Manxmouse (Essential Modern Classic) Read online

  “Where is it to take place?” Manxmouse asked.

  “Well, you know how it is,” Tom replied, “you mean to ask only a few people and then you find that there are more and more you can’t leave out. So I’ve arranged for it in the stadium. It’s just a few minutes from here, over the hill. Would you like to say goodbye to the kittens?”

  “Yes, I would,” said Manxmouse. “They’re so sweet.” Something had happened to him so that to all intents and purposes, he had given up. For there was the document in the casket with, as Manx Cat had pointed out, even the proper day. All the details seemed to have been organised so smoothly and Tom Manx Cat was so convinced that it was right, that Manxmouse no longer even thought of escaping. If a wizard had written it all down on an old parchment, then there was not any use in trying to run away.

  They went into the other room where the kittens left off stuffing themselves with what remained of the tea and crowded around Manxmouse crying, “Must you go? Please stay here and play with us. We like you!”

  Manxmouse said goodbye to each one and even spoke words of encouragement to the kitten with the tail, telling him that in the outside world away from the Island, there were millions upon millions of cats, all of them had tails and he really would not mind having one when he got used to it.

  Tom Manx Cat coughed discreetly and said, “It’s five minutes to six. We ought to start.” And then to his wife, “Coming, darling?”

  At which Margery suddenly burst into tears and cried, “No, I’m not! I think your old Doom is horrid! I don’t want it to happen! And if you were half a Manx Cat, you wouldn’t go either.”

  Tom Manx Cat looked rather uneasy, as males do in the face of a feminine storm. He said, “Look here, darling, I don’t like the idea any better than you do. I’m not hungry to begin with; I haven’t eaten a mouse in years. I like this little fellow too, but when there’s a Doom, you’ve got to—”

  “Oh, go away, you and your old Doom!” Margery sobbed and gathered up her kittens to her, who all began to cry as well.

  “I think we’d best be on our way,” Tom Manx Cat said.

  “Yes,” said Manxmouse, “we’d better go.”

  Manx Cat had spoken truly, for it was indeed no more than a few minutes’ walk over the brow of the hill. As they topped it, they saw the stadium down in the hollow, oval-shaped and with a number of entrances. At one stood a Manx Cat attendant who saluted as they drew near and a clock struck six. “Right on time!” said the attendant. “Have you the Doom?”

  “Here, under my arm,” said Manx Cat, indicating the casket. “Have all the witnesses arrived?”

  “All here and assembled,” replied the attendant. “I’ll lead the way in.” He walked before them down a narrow passageway leading to the field which at that time happened to be laid out for football.

  The seats rose in banked tiers and there the witnesses were seated and waiting. And as Manxmouse saw them, he got the surprise of his life. For there were all the people he had met during the strange adventures that had formed the greater part of his brief life.

  There was Billibird, his tail light flashing on and off, sitting next to House Cat Mother who was chatting to old One-Eye.

  A whole section of the grandstand was given over to the Clutterbumphs, dozens of them. There were everybody’s Clutterbumphs in all their various guises – witch, ghost and bogey Clutterbumphs, devil ones, monster, spider, dragon, snake and burglar Clutterbumphs, the lot.

  They were there in a holiday mood, yelling, grrrumphing, screaming, shouting and laughing with one another.

  When Manxmouse entered, they all pointed at him and shrieked, “There he is, the little brute! That’s the one who’s been spoiling all our fun! Now we shall have some of our own back!”

  The frog was there and Captain Hawk and the fox with the entire Bumbleton pack sitting next to him, and Squire Ffuffer with Miss Blenkinsop. Nelly was so enormous that she occupied a whole section to herself with Burra Khan close by.

  Manxmouse recognised Mr Smeater, the pet shop owner, the taxi driver and the policeman from Madame Tussaud’s who had given him the directions how to get to the Isle of Man. And in the front row Wendy and Mr Mellow were sitting together. Wendy looked as though she had been crying and Mr Mellow had his arm about her. The lorry driver was there too. Other parts of the stands were taken up with hundreds upon hundreds of Manx Cats, Manx Fowls, pigmy shrews, long-tailed field mice, house mice and other animals to be found on the Island.

