Free Friday Barnes 3 by R. A. Spratt Page B

Uncle Bernie panicked.
    â€˜I don’t know,’ said Friday from the safety of the other side of the screen door. ‘Try “nice doggie”.’
    â€˜Jauks suns! Jauks suns!’ yelled Uncle Bernie.
    Rocky skidded to a halt.
    â€˜Awesome,’ said Ian. ‘This is actually going to work.’
    â€˜Tell him to sit,’ advised Friday.
    â€˜Sédét!’ yelled Uncle Bernie.
    Rocky obediently placed his rear end on the grass.
    â€˜Now, slowly approach the dog and take the collar,’ said Friday
    â€˜Do I have to?’ asked Uncle Bernie.
    â€˜Yes!’ said Friday and Ian in unison.
    Uncle Bernie slowly made his way towards Rocky. ‘LÅ«dzu nekož mani.’
    â€˜What’s he saying?’ asked Melanie.
    â€˜Knowing Uncle Bernie,’ said Friday, ‘probably something like please don’t bite me.’
    â€˜I hope your uncle isn’t brutally mauled,’ said Mrs Wainscott as she joined them at the door. ‘He seems like such a nice man. And he knows his veggies.’
    Uncle Bernie now had his hand on Rocky’s collar. ‘Labs suns, labs suns,’ he crooned.
    Uncle Bernie unclipped the collar, patted Rocky and started making his way back towards the house. ‘I’ve got it!’ he yelled in English.
    As soon as the English words were out of his mouth, Rocky snapped to attention, as if awoken from a trance, and launched himself at Uncle Bernie’s bottom.
    â€˜Ow!’ yelped Uncle Bernie.
    â€˜Don’t worry, I’ll save him!’ yelled Mrs Wainscott as she ran to the kitchen and grabbed a dozen rashers of home-cured bacon. ‘Take that, you vicious dog!’ Mrs Wainscott hurled the bacon over Uncle Bernie. Rocky’s head whipped up and he chased after the rashers, giving Ian and Friday a chance to drag Uncle Bernie inside.
    â€˜Did he hurt you?’ asked Mrs Wainscott.
    â€˜Only my pride,’ said Uncle Bernie.
    â€˜And your bottom,’ said Friday. ‘Look, you’re bleeding.’
    â€˜Never fear, I’ve been teaching myself how to sew,’ said Mrs Wainscott. ‘I’ll soon stitch that up.’
    â€˜Maybe I should see a doctor,’ said Uncle Bernie.
    â€˜It wouldn’t be worth the risk of walking past Rocky while you smelled of fresh blood,’ warned Mrs Wainscott. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll soon be right as rain. Although you might not enjoy sitting down for a while.’ She went to get her first-aid kit.
    Friday took out her jeweller’s eyepiece and closely inspected the studs in Rocky’s collar.
    â€˜Are they the real deal?’ asked Ian.
    â€˜Please say they are,’ said Uncle Bernie. ‘I’d hate to be having the worst day of my life for nothing.’
    â€˜They’re diamonds, all right,’ said Friday. ‘Fifteen stones. All of them at least two carats. They’re worth over $50,000 each.’
    â€˜$750,000!’ exclaimed Mrs Wainscott as she returned. ‘Why, that means that after we pay off the first and second mortgage, the car loan, the personal loans, the credit cards and your father’s dry-cleaning bill we’ll be …’
    â€˜Rich?’ asked Ian hopefully.
    â€˜Modestly comfortable,’ said Mrs Wainscott. ‘If we mainly eat vegetables and the council lets us keep using the pig manure generator.’
    â€˜So I don’t have to quit school and get a job,’ said Ian.
    â€˜Which is a relief,’ said Friday, ‘because it’s hard getting around those child labour laws. I know, I tried getting a job as a professional gambler once and the police took a dim view of the whole idea.’
    â€˜That and the card counting,’ added Uncle Bernie.
    â€˜Yes, that too,’ said Friday.
    â€˜Thank you,’ said Ian.
    â€˜You’re welcome,’ said Friday. ‘I know that’s hard for you to say because of your irrationally overblown sense