The Wombles to the Rescue by Elisabeth Beresford

useful.
    Wellington heaved one of his great big sighs and then jumped as a gentle voice said from the shadows, ‘What is in bucket, please?’
    â€˜Dredgings from Queen’s Mere.’
    â€˜Oh yes.’
    Shansi edged forward and looked into the bucket, wrinkling up her nose.
    â€˜I know it pongs,’ said Wellington crossly.
    â€˜Not smell which makes me stop. Is what is made of and colour of same. Most interesting.’
    â€˜Now look here,’ said Wellington, sitting up with a jerk. He had begun to nod off. ‘If you’re going to have an Idea, please don’t. Wombles have had Ideas all round me recently and . . .’
    Shansi didn’t say anything, but just handed the bucket over to him. Wellington took it and sniffed and then looked and finally put one finger into it. The finger came out very black indeed.
    Wellington looked at Shansi and then back at the bucket.
    â€˜Oh, my word,’ said Wellington and he licked his finger, rubbed his spectacles, screwed up his eyes and sniffed. ‘Hold on,’ he said. ‘I think I am having another Idea. Oh dear, dear, dear ME !’

.

    Chapter 10
    Orinoco on Television
    Everything now began to happen so quickly that none of the Wombles seemed to have time to draw breath, let alone quarrel or fight among themselves. Even the arrival of Great Uncle Bulgaria’s next letter was, although interesting, no more than a nice thirty minutes in which to have a sit down while sipping a refreshing bracken juice.
    Orinoco, recuperating from all his pipeline digging, was only too glad to go and help Madame Cholet in the kitchen and to taste, mix, add and generally give his advice. Alderney was kept at full stretch filling and labelling all the new jars which Wellington had made with Orinoco’s help. Cousin Botany was forever going round and round his precious under-Common tanks, making sure that his plants were getting enough fresh water and light. He had even begun to feed them some compost from the pile he had started beneath the undergrowth by the Mere.
    Tobermory, having had a good rest, was now working on adapting the tidied-up plastic sheets. The brace and bit which he had repaired earlier was coming in useful as the plastic was very hard indeed.
    â€˜It’ll never wear out or get woodworm, that’s for certain,’ said Tobermory, who was wearing his goggles again. ‘The only difficulty is, it won’t look the same as the old door.’
    â€˜Ah,’ said Shansi, a wicked gleam in her round little eyes as she bowed politely. ‘Can promise it will!’
    â€˜All right, cleversticks,’ growled Tobermory, ‘just hold that side still, while I saw this one. Plastic is all very well in its way, but it’s not the same as wood, say what you like!’
    â€˜We see,’ said Shansi with a slight giggle.
    Meanwhile Wellington had set up his own particular tests at the back of the Workshop. Tests which included a bucketful of the bottom of Queen’s Mere. The smell was so awful that he had to tie his scarf across his mouth, but he was quite determined to carry on with what he was doing, because it might at last make his ex-oil rig become useful.
    And it was some days later that Wellington slid off his workbench stool holding up two glassfuls of liquid. He gazed at them and nodded happily. The glass in his left paw was full of a thick yellow liquid, while the glass in his right paw was blacker than the night when there is no moon.
    â€˜Now,’ said Wellington, ‘all I need are a couple of felt tips and I’ll show ’em all!’
    By ‘them’ Wellington meant Miss Adelaide and Tobermory, and although both these older Wombles happened to be very busy discussing some important news in the Workshop, they knew at once that Wellington’s polite invitation to see his invention must be accepted instantly.
    â€˜Back so soon. And a good thing too,’ growled Tobermory,