Mr Jenkins and His Son
Mr Jenkins came striding up to our table with a very purposeful look on his face.
"Where is that grandson of yours?" he said to my grandmother. He spoke¹ rudely and lookedvery angry.
My grandmother put on her frostiest look, but didn't answer him.
"My guess is that he and my son Bruno are up to some devilment," Mr Jenkins went on.
"Bruno?hasn't turned up for his supper and it takes a lot to make that boy miss his food!""I must admit he has a very healthy appetite," my grandmother said.
"My feeling is that you're in on this as well," Mr Jenkins said. "I don't know who the devilyou are and I don't much care, but you played a nasty trick on me and my wife this afternoon. Youput a dirty little mouse on the table. That makes me think all three of you are up to something. So ifyou know where Bruno's hiding, kindly² tell me at once.""That was no trick I played on you," my grandmother said. "That mouse I tried to give youwas your own little boy, Bruno. I was being kind to you. I was trying to restore him to the bosom³ ofhis family. You refused to take him in."
"What the blazes do you mean, madam?" shouted Mr Jenkins. "My son isn't a mouse!" Hisblack moustache was jumping up and down like crazy as he spoke. "Come on, woman! Where is he?
Out with it!"
The family at the table nearest to us had all stopped eating and were staring at Mr Jerkins. Mygrandmother sat there puffing⁴ away calmly at her black cigar. "I can well understand your anger, MrJerkins," she said. "Any other English father would be just as cross as you are. But over in Norwaywhere I come from, we are quite used to these sort of happenings. We have learnt to accept them aspart of everyday life."
"You must be mad, woman!" cried Mr Jerkins. "Where is Bruno? If you don't tell me at once Ishall summon the police!"
"Bruno is a mouse," my grandmother said, calm as ever.
"He most certainly is not a mouse!" shouted Mr Jerkins.
"Oh yes I am!" Bruno said, poking⁵ his head up out of the handbag.
Mr Jerkins leapt about three feet into the air.

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