Washy and the Crocodile Read Online Free PDF Page A

“Kidnapped?” He exclaimed. “There’s been no kidnapping around here! They were invited to visit for a day or two, and they’ve found the whole process fascinating.” He paused. “Somehow, I don’t think there’s whole lot of intellectual debate in the Wombat household,” he added tactfully. “Kidnapped, indeed! The idea!”
    By this stage Mrs Wombat had joined them, and was still holding forth to her silent husband.
    â€œReally, Wombat!” She said. “Didn’t you see the picture that I left for you, telling you where we’d gone, and how to join us? Don’t you ever think before you act?”
    Wombat shuffled all four paws in the dust, and wondered what to say; for he had a feeling that whatever he said would be wrong. Was a feeling the same as a thought? He wasn’t sure, and would have to ask Washy.
    â€œI must have missed it,” he said. “I was so worried about you, I didn’t know what I was doing.”
    â€œNothing new there,” said Mrs Wombat gently, with a touch of forgiveness in her voice: but then Wombat spoiled his chances. “Washy,” he said blindly, “when you have a thought, is it the same as a feeling, or is it-”
    â€œI don’t know,” said Washy quickly. He didn’t know much about females, he realised: but he knew enough not to take sides in a domestic dispute. How was he to create a diversion, as the tribal elders would have recommended for just this situation? Suddenly, it came to him and he knew what to do.
    â€œBen,” he said, and the zoologist looked at him. “You may not have had time for breakfast this morning.”
    â€œI may not,” agreed the Irishman and looked very interested. So did everyone else: and the three little wombats shuffled their twelve paws simultaneously, as if they were a dance troupe.
    The aborigine paused for three seconds, for he knew the value of timing, and went on artlessly:
    â€œYou said something about rabbit pie, I think.”
    They all licked their lips. Wombat might have acted impetuously; but rabbit pie was important.
    ***
    â€œThat was a lovely story, Uncle Otto,” whispered Annie gently, for the children had finally fallen asleep and she didn’t want to wake them. After all, even James Bond needed to rest sometimes.
    â€œExactly,” said Uncle Otto, thus borrowing a word from his favourite marsupial.
    Annie smiled at him, and touched his arm. “That wombat,” she said. “He’s just so sweet.”
    â€œIsn’t he?” replied Uncle Otto, and scratched his head.
    â€œHe has such a sort of ... reckless impetuosity,” Annie went on: and she looked at Otto with a sort of loving curiosity. She was a woman, after all.
    â€œYou were never like that, Uncle Otto, were you?” She said. “You were always kind, and thoughtful, and generous: but you never did anything on impulse, did you?”
    â€œMe?” Asked Uncle Otto. “Me? No. Never. I’ve always been like this. Since I was a lad. Careful. Predictable. Boring.”
    Jack, who wasn’t really asleep at all, but only pretending, risked opening an eye to check out his uncle. After all, he was training to be a secret agent. And how else could he obtain the practice?
    Annie was twisting her wedding ring, which Daddy had given her and which she never removed. Uncle Otto was looking at nothing in particular, and rubbing his thick patch of white hair, which looked just like a pelt, when you thought about it; and for a moment he looked just like a wombat.

Washy and the bush-fire
    â€œYou must try and consider other people, Jack. They have views too, you know. And try to be a bit more... accommodating. Don’t always go off in a dream of your own. Listen to other people. Listen to what they’re saying.”
    It was a wet, rainy morning, and his mother was not in a good mood. She had just had a depressing conversation