went tingling up to him.
“Penny one,” said the Sweep. And he stood leaning on his bundle of brushes as he licked out the Ice Cream with the tip of his tongue. When it was all gone, he gently wrapped the cone in his handkerchief and put it in his pocket.
“Don’t you eat cones?” asked the Ice Cream Man, very surprised.
“No. I collect them!” said the Sweep. And he picked up his brushes and went in through Admiral Boom’s front gate, because there was no Tradesman’s Entrance.
The Ice Cream Man wheeled his cart up the Lane again and tingled, and the stripes of shadow and sunlight fell on him as he went.
“Never knew it so quiet before!” he murmured, gazing from right to left, and looking out for customers.
At that very moment, a loud voice sounded from Number Seventeen. The Ice Cream Man cycled hurriedly up to the gate, hoping for an order.
“I won’t stand it! I simply will not stand any more!” shouted Mr Banks, striding angrily from the front door to the foot of the stairs and back again.
“What is it?” said Mrs Banks anxiously, hurrying out of the Dining-room. “And what is that you are kicking up and down the hall?”
Mr Banks lunged out with his foot and something black flew halfway up the stairs.
“My hat!” he said between his teeth. “My Best Bowler Hat!”
He ran up the stairs and kicked it down again. It spun for a moment on the tiles and fell at Mrs Banks’ feet.
“Is there anything wrong with it?” said Mrs Banks nervously. But to herself she wondered whether there was not something wrong with Mr Banks.
“Look and see!” he roared at her.
Trembling, Mrs Banks stooped and picked up the hat. It was covered with large, shiny, sticky patches, and she noticed it had a peculiar smell.
She sniffed at the brim.
“It smells like boot-polish,” she said.
“It is boot-polish,” retorted Mr Banks. “Robertson Ay has brushed my hat with the boot-brush – in fact, he has polished it.”
Mrs Banks’ mouth fell with horror.
“I don’t know what’s come over this house!” Mr Banks went on. “Nothing ever goes right – hasn’t for ages! Shaving-Water too hot, Breakfast Coffee too cold. And now – this!”
He snatched his hat from Mrs Banks and caught up his bag.
“I am going!” he said. “And I don’t know that I shall ever come back. I shall probably take a long sea-voyage.”
Then he clapped the hat on his head, banged the front door behind him and went through the gate so quickly that he knocked over the Ice Cream Man, who had been listening to the conversation with interest.
“It’s your own fault!” said Mr Banks crossly. “You’d no right to be there!” And he went striding off towards the City, his polished hat shining like a jewel in the sun.
The Ice Cream Man got up carefully and, finding there were no bones broken, he sat down on the kerb and made it up to himself by eating a large Ice Cream. . .
“Oh, dear!” said Mrs Banks as she heard the gate slam. “It is quite true. Nothing does go right nowadays. First one thing and then another. Ever since Mary Poppins left without a Word of Warning everything has gone wrong.”
She sat down at the foot of the stairs, and took out her handkerchief and cried into it.
And, as she cried, she thought of all that had happened since that day when Mary Poppins had so suddenly and so strangely disappeared.
“Here one night and gone the next – most upsetting!” said Mrs Banks, gulping.
Nurse Green had arrived soon after and had left at the end of the week because Michael had spat at her. She was followed by Nurse Brown, who went out for a walk one day and never came back. And it was not until later that they discovered that all the silver spoons had gone with her.
And after Nurse Brown came Miss Quigley, the Governess, who had to be asked to leave because she played scales for three hours every morning before breakfast, and Mr Banks did not care for music.
“And then,” sobbed Mrs Banks to her handkerchief, “there was Jane’s attack of measles, and the bathroom geyser bursting, and the Cherry Trees ruined by frost and. . .”
“If you please, m’m!” Mrs Banks looked up to find Mrs Brill, the cook, at her side.
“The kitchen flue’s on fire!” said Mrs Brill gloomily.
“Oh, dear. What next?” cried Mrs Banks. “You must tell Robertson Ay to put it out. Where is he?”
“Asleep, m’am, in the broom cupboard. And when that boy’s asleep, nothing’ll wake him – not if it’s an Earthquake or a regiment of Tom-toms!” said Mrs Brill, as she followed Mrs Banks down the kitchen stairs.
Between them they managed to put out the fire, but that was not the end of Mrs Banks’ troubles.
She had no sooner finished Luncheon than a crash, followed by a loud thud, was heard from upstairs.
“What is it now?” Mrs Banks rushed out to see what had happened.
“Oh, my leg, my leg!” cried Ellen, the housemaid.
She sat on the stairs, surrounded by a ring of broken china, groaning loudly.
“What is the matter with it?” said Mrs Banks sharply.
“Broken!” said Ellen dismally, leaning against the banisters.
“Nonsense, Ellen! You’ve sprained your ankle, that’s all!”
But Ellen only groaned again.
“My leg is broken! What shall I do?” she wailed, over and over again.
At that moment the shrill cries of the Twins sounded from the Nursery. They were fighting for the possession of a blue celluloid Duck. Their screams rose thinly above the voices of Jane and Michael, who were painting pictures on the wall and arguing as to whether a green horse should have a purple or a red tail. And through this uproar there sounded, like the steady beat of a drum, the groans of Ellen, the housemaid. “My leg is broken! What shall I do?”
“This,” said Mrs Banks, rushing upstairs, “is the Last Straw!”
She helped Ellen to bed, and put a cold water bandage round her ankle. Then she went up to the Nursery.
Jane and Michael rushed at her.
“It should have a red tail, shouldn’t it?” demanded Michael.
“Oh, Mother, don’t let him
