Free Lantana Lane by Eleanor Dark Page A

support. So when Uncle Cuth announced that he was bound for Herbie’s house to take up his abode there, and expressed the hope that Herbie’s hens were laying, because he’d been pretty near starved lately, Herbie only said “Huh “again, and continued to watch the tendril with passionate attention. Uncle Cuth therefore went on his way, found a packet of tobacco on Herbie’s table, filled his pipe, and lay down on Herbie’s bed where he smoked peacefully and congratulated himself upon his escape until he fell asleep.
    Meanwhile the Lane was buzzing with excitement. Everyone had said over the ’phone to everyone else that really, you know, it
might
work, and why hadn’t they thought of it before? Anyhow, they must now do their best to make it work, and to help poor Herbie. Marge said she would send a dozen eggs, and Gwinny thought she could rustle up a dozen too, and Amy declared she would get Bill to take a stretcher and a couple of blankets over, and Biddy had just baked a cake that would do nicely, and Sue contributed an apple-pie and a pound of butter, and Myra Dawson and Headier Arnold each had a loaf to spare, and Ken Mulliner sacrificed a whole, unopened packet of tobacco. So by the time Herbie got home there was a generous stack of food on his table. Uncle Cuth did full justice to it, and then retired again to Herbie’s bed. Herbie adopted the stretcher, which he set up on the verandah; this enabled him to watch the stars—a study so enthralling that he could not imagine why he had neglected it before—and he resolved never to sleep indoors again. But it kept him awake for a great part of the night, so he formed the habit of taking a siesta during the day. Being thus so fully occupied with his chores, his forty winks and his daily engagement with the pumpkin vine, he had no time to spare for his guest; but since Uncle Cuth had nothing to do but eat and sleep, and could do as much of both as he pleased, this suited him very well. The Lane, having held its breath while awaiting the outcome of the new experiment, released it in a long sigh of relief, and continued ardently to pile Herbie’s table with eggs, tobacco and other delicacies.
    In this way matters proceeded very smoothly and pleasantly until, at last, Joe came home.
    The Joe who came home was, of course, markedly different from the pre-cyclone Joe—and not only in appearance. His capacity for manual labour was greatly impaired, and a significant change in his attitude to Uncle Cuth was also discernible. With the aid of the neighbours he built himself the shack which he still occupies, using such materials as he could salvage from the wreck of his house; this dwelling consists of a sizeable room which combines the functions of kitchen, living-room, and Joe’s bedroom, and a second very small apartment which belongs to Uncle Cuth.
    He occupied it, at first, under protest; indeed, under physical duress. He had been very comfortable at Herbie’s, and protested that nothing would make him return to be the exploited prop and mainstay of a nephew who had callously deserted him in his hour of peril. Besides, he added, his dear old friend, Herbie, needed him.
    This was overstating the case, but it was a fact that during the last week or two of his stay, his company—or, more correctly, his presence—had afforded his host some pleasurable hours. For it had occurred to Herbie quite suddenly that he was wasting a unique opportunity. He had always mournfully accepted the fact that human beings were no good at all for his purposes, being even more restless than motor vehicles; and besides, although it is not rude to stare fixedly at a car or a pantechnicon, it is very rude indeed to stare fixedly at a human being. The discovery that neither of these disadvantages applied to his guest had been a momentous one. Uncle Cuth was content to remain perfectly motionless on a bed for hours at a time, and far from