LITMIR.BIZ

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And she unbuttoned Jane’s coat and laid it neatly on the air beside the hat.

      “That’s right, Mary, that’s right,” said Mr Wigg contentedly, as he leant down and put his spectacles on the mantelpiece. “Now we’re all comfortable – ”

      “There’s comfort and comfort,*” sniffed Mary Poppins.

      “And we can have tea,” Mr Wigg went on, apparently not noticing her remark. And then a startled look came over his face.

      “My goodness!” he said. “How dreadful! I’ve just realised – that table’s down there and we’re up here. What are we going to do? We’re here and it’s there. It’s an awful tragedy – awful! But oh, it’s terribly comic!” And he hid his face in his handkerchief and laughed loudly into it. Jane and Michael, though they did not want to miss the crumpets and the cakes, couldn’t help laughing too, because Mr Wigg’s mirth* was so infectious.

      Mr Wigg dried his eyes.

      “There’s only one thing for it,” he said. “We must think of something serious. Something sad, very sad. And then we shall be able to get down. Now – one, two, three! Something very sad, mind you!”

      They thought and thought, with their chins on their hands.

      Michael thought of school, and that one day he would have to go there. But even that seemed funny today and he had to laugh.

      Jane thought: “I shall be grown up in another fourteen years*!” But that didn’t sound sad at all but quite nice and rather funny. She could not help smiling at the thought of herself grown up, with long skirts and a hand-bag.

      “There was my poor old Aunt Emily,” thought Mr Wigg out loud. “She was run over by an omnibus. Sad. Very sad. Unbearably sad. Poor Aunt Emily. But they saved her umbrella. That was funny, wasn’t it?” And before he knew where he was, he was heaving and trembling and bursting with laughter at the thought of Aunt Emily’s umbrella.

      “It’s no good,” he said, blowing his nose. “I give it up. And my young friends here seem to be no better at sadness than I am. Mary, can’t you do something?* We want our tea.”

      To this day Jane and Michael cannot be sure of what happened then. All they know for certain is that, as soon as Mr Wigg had appealed to Mary Poppins, the table below began to wriggle on its legs. Presently it was swaying dangerously, and then with a rattle of china and with cakes lurching off their plates on to the cloth, the table came soaring through the room, gave one graceful turn, and landed beside them so that Mr Wigg was at its head.

      “Good girl!” said Mr Wigg, smiling proudly upon her. “I knew you’d fix* something. Now, will you take the foot of the table and pour out, Mary? And the guests on either side of me. That’s the idea,” he said, as Michael ran bobbing through the air and sat down on Mr Wigg’s right. Jane was at his left hand. There they were, all together, up in the air and the table between them. Not a single piece of bread-and-butter or a lump of sugar had been left behind.

      Mr Wigg smiled contentedly.

      “It is usual, I think, to begin with bread-and-butter,” he said to Jane and Michael, “but as it’s my birthday we will begin the wrong way – which I always think is the right way – with the Cake!”

      And he cut a large slice for everybody.

      “More tea?” he said to Jane. But before she had time to reply there was a quick, sharp knock at the door.

      “Come in!” called Mr Wigg.

      The door opened, and there stood Miss Persimmon with a jug of hot water on a tray.

      “I thought, Mr Wigg,” she began, looking searchingly round the room, “you’d be wanting some more hot – Well, I never!* I simply never!” she said, as she caught sight of them all seated on the air round the table. “Such goings on I never did see.* In all my born days I never saw such. I’m sure, Mr Wigg, I always knew you were a bit odd. But I’ve closed my eyes to it – being as how* you paid your rent regular. But such behaviour as this – having tea in the air with your guests – Mr Wigg, sir, I’m astonished at you! It’s that undignified, and for a gentleman of your age – I never did – ”

      “But perhaps you will, Miss Persimmon!” said Michael.

      “Will what?” said Miss Persimmon haughtily.

      “Catch the Laughing Gas, as we did,” said Michael.

      Miss Persimmon flung back her head scornfully.

      “I hope, young man,” she retorted, “I have more respect for myself than to go bouncing about in the air like a rubber ball on the end of a bat. I’ll stay on my own feet, thank you, or my name’s not Amy Persimmon, and – oh dear, oh dear, my goodness, oh DEAR – what is the matter? I can’t walk, I’m going, I – oh, help, HELP!”

      For Miss Persimmon, quite against her will, was off the ground and was stumbling through the air, rolling from side to side like a very thin barrel, balancing the tray in her hand. She was almost weeping with distress as she arrived at the table and put down her jug of hot water.

      “Thank you,” said Mary Poppins in a calm, very polite voice.

      Then Miss Persimmon turned and went wafting* down again, murmuring as she went: “So undignified – and me a well-behaved, steady-going woman. I must see a doctor – ”

      When she touched the floor she ran hurriedly out of the room, wringing her hands, and not giving a single glance backwards.

      “So undignified!” they heard her moaning as she shut the door behind her.

      “Her name can’t be Amy Persimmon, because she didn’t stay on her own feet!” whispered Jane to Michael.

      But Mr Wigg was looking at Mary Poppins – a curious look, half-amused, half-accusing.

      “Mary, Mary, you shouldn’t – bless my soul, you shouldn’t, Mary. The poor old body will never get over it. But, oh, my Goodness, didn’t she look funny waddling* through the air – my Gracious Goodness, but didn’t she?”

      And he and Jane and Michael were off again, rolling about the air, clutching their sides and gasping with laughter at the thought of how funny Miss Persimmon had looked.

      “Oh dear!” said Michael. “Don’t make me laugh any more. I can’t stand it! I shall break!”

      “Oh, oh, oh!” cried Jane, as she gasped for breath, with her hand over her heart. “Oh, my Gracious, Glorious, Galumphing Goodness!*” roared Mr Wigg, dabbing his eyes with the tail of his coat because he couldn’t find his handkerchief.

      “IT IS TIME TO GO HOME.” Mary Poppins’s voice sounded above the roars of laughter like a trumpet.

      And suddenly, with a rush, Jane and Michael and Mr Wigg came down. They landed on the floor with a huge bump, all together. The thought that they would have to go home was the first sad thought of the afternoon, and the moment it was in their minds the Laughing Gas went out of them.

      Jane and Michael sighed as they watched Mary Poppins come slowly down the air, carrying Jane’s coat and hat.

      Mr Wigg sighed, too. A great, long, heavy sigh.

      “Well, isn’t that a pity?” he said soberly. “It’s very sad that you’ve got to go home. I never enjoyed an afternoon so much – did you?”

      “Never,” said Michael sadly, feeling how dull it was to be down on the earth again with no Laughing Gas inside him.

      “Never, never,” said Jane, as she stood on tiptoe and kissed Mr Wigg’s withered-apple cheeks. “Never, never, never, never…!”

* * *

      They sat on either side of Mary Poppins going home in the Bus. They were both very quiet, thinking over the lovely afternoon. Presently Michael said sleepily to Mary Poppins,

      “How often does your Uncle get like that?”

      “Like what?” said Mary Poppins sharply,

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