  As they walked across the field a hush fell upon the assemblage. The policeman climbed down out of the stands and came over to meet them.

  “He’s going to referee,” said Tom. “And see that there’s fair play.”

  “What do you mean, fair play?” Manxmouse asked. “I thought you just pounce and swallow.”

  “Well, to see that I do it properly and in accordance with the regulations,” Manx Cat said. “So now I’ll say goodbye, for you go over there and I go over here until we’re called and – er… might we shake hands? For you do know I’m sorry, don’t you? I think you’re being a jolly good sport about it all.”

  They shook hands and Manxmouse said, “You’ve been very kind too. And thank you for the tea.”

  Manx Cat retired to one side of the field, while Manxmouse went to the other. The policeman, who had taken the casket, stood in the centre. He removed his helmet, wiped his brow with a handkerchief, took the scroll out and began to read its contents to the spectators.

  When he came to the part of the Doom that was upon Manxmouse and how it was to be carried out, Wendy cried, “But I don’t want anyone to hurt him!”

  Mr Mellow said, “Hush! Never despair!”

  Mr Smeater rose in his seat shouting, “He’s my Manx Mouse! You can’t do this to him! He’s worth a million pounds!”

  Two Manx Cats pulled him down and put their paws over his mouth.

  The taxi driver said, “Coo! And I ’ad ’im in me cab all the time.”

  The lorry driver looked around at Mr Smeater and growled, “Five bob ’e give me for ’im!”

  Having finished his reading, the policeman returned the parchment to the box, set it upon the ground and, motioning with his left and his right hand, said, “Will the two parties please come to the centre now and carry out the Doom.”

  As Manxmouse and Manx Cat approached one another, from the opposite ends of the arena, the word ‘Doom’ seemed to cast its spell upon everyone present. Even Mr Mellow was looking nervous and worried and as for Wendy, large tears were falling from her eyes. But nobody moved or spoke.

  The policeman announced, “You’ve all heard the Doom. The rules are as follows: Manxmouse! When I drop my hat, that will be the signal. You will advance three paces, bow to Manx Cat and remain standing. You may close your eyes then, if you like. Manx Cat! Upon observance of the same signal, you will advance three paces, bow to Manxmouse and prepare to pounce and swallow. You are allowed three preliminary waggles. Now remember, there’s to be no torture, no play, no tossing of him up into the air and catching of him, no teasing or bashing him about. Three waggles, a pounce, a nice clean swallow and Bob’s your uncle.”

  The policeman stepped back a little so as to be out of the way and held up his helmet. In solemn tones he asked, “Are you ready, Manxmouse?”

  “Yes, quite,” came the reply and so quiet was it in the stadium that you could hear his tiny voice perfectly, right up into the last row.

  “Ready, Manx Cat?”

  “Ready!”

  “Then GO!” and the policeman dropped his hat.

  Manxmouse took three paces forward and dutifully bowed.

  Manx Cat did the same.

  Manx Cat gave two waggles and then stopped the third halfway through in utter astonishment.

  For Manxmouse not only had not closed his eyes, but he was standing up on his kangaroo hind legs, his left paw extended in front of him, his right one cocked and his tiny white teeth bared. “Come on, then!” he cried. “And let�
��s see if you can swallow me!”

  He had had enough of it all: the nonsense about the Doom and everyone taking it for granted that because of some silly words written down a thousand years ago he, Manxmouse, would today quietly march down the throat of Manx Cat. He had come there determined to meet whatever fate had in store for him, but meeting it did not mean to submit to it by any means. He had made up his mind the night before in Madame Tussaud’s that he would fight.

  Somehow they had almost talked him out of his determination, what with all that silly business of the Doom that could not be escaped and a half-torn piece of parchment in an old box. Talk! Talk! Old wives’ tales and threats! No wonder the world was full of Clutterbumphs, if one believed all the nonsense people poured into one’s ears. Besides, as his image had inquired of him in the Waxworks’ Museum, which Manxmouse was he: the one who had been taught fear so that sometimes he had run away? Or the absolutely splendid figure of a Manxmouse who had said, “…I must go and find Manx Cat wherever he is, and meet him face to face and, whatever happens, not be afraid”?

