The Clumsies Make a Mess of the Airport

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‘Mr Bullerton,’

Purvis.

‘We’re not taking him,’ said Howard, ‘and for once he needn’t worry us; he’s safely tucked away inside the office.’

‘Oh no he’s isn’t,’

Mickey Thompson.

‘LOOK OUT!’

shouted Purvis, and the mice and Allen and Ortrud shot under the seat just in time as Mr Bullerton, Howard’s

boss, arrived.

He was dragging a shiny suitcase and wearing some stripey shorts, and looking even

than usual.

‘Hello there,’ said Howard, trying to sound friendly.

said Mr Bullerton. ‘What do you think you’re doing, Howard Armitage?’

‘I’m going on holiday,’ said Howard.

‘Oh no you’re not,’ said Mr Bullerton.

‘But, but you said I could,’ said Howard.

‘But, but I’ve changed my mind,’ said Mr Bullerton, in a sneery voice. ‘I’ve decided I am the one who shall have a holiday and you are the one who shall work. Get back to the office.’

‘No,’ said Howard.

Mr Bullerton, turning puce.

‘I couldn’t possibly, I’m afraid,’ said Howard. ‘They’re all far too excited.’

‘They?’ said Mr Bullerton. ‘All? And wait, what’s this?’ He bent down and picked up Mickey Thompson’s sombrero, which was lying nearby.

he said, sniffing it. ‘It’s the one off that stupid straw souvenir donkey you keep on your desk.’

Howard gazed at it. ‘Oh, so it is,’ he said. ‘I wondered where he got it from.’

‘You’re

,’ said Mr Bullerton, and he flapped the hat in Howard’s face then dropped it and kicked it across the departure hall. There was a

noise from underneath the seat.

‘That was most unnecessary,’ said Howard.