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The Adventures of Prickly Porky by Thornton W. Burgess

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The Bedtime Story-Books




THE ADVENTURES OF PRICKLY PORKY

BY

THORNTON W. BURGESS


Author of "Old Mother West Wind Series," "Mother
West Wind 'How' Stories," "The Bedtime
Story-Books," etc.


_With Illustrations by HARRISON CADY_




BOSTON

LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY

1916




[Illustration: "Do tell me quickly what has happened to Peter!"
FRONTISPIECE. _See page 94._]




CONTENTS


I HAPPY JACK SQUIRREL MAKES A FIND
II THE STRANGER FROM THE NORTH
III PRICKLY PORKY MAKES FRIENDS
IV PETER RABBIT HAS SOME STARTLING NEWS
V PETER RABBIT TELLS HIS STORY
VI PETER HAS TO TELL HIS STORY MANY TIMES
VII JIMMY SKUNK CALLS ON PRICKLY PORKY
VIII PRICKLY PORKY NEARLY CHOKES
IX JIMMY SKUNK AND UNC' BILLY POSSUM TELL DIFFERENT STORIES
X UNC' BILLY POSSUM TELLS JIMMY SKUNK A SECRET
XI WHAT HAPPENED TO REDDY FOX
XII WHAT REDDY FOX SAW AND DID
XIII REDDY FOX IS VERY MISERABLE
XIV REDDY FOX TRIES TO KEEP OUT OF SIGHT
XV OLD GRANNY FOX INVESTIGATES
XVI OLD GRANNY FOX LOSES HER DIGNITY
XVII GRANNY FOX CATCHES PETER RABBIT
XVIII A FRIEND IN NEED IS A FRIEND INDEED
XIX JIMMY SKUNK TAKES WORD TO MRS. PETER
XX A PLOT TO FRIGHTEN OLD MAN COYOTE
XXI SAMMY JAY DELIVERS HIS MESSAGE
XXII OLD MAN COYOTE LOSES HIS APPETITE
XXIII BUSTER BEAR GIVES IT ALL AWAY




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

"DO TELL ME QUICKLY WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO PETER!" _Frontispiece_

"POOH," EXCLAIMED REDDY FOX. "WHO'S AFRAID OF THAT FELLOW?"

THEN HE BRACED HIMSELF AND PULLED WITH ALL HIS MIGHT

REDDY WOULDN'T HAVE BELIEVED THAT IT WAS ALIVE

"DROP HIM!" HE GRUNTED

"I SEE YOU ARE UP TO YOUR OLD TRICKS, PRICKLY PORKY!" HE SHOUTED




THE ADVENTURES OF PRICKLY PORKY




I

HAPPY JACK SQUIRREL MAKES A FIND


Happy Jack Squirrel had had a wonderful day. He had found some big
chestnut-trees that he had never seen before, and which promised to
give him all the nuts he would want for all the next winter. Now he
was thinking of going home, for it was getting late in the afternoon.
He looked out across the open field where Mr. Goshawk had nearly
caught him that morning. His home was on the other side.

"It's a long way 'round," said Happy Jack to himself, "but it is best
to be safe and sure."

So Happy Jack started on his long journey around the open field. Now,
Happy Jack's eyes are bright, and there is very little that Happy Jack
does not see. So, as he was jumping from one tree to another, he spied
something down on the ground which excited his curiosity.

"I must stop and see what that is," said Happy Jack. So down the tree
he ran, and in a few minutes he had found the queer thing, which had
caught his eyes. It was smooth and black and white, and at one end it
was very sharp with a tiny little barb. Happy Jack found it out by
pricking himself with it.

"Ooch," he cried, and dropped the queer thing. Pretty soon he noticed
there were a lot more on the ground.

"I wonder what they are," said Happy Jack. "They don't grow, for they
haven't any roots. They are not thorns, for there is no plant from
which they could come. They are not alive, so what can they be?"

Now, Happy Jack's eyes are bright, but sometimes he doesn't use them
to the very best advantage. He was so busy examining the queer things
on the ground that he never once thought to look up in the tops of the
trees. If he had, perhaps he would not have been so much puzzled. As
it was he just gathered up three or four of the queer things and
started on again. On the way he met Peter Rabbit and showed Peter what
he had. Now, you know Peter Rabbit is very curious. He just couldn't
sit still, but must scamper over to the place Happy Jack Squirrel told
him about.

"You'd better be careful, Peter Rabbit; they're very sharp," shouted
Happy Jack.

