‘I’ll remember,’ said Fatty, yawning. ‘Golly, it was funny going into Goon’s house this morning as a red-headed messenger-boy - and coming out just myself, and nobody spotting me! Come on - let’s go for a walk by the river. It’ll be cool there. I shall fall asleep in this heat!’
As they went down the drive they met Mr. Goon cycling up. They wondered which of the household he was going to see. He stopped and got off his bike.
‘You know that there telegraph-boy, that brought you that telegram some time back?’ he said. ‘Well, I happen to know he’s a fake, see? There’s no telegraph-boy like that. And I’m making strict inquiries into the matter, I am - yes and into fake telegrams too, see? And I warn you all, if you hob-nob with red-heads, you’ll get into Serious Trouble. Very Serious Trouble.’
‘You do frighten me,’ said Fatty, making his eyes go big.
‘And I’ll have None of your Sauce!’ said Mr. Goon majestically. ‘I know more than what you think, and I advise you all to be careful. Call that dog orf!’
‘Come here, Buster,’ said Fatty, in such a mild voice that Buster took no notice at all. He went on prancing round Mr. Goon’s ankles.
‘I said, call him orf!’ repeated Mr. Goon, doing little prances too, to avoid sudden rushes by Buster.
‘Come here, Buster,’ said Fatty again, in an extremely polite voice. Buster ignored him completely.
‘That’s not calling him orf!’ shouted Mr. Goon, beginning to lose his temper. ‘Yell at him, go on! Nuisance of a dog!’
Fatty winked at the others, and with one accord they all opened their mouths and yelled at the top of their voices. ‘COME HERE, BUSTER!’