"Robert F. Young - Operation Peanut Butter" - читать интересную книгу автора (Young Robert F)

locusts beyond the willows, then a medley of maples and oaks and beeches. The forest floor littered with
last year's leaves and they were so dry and crackly he didn't think he could possibly catch Mr. Wings
and Sally Sunbeam unawares. But just the same he did. They were so preoccupied with what they were
doing in the little clearing that they never heard him at all when he came up and hid behind an oak and
peeked around its shaggy trunk.
What they were doing was a sight to behold: They weren't eating the peanut butter sandwiches at all;
they were scraping the peanut butter off the bread and feeding it into a tiny machine. There was a spiral
of coils at the base of the machine, terminating in a minute spigot. Beneath the spigot was a can the size of
Geoffrey's bait can. Ever so often, a dark brown globule would form at the opening of the spigot, then
drop into the can and whenever this happened, both Mr. Wings and Sally Sunbeam did a little dance
around the machine as though the most wonderful thing in the world had come to pass.
But the machine and its two exotic operators were the least surprising aspects of the scene. What
really took Geoffrey's breath away was Mr. Wings' and Sally Sunbeam's house. He knew, of course,
that fairies, being unusual creatures, virtually had to live in unusual houses. But this house was more than
merely unusual: it was incomprehensible.
Why, there weren't even any windows in it, unless you could call the bubble-like skylight on the
topтАФwhere the shingles should have beenтАФa window. And there was only one door, and that was
halfway up the side of the houseтАФon a level with his eyesтАФand was round instead of rectangular.
Moreover, the house itself was cylindrical instead of square, and instead of resting on a concrete
foundation, it stood perilously on three shiny poles. But the most fantastic thing about it was the material it
was made out of. Geoffrey was accustomed to wooden houses, but this one didn't have any wood in it at
all. It was all one piece and it was made out of something that reminded him of his mother's new
teakettle.
Apparently Mr. Wings and Sally Sunbeam were ashamed of it, for they'd piled tree branches all
around it. Most of the leaves had died and fallen off the branches by now, though, and the house was
hardly hidden at all. Geoffrey thought it was funny they'd do such a thing; but probably they were afraid
of grown-ups. And maybe they had good reason to be. Grown-ups didn't believe in fairies, and Geoffrey
knew that grown-ups didn't like to be confronted with things they didn't believe in, and there was no
telling what they'd do if they ran across Mr. Wings' and Sally Sunbeam's house.
He decided he hadn't better tell his parents about the house after all. His first impulse had been to run
home and blab everything to his motherтАФor maybe even his father, if he'd listenтАФbut he saw now that
that wouldn't be the right thing to do. Mr. Wings and Sally Sunbeam were his friendsтАФdespite the fact
that they'd deceived him about the peanut butter sandwichesтАФand he'd hate to have anything happen to
them.
The thing to do, if he valued their friendship, was to keep on bringing extra peanut butter sandwiches.
After all, what difference did it make whether they ate them or not? The really important thing was to
keep their friendship. For all he knew, they might be the only fairies he'd ever see.
So after a while he left his hiding place behind the oak and went home and kept mum. That night he
sat on the porch steps while his mother and father listened to the radio in the kitchen, and watched the
fireflies wink on and off in the spiraea and forsythia bushes that bordered the road. He heard his father
swear when the weatherman gave the weather at nine o'clock, and a little while later his mother called
him to come to bed.

Next morning, when he was making his peanut butter sandwichesтАФhe was taking three every day
nowтАФhe saw how low the peanut butter was getting in the big quart jar and he told his mother she'd
better get some more, they were running out. His father was on the back porch, glowering at the sky, and
he heard what Geoffrey. said and came stomping into the kitchen.
"Peanut butter!" he shouted. "The crops are burning up, IтАЩm up to my neck in bills and it isn't going to
rain for fifty million years, and all you can think of is peanut butter!"
"Now Pete, don't take it out on him," his mother said. "It's not his fault it doesn't rain."