lobsters. Running up the beach, hechucked it at Polly and before she knew what was happening she was down on the sands, buried under its filthy weight. Struggling against it was no good. It was just one of those nets you canât beat with struggling.
âAu revoir!â shouted Mr Gum as Monsieur Bellybutton started to row away.
âAu revoir,â replied Polly politely. âI mean â Hey! Come back here, you crimers!â
But the boat was soon just a tiny speck on the horizon and the day was lost.
How long Polly lay under that net she didnât know. Was it minutes? Hours? Years? Probably not years. Anyway, there she lay â helpless and crying with rage.
âFriday could be dead up on that cliff anâ them robbers has escaped anâ I hates it!â shesobbed. âIt ainât fair anâ the worldâs rubbish anâ I donât care âbout nothinâ no more so shut up!â
Eventually she had no more tears left to shed. She lay there, exhausted, and her eyes they did close, and soon she was dreaming the strangest dream . . .
Alan Taylor was there and he was nibbling away at the net with his little sharp teeth, nibbling, nibbling, nibbling.
A dead lobster fell on his head but he just pushed it off and went on nibbling. Polly could hear his electric muscles whirring away and she could see his kind brave face full of concentration and raisins . . .
Nibble, nibble, nibble. Whirr, whirr, whirr.
Nibble, nibble, nibble. Whirr, whirr, whirr.
Nibble! Whirr!
Nibble! Whirr!
Nibble, nibble, nibble. Whirr, whirr, whirr . . .
Polly opened one eye and there was the Biscuit Billionaire himself. It wasnât no dream after all! He was standing proudly on the sands with bits of net in his teeth, his doughy body protected from the rain by a miniature Superman cape which made him look like Batman.
âA.T.!â gasped Polly, climbing out of the net. âIs it really you?â
âItâs me, all right,â said he. âIâve come to my senses and got out of bed. And now to catch those robbers!â
âBut how we gonna gets âem?â asked Polly. âFor we havenât no boat anâ we canât just swim out there, you insaner!â
âNo,â said Alan Taylor. âBut I know someone who can.â
He gave a high-pitched whistle and suddenly a face Polly knew well appeared from behind a rock. Not just a face on its own though, that would be horrible. It was attached to a body Polly knew well too.
âI canât believes it!â she cried, running up to hug her fat golden friend. For it was Jake, that massive whopper of a dog, come to the rescue at last.
Chapter 9
Hooray for Friendship!
J ake gave a happy bark and slobbered all over Polly with joy and together they had a bit of a romp on the rocks, with tickling and rolling around and woofing and suchlike.
âYou know each other?â asked Alan Taylor.
âAre you kidding?â said Polly. âMe anâ Jake,weâre friends of old!â
âHow extraordinary,â said Alan Taylor. âHe followed me all the way here, almost as if he wanted to help.â
âYeah,â said Polly, stroking Jakeâs tongue. âCos heâs the cleverest hero dog ever, anâ he knew we was in troubles!â
Actually, Jake had just been wandering along looking for insects to eat but never mind. The important thing was that he was there.Alan Taylor hopped on to his great broad head and Polly hopped on to his massive whopper back.
âRinky-dink-dink!â she cried, and with that the magnificent canine flopped into the sea and started up his Doggy Paddler 2000s, otherwiseknown as his legs. Alan Taylor tugged at Jakeâs ears to steer him, and Polly was in charge of fuel, which meant cramming dog biscuits into his mouth. (Sheâd been carrying around dozens of them in her skirt pocket all summer, in case Jake showed up. To be honest, it was a