Free Mr Mingin by David Walliams Page A

could be twa misfit polis in a Hollywidd action movie. Chloe jaloused that if Mr Mingin wis onywhaur he would be back sittin on his bench whaur she first talked tae him.
    “Stap the caur!” she said, as they passed the bench.
    “But it’s a double yellae line,” pleadit Da.
    “I said, stap the caur!”
    Da pit his fit haurd on the brake. The tyres skraiked. They were baith flung forrit a wee bit in their seats. They smiled at each anither at the excitement o it aw – it wis like they’d jist come hurlin doon a rollercoaster. Chloe lowped oot o the caur and slammed the door shut wi a muckle whud, somethin she wid never daur dae if her mither wis aroond.
    But the bench wis toom. Mr Mingin wisnae there. Chloe taen a sniff at the air. There wis a peerie whiff o him, but she couldnae tell if the guff wis recent or yin that had been hingin aboot in the atmosphere for a week or twa.
    Da drove aroond the toun for anither oor. Chloe checked aw the places she thocht her tink freend micht be – unner brigs, in the park, in the coffee shoap, even ahint the bins. But it seemed as though he really had disappeart. Chloe felt like greetin. Mibbe he had left toun awthegither – efter aw, he wis a stravaiger.
    “We’d better heid hame noo, darlin,” said Da saftly.
    “Aye,” said Chloe, tryin tae be brave.
    “I’ll pit the kettle on,” said Da as they walked ben the hoose.
    In Britain, a cup o tea is the answer tae ilka problem.
    Fawn aff yer bike? Hae a cup o tea.
    Yer hoose has been malkied by a meteorite? Here’s a cup o tea tae ye.
    Yer haill faimlie has been scranned by a Tyrannosaurus Rex that has traivelled through a yett in time and space? Tak a cup o tea and a daud o cake. Mibbe a bite o somethin savoury wid be help calm ye doon and aw, for example a Scotch egg or a sassidge roll.
    Chloe picked up the kettle and gaed tae the sink tae fill it. She keeked oot the windae.
    Jist then, Mr Mingin’s heid popped oot o the pond. He gied her a wee wave. Chloe skraiked.
    When they’d got ower their shoack, Chloe and Da walked slowly doon tae the pond. Mr Mingin wis hummin the sang ‘Speed bonnie boat’ tae himsel. As he chanted, he rubbed algae intae himsel wi a watter lily. A nummer o gowdfish floatit upside doon on the watter’s surface.
    “Guid efternoon, Miss Chloe, guid efternoon, Mr Ploom,” said Mr Mingin brichtly. “I’ll no be lang. I dinnae want tae get aw runklie sittin in here!”

    “Whit … whit … whit are ye daein?” spiered Da.
    “The Duchess and I are haein a bath, jist as young Chloe suggestit.”
    At that moment the Duchess appeart oot o the clatty depths, happit in weeds. As if it wisnae enough that he wis haein a bath in a pond, Mr Mingin had tae share it wi his dug as weel. Efter twa-three moments the Duchess sclimmed oot o the pond, leain a muckle bleck layer o scum floatin on the watter. She shook hersel dry and Chloe gawked at her in surprise. It turnt oot she wisnae a wee bleck dug efter aw, but a wee white yin.
    “Mr Ploom, sir?” said Mr Mingin. “Wid ye be sae awfie kind and gie me that touel? Thank you awfie muckle. Ah! I’m as clean as a whustle noo!”

16
Rule Britannia
    Mither snowked the air. And snowked it again. Her neb runkled wi pure scunner.
    “Are ye sure ye had a bath, Mr Mingin?” she spiered, as Da drove aw the faimlie and Mr Mingin tae the television studio.
    “Aye, I did, Madam.”
    “Weel, there is an unco reek o pond in this caur. And dug,” pronoonced Mither fae the front seat.
    “I think I’m gonnae cowk,” pronoonced Annabelle fae the back seat.
    “I’ve telt ye afore, darlin. We dinnae say ‘cowk’ in this faimlie,” correctit Mither. “We say we are feelin nauseous.”
    Chloe sleekitly opened the windae, sae she widnae hurt Mr Mingin’s feelins.
    “Dae you mind if we keep the windae shut?” spiered Mr Mingin. “I’m a wee bit cauld.”
    The windae gaed up again.
    “Thank you awfie muckle,” said Mr Mingin. “Sic undeemous