Johnny Swanson - Eleanor Updale [25]
He had no trouble finding a list of illnesses: years of accompanying his mother on her visits to Mrs Slack had exposed him to the human version of a medical encyclopaedia; and the graveyard on his paper round had everything he needed to fulfil the orders. He pulled the juiciest leaves off the evergreens, and collected the most beautiful fallen autumn foliage from the ground. There were seed husks, conker shells, acorns and twisted pieces of twig.
He was tugging the feathers off the corpse of a pigeon when he heard a rapping noise. It was Miss Dangerfield, bashing her walking stick on top of the wall.
‘Hey! You boy! What do you think you are doing?’
Johnny had to think fast. ‘Oh, hello, madam,’ he said, playing for time. ‘I’m … I’m … It’s Nature Study. I have to collect some specimens for school.’
‘Don’t you “madam” me! And don’t you “Nature Study” me! I know the school is on holiday. Nature Study indeed! You’re up to no good. And where’s my paper?’ Johnny put his hand into his bag to get it for her. ‘Not here, you fool! I don’t want it here, do I? I want it at home. And you’re late. Mr Hutchinson pays you to deliver the newspaper to my house. And you’re late!’
Somewhere inside himself Johnny knew that it was pointless to argue, but after her unkindness the other day, and with the safety of the graveyard wall between them, he couldn’t resist pointing out the flaw in what Miss Dangerfield was saying. ‘But I’m on my way. And anyway, you’re not there, are you? I mean, you’re here. So you wouldn’t know I was late, would you? If you were there, I mean. Which you’re not.’
‘Don’t you answer me back, boy.’
‘I wasn’t answering back—’
‘Yes you were, and you’re doing it again now. I’ve got a good mind to report you. Now get off up the hill and deliver my paper.’
Johnny placed a few more leaves in the bag.
Miss Dangerfield banged her stick on the wall again. ‘Do it now, I tell you! And if there’s any dirt on that paper, I’m cancelling my order. I’ve got my eye on you, boy. Indeed I have.’
Johnny ran off up the hill and finished his deliveries. He’d enjoyed the brief moment of standing up for himself, but he was worried about Miss Dangerfield. Suppose she had gone straight from the graveyard to the post office? She might be telling on him now. He might lose his job just when the rent was about to go up. He needed his base at Hutch’s, with its postal orders, stationery and stamps, to keep the money coming in. He had to get back, to talk his way out of trouble.
Hutch was sweeping up, looking stern. ‘I’ve had a complaint.’
‘I know. Miss Dangerfield told me she was going to talk to you.’
‘Talk! She ranted. She raved. Lucky for you, she knocked over the display of sugar with that stick of hers, and she flounced off before I could make her any promises. But I’m warning you, Johnny. Stay on the right side of her. I won’t be able to defend you for ever.’
‘I’ll try,’ said Johnny, meaning it, because he knew his business interests could be smashed by one blow from Miss Dangerfield’s cane.
He had no time to lose. He must make the most of the post office while he still had access to it. So he bought a notepad and some brown paper from Hutch and went home to compose a host of adverts to put in right away, and to wrap up his stock of ‘cures’ ready for a quick dispatch. He had no idea whether any of the leaves were poisonous, so he put a note in each parcel saying FOR EXTERNAL USE ONLY. He’d seen that written on the tin of Dr Sampson’s Patent Ointment for Cuts, Burns and Stings.
According to the nature of the problem, he told his customers to slip the leaves, husks and feathers under their pillows, in their underwear, or down their socks. To his horror, his first victim wrote straight back to say that the ‘cure’ had worked. His heartburn had disappeared as soon as he had put dried potato peelings down his vest.
Chapter 13
RAKING IT IN
The TB scare had died down by the end of half-term. Normal lessons seemed even more tedious after the brief burst of excitement, but that wasn