  Well, he knew now which Manxmouse he was. He was no longer to be frightened by things real or imaginary. If he went down anyone’s throat it would be while battling with might and main.

  Manx Cat, then, stopped in mid waggle and said, “What’s this? You’re going to fight?”

  “Yes,” said Manxmouse, “I am. Come on, then, and let’s get on with it,” and he took half a step forward.

  Manx Cat took half a step backwards and looked over towards the policeman. “He says he’s going to fight. But that’s ridiculous! In the first place, mice don’t fight and in the second, it’s against the Doom.”

  “I don’t care what your old Doom says,” Manxmouse declared, “I’m not giving up. Are you ready?” And this time he took a full step forward.

  Manx Cat made a full leap backwards. “Oh, look here now…” he began, when he was drowned out by the chorus of cheers and shouts and cries of encouragement from the stands.

  “Oh, Manxmouse, you’re wonderful!” Wendy cried.

  “Bully for you, Manxmouse!” shouted Mr Mellow. “Lead with your left!”

  All the Clutterbumphs fell silent and looked at one another in astonishment and confusion, mumbling, “He’s not afraid! He’s still not afraid! We were sure he would be. This is no place for us,” and grumphing, whooing and arghing, they arose as one to leave.

  Nelly the Nellyphant took up the refrain, “That’s right! He’s not afraid of Manx Cat and I’m not afraid of Manxmouse! That means I’m not afraid of anything any more. Shall I come down and step on him for you?”

  “I’ll give you air cover and dive-bomb him,” shrieked Captain Hawk, flapping his wings and preparing to take off.

  Squire Ffuffer, quite red in the face, arose and said, “Let me set the Bumbleton pack on to him!”

  General Hound bayed, “A cat-chase, boys. Oh, I say, what fun that would be!”

  Joe Reynard yipped, “I’ll nip that fat bottom of his for him.”

  Mr Smeater admonished, “For heaven’s sake, be careful! Remember you’re worth a million pounds! Don’t get yourself hurt!”

  But the taxi driver encouraged, “Stout fella! Why, Manx Cat’s nothing but an old alley cat with no tail! I’ll give ’im the toe of me boot and that’ll be the end of ’im!”

  Burra Khan growled, “If it comes to swallowing, let me do some. I eat Manx Cats as appetizers.”

  “No, no,” cried Manxmouse. “I don’t want any help. I don’t need any. This is my fight and I’m ready to carry on alone.” And here with his left well extended, as Mr Mellow had advised, he began making little leaping movements back and forth to warm up while with his right paw he kept bumping his nose to get his muscles limbered to let fly.

  But instead of putting up his own guard, or waggling any more, Manx Cat sat down and looked helplessly at the policeman. “Well, here’s a fine how-do-you-do,” he said. “What do we do now?” His spectacle markings gave him an air of pathetic bewilderment.

  The stands were in an uproar, the Manx Cats shouting to their champion to go in and fight, the mice and the other animals cheering Manxmouse. The Clutterbumphs were still departing, squawking, yelling and snarling in utter confusion. Manxmouse’s friends were calling advice to him such as:

  “Stay away from his right!”

  “Keep jabbing!”

  “In the body! Manx Cats can’t take it down there!”

  “Go it, Manxmouse!”

  The commotion was tremendous.

  But eventually, since Manx Cat just sat there looking confused and one couldn’t fight with oneself, Manxmouse had to cease his aggressive movements. And so he also sat down to see what would happen next.

  The policeman raised both arms and shouted for quiet and once more a hush fell upon the throng. Manx Cat said unhappily to him, “What are we to do? Maybe there’s something in the last half of the Doom to cover this situation, but we haven’t got it.” And he added in an injured tone, “How am I supposed to pounce and swallow neatly when he keeps jumping about like that?”

  The policeman, ignoring him, now turned to Manxmouse and asked, “Manxmouse, answer me truthfully. Do you really intend to fight Manx Cat?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “You’re not bluffing?”

  “Just you see if I’m bluffing!” said Manxmouse, baring his teeth and resuming his fighting stance.

