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ONE MORNING UNCLE was sitting over his bucket of breakfast cocoa in the great hall of Homeward. He was in rather a dull state of mind. The Old Monkey and the cat Goodman were opening his letters, and every now and then gave him encouraging items of news. But it seemed impossible to cheer him up.

“Oh, sir,” said the Old Monkey with shining eyes, “Sir Ben Bandit writes to say he is sending you a special herd of blue goats called Froddershams. They eat very little grass but soon get fat!”

After Uncle’s great triumph over Beaver Hateman and the burning of Badfort, things had settled down to a state of quiet, steady prosperity. It was unfortunate that Badfort had not been entirely burnt out, but still stood, a shabby, smoke-begrimed pile, spoiling the view from hundreds of the windows of Uncle’s vast castle. Still, the Badfort crowd did seem rather subdued. There had been no plots, no rebellions, no throwing of mud or stones, no smashing of windows. And the celebrations arranged by those who wished to honour Uncle had been staggering.

On one afternoon as many as twenty brass bands had been playing together the tune ‘Glorious Uncle’, while a hundred great drums beat out the time, and balloons mounted into the sky above the surging crowd.

Six junks loaded with spices and dates had been sent to Homeward’s nearest port by an Eastern potentate called Chan Kee Chunder whom Uncle had once entertained and shown his store of rice, a room about a hundred yards square and filled to the roof. He had sent with the junks a letter painted on silk, mentioning particularly Uncle’s great work in supplying drinking fountains for the many thousands of dwarfs who inhabit the towers of Homeward.

A poem had also arrived from the Chinese sage, Mungo Rasp. It filled four books, and night after night Uncle had had it read to him by his faithful friend the Old Monkey or his cat Goodman. Will Shudder, the librarian, had a special compartment made for it in the library.

Most surprising, a deputation of small red-bearded men arrived from a colony established at the top of an enormous cliff called Whooshburg Precipice. They had heard of Uncle’s good deeds, and felt they must come personally to thank him. The journey was so long that they were all exhausted and had to go into hospital for a while to recover. But they had refused to rest at all till they had offered to Uncle their greatest treasure, a small ebony image of Jorham Vinbusket, the founder of their tribe.

A Miss Venus Fodderburg had been so overpowered with excitement when she first saw Uncle that she had fallen at his feet and wept for hours.

Oh, it had been splendid, delightful, and then, strange to say, it all became rather boring. Uncle was glad, of course, that the Badfort crowd was so quiet and subdued, but at times he rather missed the attacks and criticizing of his degenerate neighbours. Of course he would not admit this, even to himself, but it was so.

“Sir, here’s the biggest cheque for maize you’ve ever received!” said the Old Monkey, making another effort to cheer his master.

The Old Monkey opened another envelope, glanced at its contents and then put it aside. But Uncle saw this.

“Oh, sir, please don’t read it!” begged the Old Monkey with tears in his eyes.

The faithful creature handed the contents of the envelope to Uncle reluctantly. He always hates to worry his master.

Once Uncle had stopped publication of this disgraceful newspaper, the Badfort News, but it had managed to get going again. As always, it filled its pages with vile attacks against the inhabitants of Homeward. The editor is Beaver Hateman, and the chief reporter is, of course, the horrible little creature Hitmouse, who always carries a plentiful supply of skewers for sticking into people and who writes continually in a hating book.

THE HUMBUG OF HOMEWARD

“Ha,” said Uncle, “it’s from that reptile Beaver Hateman, and he’s up to his old foul game, writing in his own blood!”

SALE OF BADFORT

“Great woe has been caused to many well-wishers by the news that the vast, romantic castle of Badfort is for sale. It has long been the property of that excellent citizen Beaver Hateman Esq., B.A.—

“—who, after a life-time of hard work and heroic attacks against the lying, boasting owner of Homeward, has been reduced by that same blackguard to poverty. Uncle, the tyrant and bully, deliberately set fire to Badfort. So fierce were the flames that at first it looked as if the whole building would be destroyed. However, by quick action on the part of Messrs Beaver, Filljug, Sigismund, Nailrod (Sen.), and Nailrod (Jun.) Hateman, the main part of the desirable residence was saved. Most of the rooms are still beautifully decorated and untouched by the flames—

“He does not add, I note,” said Uncle, reaching for his cocoa bucket, “that most of the windows are smashed and the doors of these beautiful rooms were torn off for firewood long before the fire!”

