We dont need to be pampered, Malcolm said odiously. You should see what its like at a boarding school before you complain here.
Quait, said Caspar. Full of frosty little snobs like you. Why dont you go back there where you belong?
I wish I could, Malcolm retorted, with real feeling. Anything would be better than having to share this pigsty with you.
Nearly a week passed. One afternoon, Caspar was as usual hurrying home in order not to have to walk back with Malcolm, when he discovered himself to be in a silly kind of mood. He knew he was going to have to act the goat somehow. He decided to do it in the Ogres study, if possible, because it was the warmest room in the house and also possessed a nice glossy parquet floor, ideal for sliding on. As soon as he got home, he hurried to the study and cautiously
opened its door.
The Ogre was not there, but Johnny was. He was rather gloomily turning ash out of the Ogres pipes into a tin for further experiments.
Hows it going? Caspar asked, slinging his bag into the Ogres chair and sitting on the Ogres desk to take his shoes off.
Johnny jumped. The Ogres inkwell fell over, and Johnny watched the ink spreading with even deeper gloom. Hell know its me, he said. He always thinks its me anyway.
Unless he thinks its me, said Caspar, casting his shoes to the floor. Wipe it up, you fool. But is the Great Caspar daunted by the Ogre? Yes, he is rather. And the ink is running off the desk into his shoes.
Johnny, knowing he would get no sense out of Caspar in this mood, picked up the Ogres blotting paper and put it in the pool of ink. The blotting paper at once became bright blue and sodden, but there seemed just as much ink as before.
Gwinny came in, hearing their voices. Theres ink running off on to the floor, she said.
Tell me something I dont know, said Johnny, wondering how one small inkwell always contained such floods of ink.
Ill do the floor, said Gwinny. Cant you help, Caspar?
No, said Caspar, gliding smoothly in his socks across the floor. He did not see why he should be deprived of his pleasure because of Johnnys clumsiness.
Well, we think youre mean, said Gwinny, fetching a newspaper from the rack and laying it under the streams of ink.
The Great Caspar, said Caspar, is extremely generous.
Take no notice, said Johnny. And pass me a newspaper.
Caspar continued to slide. The Great Caspar, he said kindly, will slide for your entertainment while you work, lady and gentleman. He has slid before all the crowned heads of Europe, and will now perform, solely for your benefit, the famous hexagonal turn. Not only has it taken him years to perfect but
Oh shut up! said Johnny, desperately wiping.
it is also very hazardous, said Caspar. Behold, the hazardous hexagon! Upon this, Caspar spun himself round and attempted to jump while he did it. While he was in the air, he saw the Ogre in the doorway, lost his balance and ended sitting in a pool of ink. From this position, he looked up into the dour face of the Ogre. His own face was vivid red, and he hoped most earnestly that the Ogre had not heard his boastful fooling.
The Ogre had heard. The Great Caspar, the Ogre said, appears to have some difficulty with the hexagonal turn. Get up! AND GET OUT!
To complete Caspars humiliation, Malcolm appeared in the doorway, snorting with laughter. What is a hexagonal turn? he said.
The Ogres roar had fetched Sally too. Oh just look at this mess! she cried. Those trousers are ruined, Caspar. Dont any of you have the slightest consideration? Ink all over poor Jacks study!
It was the last straw, being blamed for falling in the ink. Caspar, with difficulty, climbed to his feet. Poor Jack! he said, with his voice shaking with rage, and fear at his own daring. Its always poor flipping Jack! What about poor us for a change?
The hurt, harrowed look on Sallys face deepened. The Ogres face became savage and he moved towards Caspar with haste and purpose. Caspar did not wait to discover what the purpose was. With all the speed his slippery socks would allow, he dodged the Ogre, dived between Malcolm and Sally and fled upstairs.
There he changed into jeans, muttering. His face was red, his eyes stung with misery and he could not stop himself making shamed, angry noises. I wish I was dead! he said, and surged towards the window, wondering whether he dared throw himself out. His progress scattered construction kits and hurled paper about. He knocked against a corner of the chemistry box. It shunted into its lid, which Johnny had left lying beside it, and a tube of some white chemical lying on the lid rolled across it and spilt a little white powder on Caspars sock as he passed.
Caspar found himself reaching the window in two graceful slow-motion bounds, rather like a ballet dancers, except that his socks barely met the floor as he passed. And when he was by the window, instead of stopping in the usual way, his feet again left the floor in a long, slow, drifting bounce. Hardly had he realised what was happening, than he was down again, quite in the usual way, with a heavy bump, on top of what felt like a drawing pin.