  The crowd began to make a noise again, when the policeman held up his hands and shouted, “Quiet! Quiet, please! Ladies and gentlemen, hear me now. I have questioned Manxmouse and he’s determined to fight. It just so happens that I have with me the other half of the Doom, which includes the regulations. The manuscript was deposited with us at Tussaud’s as a curiosity many years ago.” He reached inside his tunic and withdrew the other half of the torn piece of parchment. “I’ll now read it:

  “Section two, paragraph one, regulating the conduct of the Doom. ‘But if aforesaid Manxmouse instead of yielding and being swallowed shall take a stand in his defence and bravely and gallantly show that he means to fight for his life, then the Doom shall become inoperative, null and void and cancelled. Manxmouse and Manx Cat shall live in peace for ever after. And furthermore…’”

  But whatever the furthermore might have been was never heard, for it was drowned out in the roar of approval and the next moment Manx Cat had his arms about Manxmouse’s shoulders and was hugging him and saying, “Bully for you, old fellow! I couldn’t be more pleased and delighted. You know, I was against the whole business from the beginning.”

  All Manxmouse’s friends then came pouring down out of the grandstand, laughing and crying, trying to pat both Manxmouse and Manx Cat on the back, shaking hands with the policeman, congratulating one another and calling for three cheers for both parties. Such a highly-charged and wonderfully emotional moment had not been seen in the Isle of Man stadium since it had been built.

  And that was the way it all ended, with the band playing and Squire Ffuffer, Joe Reynard, Miss Blenkinsop and the entire Bumbleton pack leading a triumphant snake dance with Nelly trumpeting, Burra Khan roaring and Captain Hawk wheeling in circles, screeching congratulations from the sky.

  Wendy picked up Manxmouse and held him to her cheek for a moment, saying, “You’re the most wonderful Harrison G. Manxmouse in the whole world!”

  But Mr Mellow also shook hands with Manx Cat and said, “Congratulations, sir, you showed admirable restraint in a difficult situation.”

  Manx Cat was almost pathetically pleased to have someone feel that he, too, had done well. “Do you think so?” he said. “You see, I’m actually rather fond of the little fellow.”

  “So are we all,” said Mr Mellow.

  Wendy had given Manxmouse a farewell kiss and set him down again when Mr Smeater rushed up to seize him and try to claim his million pounds. But before he could lay a finger upon Manxmouse, the lorry driver caught up with him.

  “Give me five bob for a h’annerm
ul worth a million quid, would yer? Well then, take this!” and, drawing back his fist, he aimed and let fly a blow at Mr Smeater’s head, which fortunately wasn’t there to receive it. For, seeing the lorry driver, he turned and ran for his life.

  Around and around the stadium the procession wound and it seemed as though the cheering would never stop, until the policeman went to the centre, waved his helmet, blew his whistle and shouted, “It’s all over, folks! And Manxmouse belongs to Manx Cat as everybody said he would, but as a friend. We’d better be getting back home now. This way! The last boat leaves in half an hour.”

  Still snake dancing, Squire Ffuffer and the procession followed the band out of the stadium. As the music and the cheering died away in the distance, Manxmouse and Manx Cat were left there alone.

  “No hard feelings?” Manx Cat asked, somewhat anxiously, for he had not forgotten what he had been proposing to do to Manxmouse.

  “Oh, no, none at all!” Manxmouse replied generously.

  “Splendid!” Tom said. “Come on, old boy, let’s get back to the house, then. I can hardly wait to tell Margery. And won’t the kittens be pleased!” He linked his arm with that of Manxmouse and they started home together.

  “Shall I confess something to you?” said Manx Cat. “From the very first moment I saw you, I felt that I would like to have you for a friend.”

  “Me too,” said Manxmouse, and felt happier than ever he had before in his life.

  As they approached the house, Margery emerged still holding her tear-stained apron to her eyes. But her sadness turned to joy and she gave a cry of delight when she saw them. “Manxmouse! Oh, Tom, you didn’t swallow him! I shall always love you for that. What happened?”

  So, of course, the story had to be retold, and the kittens came tumbling out of the house shouting and screaming that now Manxmouse could stay and play with them. Both Tom and Margery Manx Cat would hear of nothing else but that Manxmouse must lodge with them until he was able to settle down on his own.