“Oh, sir, this is nothing but lies,” said the Old Monkey. “Don’t read any more!”

“The Castle of Badfort is freehold, and through the beautifully laid-out grounds runs an excellent scob-fishing river. There is only one drawback, and, as we are always honest, we must state it. Badfort is overlooked by that castle of infamy, Homeward, and the sight of that fat liar and traitor, Uncle, lounging by his moat must be frequently endured by any inhabitant of Badfort. Therefore our valuers and agents Messrs Jacky, Jacky, Varnish & Sogood advised us not to try for the real value of a hundred thousand pounds, but to offer the property for the astonishing bargain price of ten thousand pounds only. As competition for this property is bound to be keen in spite of the above-mentioned drawback, you are advised to apply at once to Messrs Jacky, Jacky, Varnish & Sogood, Vinegar Row, Badgertown.”

“Wheel up that two-hundredweight cake, will you?” he said to the Old Monkey. “I feel quite ill, and must have extra nourishment.”

“Good,” said Uncle, “I need something sweet to take the taste of that scoundrel out of my mouth!”

The Old Monkey was delighted. His master had been eating very lightly for some time, and had seemed much depressed. Now he was feasting and snorting in the old style.

“Um.” Uncle sounded thoughtful. “There is something in what you say. I could demolish the whole poisonous place, plant grass, clear the stream—”

“Yes, a good park within easy reach of Badgertown is badly needed. I must speak to the King of Badgers about it!”

Uncle had hardly finished speaking before there was a knock on the front door. It was such a violent one that they all jumped. Another knock followed, so thunderous that it seemed as if the heavy panels must splinter.

The Old Monkey went, rather nervously, to open the door, and then turned to Uncle.

But it was too late. Pushing the Old Monkey to one side, Beaver Hateman entered the room.

Uncle had not seen him since the fire at Badfort, but he was not changed. He had the same sack suit and hideous grin, and his voice as usual was loud, insolent and threatening.

“Still showing off, eh!” he said loudly as he walked up the hall. He tried to snatch the cheque for maize that Uncle’s heavy sigh had blown to the end of the table, but Uncle blew again. It fluttered out of Hateman’s grasp, and was caught in mid-air by the cat Goodman.

“Control yourself!” said Uncle sternly. “Can’t you even walk into a room without being jealous?”

“No, I can’t,” said Hateman, “and you’d be the same if you were in my shoes!”

The Old Monkey burst into delighted laughter, and this so infuriated Hateman that he lifted the stick he carried and ran at the Old Monkey with it. But the Old Monkey is pretty good at dodging people and he jumped nimbly aside so that Hateman’s stick struck the wall panelling. It must have touched a secret knob or switch, for the panelling began to slide aside.

Like lightning Beaver Hateman hurled himself at the wall and pulled the panel back into place, turning to face Uncle with a hideous grin, humming a raucous tune in his flat voice, and trying to look as if nothing had happened.

“Thank you,” said Uncle. “I know my castle has many secret passages, and you’ve just found what looks like the entrance to one I knew nothing about!”

“What me?” said Beaver Hateman. “You must need glasses! I didn’t see any moving panel!”

“Rot,” said Beaver Hateman, twirling his stick and strolling to the door. “You’re beginning to see things that aren’t there. That’s serious, you know. Well, what about Badfort? Are you going to make a bid for it? After all, the chief drawback, living opposite you, doesn’t apply, does it?”

“To a person sunk in sin,” said Uncle gravely, “the presence of a decent and well-meaning neighbour is no doubt a drawback, but, as these letters on the table show, there are worthy-minded men and women who would give anything to live near me!”

“Oh shut up!” shouted Hateman. “I know a lot of suckers are taken in by you, but I’m not one of them.”

“Nothing but the thought that I might benefit these people would induce me to buy your wretched fortress, but in the circumstances I am considering the matter.”

“Well, you can’t have it,” he shouted. “It’s sold! It’s sold, I say! That’s what I came to tell you. Jimmy Linseed’s the name of the man who’s bought it. And he’s agreed to all my terms. All of them. D’you want to know what they are?”

“I’ll just tell you one, then. He’s getting Badfort cheap because he’s agreed to take me in as a paying guest. So I’m in the money and still living opposite you to make your life a misery!”

A shadow came over Uncle’s face and his ears drooped. Hateman swaggered to the door.

