Chorus Skating Read Online Free PDF

he advanced.
    â€œMudge? Mudge!” There was no sign of the otter in the kitchen, with its little round windows that looked out over the river and its rough-hewn, close-to-the-floor furniture. Nor was the otter in the den, or the front hall.
    Jon-Tom found him sprawled like a loosely scrawled letter S in the middle of the rumpled master bed. The room showed signs of Weegee’s efficient touch as well as Mudge’s more anarchic tastes.
    â€œMudge, get up.”
    â€œMphm, wot… ?” Blinking back sleep, the otter rolled over, whiskers twitching. A hand-crocheted sleeping cap covered half his face. “Wot are you doin’ ’ere, mate? I were ’avin’ a sound sleep an’ a loverly dream.”
    Jon-Tom made a face and indicated the single window through which sunlight was pouring. “It’s the middle of the day.”
    â€œMiddle …” The otter squinted sleepily at a bedstand.
    â€œWot time is it, exactly?”
    â€œSeven-thirty. Get up.”
    â€œSeven-thirty! In the mornin’ ?”Grumbling, he sort of oozed out of the bed. “Wot is it with you ’umans an’ your peculiar affection for sunlight?”
    â€œCome on, move your tail,” Jon-Tom demanded impatiently.
    â€œAll right, all right. Don’t get your privates in an uproar.” Mudge rubbed at his slightly bloodshot eyes as he straightened. “What’s the bloody emergency?”
    Jon-Tom didn’t bother searching for a chair, knowing that none of the furniture in the riverside home was big enough to accommodate his lanky form. Instead, he sat down very carefully on the end of the bed. There was no frame, the mattress resting directly on a pad on the floor.
    â€œMudge, you’re as bored as I am. You admitted as much yesterday.”
    The otter arched his back and stretched, which is to say he nearly stuck his head through his legs. It was an exhibition of spinal acrobatics few other creatures could have duplicated. Jon-Tom’s back twitched in sympathy.
    â€œYou jostled me out o’ a sound sleep to remind me o’ that?”
    â€œI was cleaning house this morning as per Talea’s instructions and … look, Mudge.” As he sidled closer on the bed, the otter eyed his friend warily. “We’ve been moping around doing nothing, or virtually nothing, for years. Then Buncan and Nocter and Squill ran off and had their little adventure.”
    â€œLittle adventure?” Mudge barked sharply. “They ought to ’ave been dead ’alf a dozen times over, the bleedin’ disrespectful rebellious adolescent little sods!”
    â€œI know,” Jon-Tom agreed soothingly, “but they accomplished what they set out to do and made it back in one piece. You heard their story. Didn’t it excite you, make you want to get back out there and see what the distant corners of the world are made of?”
    â€œThey’re made o’ dirt, mate.”
    â€œYou know what I mean.”
    â€œOi, that I do.” The otter yawned, showing sharp teeth, and lazily scratched his crotch. “I’m afraid I’ve become too good friends with me bed, ’ere. Besides, there ain’t nothin’ needin’ your unsolicited attention. An’ you know wot I mean.”
    â€œMaybe nothing major,” Jon-Tom admitted, “but Clothahump is so busy, and he is getting on in years. It’s possible he can’t keep track of everything. There might be a problem or two he’s overlooked.”
    â€œâ€™Ow old is the ’ard-shelled old fossil fart these days anyway?” Mudge wondered aloud. “Three ’undred? Four ’undred? Not that you can tell any difference by lookin’ at ’im. Turtles don’t age much. Not only that, but ’is bloomin’ back never seems to give ’im no trouble. It ain’t fair.”
    â€œHe has to lug that shell around all day,” Jon-Tom reminded his