Laughs, Corpses... and a Little Romance Page 14

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  Well, after that all the excitement gradually died down again, and we returned to normal, thank goodness. We did our usual runs with Annabelle, and the boys forgave me for keeping the fun of the chopper ride to myself.

  I remember the Tuesday because it was the day Jack had a bit of a run-in with Mrs. Crabtree. She’s one of those women that seem to have acid in their veins. She’s short and skinny and always wears a long black coat no matter how hot the weather. She has a long bony nose, black eyes, a wrinkled face, and gray hair that she keeps piled up under her hat. Privately she always reminds me of the wicked witch in the old fairy tales like Snow White. She quarrels with anyone over the slightest thing, and needless to say she was always snarling at Jack. As she came aboard that morning at the Island jetty, she was carrying a wicker basket, like the ones people use to carry cats and dogs. Jack went round collecting the fares. “Good morning Mrs. Crabtree, is that a cat in your basket?” “No, it’s a chicken young man, and I’d be grateful if you would mind your own business in the future.” “Ah, but it is my business you see Mrs. Crabtree,” he said, with an artificial smile, “ferry rules state that all livestock carried must be paid for extra, and a chicken is livestock I believe.” “Pay extra for a chicken? I’ve never heard of such a thing in all my life!” “Sorry Mrs. Crabtree, I don’t make the rules, I just collect the fares. That’ll be fifty cents extra please.” “I don’t care what your rules say. Fifty cents extra indeed! What an imposition! I’ll not pay! Now then!” “Very well” said Jack quietly. I was surprised that he gave up so easily, but then I realized that the wheels might be turning in his brain. When we arrived at the wharf and the passengers started to walk off down the gangplank, Jack barred Mrs. Crabtree’s way. “I’m sorry Mrs. Crabtree, but the rules state that all livestock not paid for must be returned to the port of embarkation. You’ll have to leave the chicken with us for return to Mulloway Island. If you like we’ll leave it for you at the Island store.”

  Of course there was no such rule, Jack was making it all up to infuriate Mrs. Crabtree, and he certainly succeeded. She turned nearly purple with rage, and tried to push past him, but unfortunately the top of the basket flew open, and her squawking chicken flew out over the side into the water. Chickens can’t swim of course, but quick as a flash Tim climbed over the rail and, hanging on with one hand, he managed to grab the chicken by its legs. He climbed back on board holding the chicken upside down; furiously flapping its wings. It was the breed of chicken known as a White Leghorn, but unfortunately there had been a patch of oil floating on the water, so now it was a sort of Dirty Grey Leghorn. “Here you are Mrs. Crabtree, I rescued it, no harm done.” He held out the wet, dirty bird. A furious Mrs. Crabtree snatched it and stuffed it back into the basket, shoved past Jack, who was too busy laughing to resist, and marched off along the wharf towards the station. “Don’t forget you owe us fifty cents Mrs. Crabtree,” Jack shouted after her, “pay when you come back if you like.” I was going to say something to him about being more polite to passengers, but then it occurred to me that politeness should cut both ways.