TWO

Malley’s Tea-Room

“This is bad news,” he said. “Very bad. I thought we had settled with the Badfort crowd, but it seems I was too optimistic. I ought to warn this man Linseed about what kind of a lodger he’s taking in at Badfort. Meanwhile, did you notice Beaver Hateman when he exposed the entrance to that secret passage?”

“Oh yes, sir!” said the Old Monkey, who loves any kind of a change from housekeeping.

The cat Goodman was already standing on a chair and feeling with his front paws over the panels where the opening had appeared.

“I’m too big for this delicate work,” said Uncle to the Old Monkey. “You have a go.”

The Old Monkey has very small sensitive paws, but even he, pressing every inch of the panelling, could not make the wall move in the way it had when Beaver Hateman struck it with his stick.

“Look,” said Uncle, “a violent blow opened that panel. Hand me a stone club and I’ll take a run at it.”

Uncle often uses stone clubs as walking sticks and usually has one about for use against enemies. So now Goodman dragged one across the floor to him and Uncle placed himself where Beaver Hateman had been when he ran at the Old Monkey.

“I’ll stand where I was before,” said the Old Monkey, “so it hits the same spot.”

“Oh, I will, sir,” said the Old Monkey, “but if you don’t mind my saying so, sir, I would only strike the panelling a moderate blow. You are so much stronger than Beaver Hateman.”

As he thundered across the room, the Old Monkey leaped nimbly out of the way and the cat Goodman mewed with pleasure for there was a rumbling sound and the panelling slid aside.

All three of them went to look inside the panelling. The first thing they saw, at the top of an immensely long flight of stone steps, was a notice saying: TO MALLEY’S TEA-ROOM.

“I’ll never get the hang of this place of mine,” said Uncle. “I thought there was a cellar underneath the dining-room!”

“Oh, there is, sir,” said the Old Monkey, “but these steps must be built into the wall at one end.”

“I’ve never heard of a tea-room in my castle,” said Uncle. “Get Will Shudder to look in that A.B.C. Guide to Homeward he’s just found in the library. It might say something about it.”

Will Shudder soon arrived with a tremendous book bound in black leather and trimmed with gold and red. It was so big that he had to wheel it on a book trolley. He was smiling brightly. He loves to be asked things. Once he worked for Professor Gandleweaver at the Fish-Frying Academy for hardly any money, but Uncle wanted somebody to catalogue and arrange the books in his library, so he gave the job to Shudder. He couldn’t have chosen a better man.

“Nothing under M for Malley, sir,” he said, briskly fluttering pages. “I’ll look under T for Tea-Room.”

“Never heard of him, sir,” said Goodman, who is very good at nosing out things.

“Ah – here it is, sir,” said Shudder. “It is stated in the deeds of Homeward that a commodious free tea-room, with easy access to the people of Badger-town should be provided, and that an endowment fund has been set aside for this purpose.”

“Free?” said Uncle. “I wonder. We’d better go and see how things are. Tell Cloutman and Gubbins I’d like them to come along.”

Cloutman and Gubbins are two very close friends of Uncle. Gubbins can carry large weights with one hand. Cloutman can strike terrible blows with his large bony fists. Useful chaps when trouble is around.

Uncle looked round. Just behind his chair was a sort of oblong pile of parcels. It was the One-Armed Badger bowed to the ground with a pack of food and comforts for a journey. He is never so happy as when he is loaded with things he thinks his master may need on an exploring trip.

“As you’re here you might as well come,” said Uncle, “though we don’t really need provisions or first-aid for such a short trip.”

The One-Armed Badger gave a faint grunt of satisfaction and fell in behind the others.

“Now let’s be off,” said Uncle, squeezing through the aperture in the panelling with some difficulty.

Malley’s Tea-Room was not as near as they expected it to be. First there was the long flight of steps, and then the passage went round and round and in and out like a maze, and at every turning there was a perch with a parrot on it. Every parrot screamed as they approached, “Malley’s for good grub!” They had made about twenty turns and were getting sick of the parrots when they came into a large passage with two great ravens perched at the end of it. They croaked as Uncle’s party tramped towards them, “Good free tea at Malley’s!” As they croaked they flapped their wings.

“I hope we haven’t got to pass twenty lots of ravens!” said Uncle rather crossly.

They didn’t have to. Almost at once they saw ahead of them a door on which was printed FREE TEAS. By this door a crowd of dwarfs, wolves, goats and other creatures were milling about. Suddenly a little panel opened in the door and a big bushy moustache appeared.

