her name can’t be Amy Persimmon, because she didn’t stay on her own feet!” whispered Jane to Michael.
But Mr Wigg was looking at Mary Poppins – a curious look, half-amused, half-accusing.
“Mary, Mary, you shouldn’t – bless my soul, you shouldn’t, Mary. The poor old body will never get over it. But, oh, my goodness, didn’t she look funny waddling through the air – my Gracious goodness, but didn’t she?”
And he and Jane and Michael were off again, rolling about the air, clutching their sides and gasping with laughter at the thought of how funny Miss Persimmon had looked.
“Oh dear!” said Michael. “Don’t make me laugh any more. I can’t stand it. I shall break!”
“Oh, oh, oh!” cried Jane, as she gasped for breath, with her hand over her heart.
“Oh, my Gracious, Glorious, Galumphing Goodness!” roared Mr Wigg, dabbing his eyes with his coat-tail because he couldn’t find his handkerchief.
“IT IS TIME TO GO HOME.” Mary Poppins’ voice sounded above the roars of laughter like a trumpet.
And suddenly, with a rush, Jane and Michael and Mr Wigg came down. They landed on the floor with a huge bump, all together. The thought that they would have to go home was the first sad thought of the afternoon, and the moment it was in their minds the Laughing Gas went out of them.
Jane and Michael sighed as they watched Mary Poppins come slowly down the air, carrying Jane’s coat and hat.
Mr Wigg sighed, too. A great, long, heavy sigh.
“Well, isn’t that a pity?” he said soberly. “It’s very sad that you’ve got to go home. I never enjoyed an afternoon so much – did you?”
“Never,” said Michael sadly, feeling how dull it was to be down on the earth again with no Laughing Gas inside him.
“Never, never,” said Jane, as she stood on tiptoe and kissed Mr Wigg’s withered-apple cheeks. “Never, never, never, never. . .!”
They sat on either side of Mary Poppins going home in the Bus. They were both very quiet, thinking over the lovely afternoon. Presently Michael said sleepily to Mary Poppins:
“How often does your Uncle get like that?”
“Like what?” said Mary Poppins sharply, as though Michael had deliberately said something to offend her.
“Well – all bouncy and boundy and laughing and going up in the air.”
“Up in the air?” Mary Poppins’ voice was high and angry. “What do you mean, pray, up in the air?”
Jane tried to explain.
“Michael means – is your Uncle often full of Laughing Gas, and does he often go rolling and bobbing about on the ceiling when—”
“Rolling and bobbing! What an idea! Rolling and bobbing on the ceiling! You’ll be telling me next he’s a balloon!” Mary Poppins gave an offended sniff.
“But he did!” said Michael. “We saw him.”
“What, roll and bob? How dare you! I’ll have you know that my Uncle is a sober, honest, hard-working man, and you’ll be kind enough to speak of him respectfully. And don’t bite your Bus ticket! Roll and bob, indeed – the idea!”
Michael and Jane looked across Mary Poppins at each other. They said nothing, for they had learnt that it was better not to argue with Mary Poppins, no matter how odd anything seemed.
But the look that passed between them said: “Is it true or isn’t it? About Mr Wigg. Is Mary Poppins right or are we?”
But there was nobody to give them the right answer.
The Bus roared on, wildly lurching and bounding.
Mary Poppins sat between them, offended and silent, and presently, because they were very tired, they crept closer to her and leant up against her sides and fell asleep, still wondering. . .
Chapter Four
MISS LARK’S ANDREW
MISS LARK LIVED Next Door.
But before we go any further I must tell you what Next Door looked like. It was a very grand house, by far the grandest in Cherry Tree Lane. Even Admiral Boom had been known to envy Miss Lark her wonderful house, though his own had ship’s funnels instead of chimneys and a flagstaff in the front garden. Over and over again the inhabitants of the Lane heard him say as he rolled past Miss Lark’s mansion: “Blast my gizzard! What does she want with a house like that?”
And the reason of Admiral Boom’s jealousy was that Miss Lark had two gates. One was for Miss Lark’s friends and relations, and the other for the Butcher and the Baker and the Milkman.
Once the Baker made a mistake and came in through the gate reserved for the friends and relations, and Miss Lark was so angry that she said she wouldn’t have any more bread ever.
But in the end she had to forgive the Baker because he was the only one in the neighbourhood who made those little flat rolls with the curly twists of crust on the top. She never really liked him very much after that, however, and when he came he pulled his hat far down over his eyes so that Miss Lark might think he was somebody else. But she never did.
Jane and Michael always knew when Miss Lark was in the garden or coming along the Lane, because she wore so many brooches and necklaces and earrings that she jingled and jangled just like a brass band. And whenever she met them, she always said the same thing:
“Good morning!” (or “Good afternoon!” if it happened to be after luncheon), “and how are we today?”
And Jane and Michael were never quite sure whether Miss Lark was asking how they were, or how she and Andrew were.
So they just replied: “Good afternoon!” (or, of course, “Good morning!” if it was before luncheon).
All day long, no matter where the children were, they could hear Miss Lark calling, in a very loud voice, things like:
“Andrew, where are you?” or
“Andrew, you mustn’t go out without your overcoat!” or
“Andrew, come to Mother!”
And, if you didn’t know, you would think that Andrew must be a little boy. Indeed, Jane thought that Miss Lark thought that Andrew was a little boy. But Andrew wasn’t. He was a dog – one of those small, silky, fluffy dogs that look like a fur necklet, until they begin to bark. But, of course, when they do that you know that they’re dogs. No fur necklet ever made a noise like that.