‘Thirty pounds! Why I haven’t even six shillings to buy my kitten. What can I do?’
‘Oh well!’ said the cockatoo, and sighed deeply. Then he went on, ‘You might consult the boss, Bodkin is the name. Not a bad sort as a rule! But you’re out of luck today, he’s got toothache.’
Rosemary returned to the comparative quiet of the shop where a large man in a white overall was selling a guinea pig to a girl. She waited until the girl had gone and then she said, ‘Excuse me, but what do your customers usually do when they find they haven’t got quite enough money to buy something?’
‘Go away until they can get it,’ said Mr Bodkin shortly, and shut the drawer of the till with a snap.
Rosemary had to admit to herself that he was quite right.
20
‘All Hands to the Pump’
Rosemary went back to the cockatoo. He was sitting hunched on his perch with his feathers fluffed out and his eyes closed.
‘Can you think of something I can do?’ she asked him. ‘I must have that particular kitten most specially, and when you aren’t, well, giving your public what it wants, you seem so wise.’
The cockatoo opened his eyes. He seemed not displeased. Then he said, ‘Excuse me!’ sidled to the other end of his perch and made a popping noise like a cork being pulled out, followed by a sound like water coming out of a bottle. All this was for the benefit of a small girl with an elderly woman. Then he sidled back again.
‘So many demands on my time – that’s the worst of being a public figure,’ he said languidly, but keeping a sharp lookout for anyone else who might watch him perform. ‘Now then, your little problem. Let me think.’
His grey wrinkled lids lowered over his bright eyes, and Rosemary was afraid he was asleep. But he suddenly sat up, shrieked, ‘Whoops-a-daisy!’ and hanging from his perch with his black beak, turned a somersault. Then, once more as grave as a professor, he said, ‘I’ve got it, and it will make a very touching performance. Now listen to me. Do you see the fifth link of the chain from the collar on my leg?’ Rosemary looked.
‘It’s very thin,’ she said.
‘Precisely,’ said the bird. ‘It took me six months to do it. Every twenty years or so I plan a little excursion.’
‘You mean you escape?’
‘Bless you, no! I always come back again, but it breaks the monotony. Do you think you could snap that link?’
The only people near were an old man with two children who were choosing a canary. They were far too occupied to notice Rosemary put up her hand to the chain. The link was so thin that it broke with hardly any pressure.
‘I was waiting for a really good audience,’ said the cockatoo, ‘but I’m willing to oblige you this afternoon. You’re not used to these public performances, I dare say, but I’m sure they’ll make allowances. Now, go over there and talk to your kitten. You’d better not be near me. No one must guess it’s a double act, so watch out for the signal.’
Rosemary felt it was no use asking questions, though she would like to have asked what the signal would be. However, she did as she was told. She went across to Pergamond, and had barely explained what had happened to John and Calidor when there was a screech from the cockatoo.
‘Polly put the kettle on!’ he screamed. ‘Oops-a-daisy!’ And with a flutter of wings he left his perch and flew to the top of the highest cage in the shop, noisily clanking his broken chain. With his feathers fluffed up he bowed repeatedly, and demanded from the delighted audience below, ‘How de do? How de do? How de do?’
The animals set up an excited yapping, mewing, barking and twittering. Only the tortoise went on quietly eating his lettuce. A number of people had come in to see what the laughter was about, and Mr Bodkin poked his head through the bead curtain. When he saw the cockatoo he gasped, and, pushing his way through the crowd, said under his breath, ‘Please to keep quiet – a most valuable bird – no sudden movement please or you may startle it!’ Then, raising a cautious hand, ‘Cockie! Cockie! Good Cockie!’ he said anxiously.
‘Put a sock in it! Put a sock in it!’ said Cockie, and emptied three imaginary bottles in quick succession.
Forgetting Mr Bodkin’s warning, the little knot of people below shouted with laughter, and at the sudden noise the bird fluttered from the top of the cage to the top of the open window which looked over the yard. With yellow crest pushed forward he danced like a boxer waiting for an opening.
‘All hands to the pump!’ he shrieked, and then in his professor voice that only the animals and Rosemary understood, ‘Well, what are you waiting for, girl? Get on with it. Turn right outside the shop and down the alley into the yard, and hurry up about it or someone else will catch me. What do you think I’m doing this for? No feeling for drama, you haven’t!’
Rosemary had forgotten for a moment that she was anything but part of the audience which was rapidly swelling to a small crowd, but she pulled herself together, slipped out of the shop and down the alleyway into the yard. Through the window she was just in time to see Mr Bodkin give a sudden grab at the cockatoo’s dangling chain. With an outraged squawk Cockie flew out into the yard.
He landed on top of a tall, empty crate a few feet away from Rosemary.
‘Perhaps it’s just as well you didn’t buy me,’ he said. ‘I should probably moult in private life. Give me only a small audience and it goes to my head.’
There was the sound of running footsteps coming down the alley. ‘You see how it is? A sought-after public figure – can’t call my life my own!’ he went on in an affected voice.
Mr Bodkin, fired by some idea of climbing through the window, had stuck half way.
‘You there! Catch him! Don’t let him escape!’ he called to Rosemary. ‘Five shillings reward if you’ll only get him!’
Rosemary made a grab and was within an ace of catching the chain, but Cockie whisked it away just in time.
‘Don’t you dare!’ he said, and squawked indignantly as he sidled away from her along the crate.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Rosemary in bewilderment. ‘I thought you wanted me to catch you!’
‘At five shillings? Insulting I call it! Don’t you dare do it until you’ve beaten him up to fifteen shillings at the very least.’
‘Oh dear!’ thought Rosemary. The bird by this time was sitting on the gutter of the outhouse that stood in a corner of the yard, which by this time was full of people. The crowd laughed and chattered and offered advice.
‘Dora!’ called Mr Bodkin to the overalled assistant who was also in the yard. ‘Fetch a ladder!’
Several people went off with her to find one. Cautiously, Cockie clambered first on to the roof, and then up on to the coping which edged the gable end.
Rosemary was already pushing the crate up against the outhouse wall. By climbing on to the top of it, she was level with the gutter at the edge of the roof. ‘I hope to goodness it will hold me,’ she said to herself anxiously.
‘Good girl!’ called Mr Bodkin excitedly. ‘Go carefully, go carefully! Ten shillings if you do it.’
The gutter held as she put her weight on it. Slowly and painfully Rosemary pulled herself up the roof by holding on to the coping stone, but as she advanced, Cockie warily climbed higher. Once she slipped and the crowd below gasped.
‘He said… ten shillings,’ pleaded Rosemary breathlessly. ‘Let me… catch you… Cockie! I could… buy my kitten now!’
‘And what about me?’ said the cockatoo. ‘Ten shillings indeed! I’ve got my pride. Not a penny under fifteen. You’re doing quite nicely. Just keep on, but don’t look down!’
The bird had reached the ridge of the roof by now, and like an actor in the centre of the stage he fluffed out his feathers, bowed repeatedly to the crowd, and while he did a shuffling kind of dance screeched, ‘Polly put the kettle on! All hands to the pump! How de do? How de do? How de do?’ Then he pulled half a dozen corks. The people below laughed and clapped and Cockie bowed again. He was clearly having the time of his life.