“Be quiet, be patient,” said a loud voice. “There is ample provision inside but so many people have come today that we need more tables. Soon you will be served.”

Just then Uncle felt a paw on his foot, and looking down saw that the One-Armed Badger was holding out a large sandwich.

“Ah,” said Uncle. “I’m glad you came – we might as well have a snack while we wait. A thermos of tea too! Good! Good! Sit down all of you.”

Uncle’s party made a little circle near the door. Round them gathered a mixed company of wolves, bears and dwarfs who watched every mouthful they took. Occasionally Uncle tossed one of them a sandwich, which was devoured with eager growls and scuffling. At last all the food was finished, and the One-Armed Badger settled down for a happy sleep, his great mission accomplished.

By the time Uncle’s party got inside most of the tables were full, but they managed to squeeze themselves round a small table near the platform where four thin wolves made a sort of singing group, accompanying themselves on tins and plates.

“Sometimes I’m very short of grub;

My stomach will not rally;

My pocket book is empty – quite;

Then I remember Malley.

“I walk into his tea-room vast,

Sit down and order lunch;

They tell me, ‘You just wait a bit

And freely you shall munch!’

“Meat-pies and cakes come tumbling down;

There is no bill or tally.

They never say: ‘You’ve got to pay!’

They say, ‘It’s all on Malley!’”

“I’m not sure yet, but the decorations are in first-class taste,” said Uncle.

The vast room was painted red and decorated with statues of Uncle. One showed him opening the dwarf’s drinking fountains, another on his traction engine (which he likes better than a car), and a third presenting a golden lamp to the King of the Badgers.

“I’m glad we’ve had something to eat ourselves, sir,” said the Old Monkey. “There isn’t anything to eat on the tables.”

This dismal discovery brought a howl of dismay from everybody. Spoons were rattled, fists clenched and horrible threats uttered.

After the uproar had been going on for some time, Malley, who was a little man, absurdly fat, with large hands and feet, and a very small face garnished with a blackberry-bush of a moustache, ventured on to the platform. The wolf orchestra stopped playing.

“Good afternoon,” he said, smiling rather nervously. “Some of you seem surprised that there is no food on the tables.”

“We are!” said a sinister-looking white bear who had already broken two plates. “And if you don’t bring some soon I mean to eat you.”

“Now, Mr Rufus Grizzly,” he said, “we know you must have your little joke. I hope you’ve all noticed the little funnels above each table. When the orchestra begins to play ‘Bliss Boy’, buns, cakes and bread-and-butter will come sliding down these tubes. No charge, remember, you just tip the waiter. That’s all.”

There was silence at this. Most people looked fairly satisfied, for they were determined not to tip the waiter anyway.

Now the dismal moaning tune ‘Bliss Boy’ began, and a small shower of bread-and-butter and cakes fell from the funnels on to each table.

“No, no!” said Malley nervously. “But remember no bill, just a small tip to Mr Septimus.”

At this moment a huge gorilla armed with a heavy wooden club began to move round the tables. If he got a tip he passed on, but if anybody hesitated he raised the club. The Old Monkey actually saw him take sixpence from the pouch of a terrified badger.

Uncle was burning with indignation. This wrong to the weak was being done under his roof. It was too much.

“This must stop!” he said, trumpeting loudly. “I’ll have no robbery done in my castle!”

“I’ll soon settle this big guy!” snarled Septimus, lumbering at Uncle with his wooden club raised.

Luckily Uncle had brought a stone club to use as a walking stick, and now he calmly brandished it. Uncle’s skill as a club-thrower is widely known, and Septimus suddenly saw whom he was up against and stopped.

“That’s better,” said Uncle, and turned to Malley. “I’m Uncle, the owner of this castle,” he said. “Explain yourself. This is by charter a free tea-room and you – through your bully of a waiter – are robbing those who come to it.”

“Well, sir,” said Malley, bowing humbly, “I have such heavy expenses – even apart from the food – the band, the waiter and the rent—”

“But I pay it every month – to a big rough chap in a sack suit who says he is your agent. He’s got large feet and doesn’t wear any shoes.”

Some of the Characters

Uncle’s Followers

The Badfort Crowd

Hated by Both Sides

ONE

Badfort for Sale

THE HUMBUG OF HOMEWARD

SALE OF BADFORT

TWO

Malley’s Tea-Room