Nesbit, E. (Edith), 1858-1924 / 2008-09-24 00:00:00
CHAPTER 3
BEING DETECTIVES
The next thing that happened to us was very interesting. It was as real
as the half-crowns--not just pretending. I shall try to write it as
like a real book as I can. Of course we have read Mr Sherlock Holmes,
as well as the yellow-covered books with pictures outside that are so
badly printed; and you get them for fourpence-halfpenny at the bookstall
when the corners of them are beginning to curl up and get dirty, with
people looking to see how the story ends when they are waiting for
trains. I think this is most unfair to the boy at the bookstall. The
books are written by a gentleman named Gaboriau, and Albert's uncle says
they are the worst translations in the world--and written in vile
English. Of course they're not like Kipling, but they're jolly good
stories. And we had just been reading a book by Dick Diddlington--that's
not his right name, but I know all about libel actions, so I shall not
say what his name is really, because his books are rot. Only they put
it into our heads to do what I am going to narrate.
It was in September, and we were not to go to the seaside because it is
so expensive, even if you go to Sheerness, where it is all tin cans and
old boots and no sand at all.
Read more
Parts:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11