Матильда
Bruce Bogtrotter and the Cake
"Thereyouare,cook,"theTrunchbullcried."Bogtrotterlikesyourcake.Headoresyourcake.Doyouhaveanymoreofyourcakeyoucouldgivehim?"
"Idoindeed,"thecooksaid.Sheseemedtohavelearntherlinesbyheart.
"Thengoandgetit.Andbringaknifetocutitwith."
Thecookdisappeared.Almostatonceshewasbackagainstaggeringundertheweightofanenormousroundchocolatecakeonachinaplatter.Thecakewasfullyeighteeninchesindiameteranditwascoveredwithdark-brownchocolateicing."Putitonthetable,"theTrunchbullsaid.
Therewasasmalltablecentrestagewithachairbehindit.
Thecookplacedthecakecarefullyonthetable."Sitdown,Bogtrotter,"theTrunchbullsaid."Sitthere."
Theboymovedcautiouslytothetableandsatdown.Hestaredatthegiganticcake.
"Thereyouare,Bogtrotter,"theTrunchbullsaid,andonceagainhervoicebecamesoft,persuasive,evengentle."It’sallforyou,everybitofit.Asyouenjoyedthatsliceyouhadyesterdaysoverymuch,Iorderedcooktobakeyouanextralargeoneallforyourself."
"Well,thankyou,"theboysaid,totallybemused.
"Thankcook,notme,"theTrunchbullsaid.
"Thankyou,cook,"theboysaid.
Thecookstoodtherelikeashrivelledbootlace,tight-lipped,implacable,disapproving.Shelookedasthoughhermouthwasfulloflemonjuice.
"Comeonthen,"theTrunchbullsaid."Whydon’tyoucutyourselfanicethicksliceandtryit?"
"What?Now?"theboysaid,cautious.Heknewtherewasacatchinthissomewhere,buthewasn’tsurewhere.