But as usual, Peter was in too much of a hurry to heed what was said
to him. Lipperty-lipperty-lip, lipperty-lipperty-lip, went Peter
Rabbit through the woods, as fast as his long legs would take him.
Then suddenly he squealed and sat down to nurse one of his feet. But
he was up again in a flash with another squeal louder than before.
Peter Rabbit had found the queer things that Happy Jack Squirrel had
told him about. One was sticking in his foot, and one was in the white
patch on the seat of his trousers.




II

THE STRANGER FROM THE NORTH


The Merry Little Breezes of Old Mother West Wind were excited. Yes,
Sir, they certainly were excited. They had met Happy Jack Squirrel and
Peter Rabbit, and they were full of the news of the queer things that
Happy Jack and Peter Rabbit had found over in the Green Forest. They
hurried this way and that way over the Green Meadows and told every
one they met. Finally they reached the Smiling Pool and excitedly told
Grandfather Frog all about it.

Grandfather Frog smoothed down his white and yellow waistcoat and
looked very wise, for you know that Grandfather Frog is very old.

"Pooh," said Grandfather Frog. "I know what they are."

"What?" cried all the Merry Little Breezes together. "Happy Jack says
he is sure they do not grow, for there are no strange plants over
there."

Grandfather Frog opened his big mouth and snapped up a foolish green
fly that one of the Merry Little Breezes blew over to him.

"Chug-a-rum," said Grandfather Frog. "Things do not have to be on
plants in order to grow. Now I am sure that those things grew, and
that they did not grow on a plant."

The Merry Little Breezes looked puzzled. "What is there that grows and
doesn't grow on a plant?" asked one of them.

"How about the claws on Peter Rabbit's toes and the hair of Happy
Jack's tail?" asked Grandfather Frog.

The Merry Little Breezes looked foolish. "Of course," they cried. "We
didn't think of that. But we are quite sure that these queer things
that prick so are not claws, and certainly they are not hair."

"Don't you be too sure," said Grandfather Frog. "You go over to the
Green Forest and look up in the treetops instead of down on the
ground; then come back and tell me what you find."

Away raced the Merry Little Breezes to the Green Forest and began to
search among the treetops. Presently, way up in the top of a big
poplar, they found a stranger. He was bigger than any of the little
meadow people, and he had long sharp teeth with which he was stripping
the bark from the tree. The hair of his coat was long, and out of it
peeped a thousand little spears just like the queer things that Happy
Jack and Peter Rabbit had told them about.

"Good morning," said the Merry Little Breezes politely.

"Mornin'," grunted the stranger in the treetop.

"May we ask where you come from?" said one of the Merry Little Breezes
politely.

"I come from the North Woods," said the stranger and then went on
about his business, which seemed to be to strip every bit of the bark
from the tree and eat it.




III

PRICKLY PORKY MAKES FRIENDS


The Merry Little Breezes soon spread the news over the Green Meadows
and through the Green Forest that a stranger had come from the North.
At once all the little meadow people and forest folk made some excuse
to go over to the big poplar tree where the stranger was so busy
eating. At first he was very shy and had nothing to say. He was a
queer fellow, and he was so big, and his teeth were so sharp and so
long, that his visitors kept their distance.

Reddy Fox, who, you know, is a great boaster and likes to brag of how
smart he is and how brave he is, came with the rest of the little
meadow people.

"Pooh," exclaimed Reddy Fox. "Who's afraid of that fellow?"

Just then the stranger began to come down the tree. Reddy backed away.

"It looks as if _you_ were afraid, Reddy Fox," said Peter Rabbit.

"I'm not afraid of anything," said Reddy Fox, and swelled himself up
to look twice as big as he really is.

"It seems to me I hear Bowser the Hound," piped up Striped Chipmunk.

[Illustration: "Pooh," exclaimed Reddy Fox. "Who's afraid of that
fellow?" _Page 10._]

Now Striped Chipmunk had not heard Bowser the Hound at all when he
spoke, but just then there was the patter of heavy feet among the
dried leaves, and sure enough there was Bowser himself. My, how
everybody did run,--everybody but the stranger from the North. He kept
on coming down the tree just the same. Bowser saw him and stopped in
surprise. He had never seen anything quite like this big dark fellow.

"Bow, wow, wow!" shouted Bowser in his deepest voice.

Now, when Bowser used that great deep voice of his, he was accustomed
to seeing all the little meadow people and forest folk run, but this
stranger did not even hurry. Bowser was so surprised that he just
stood still and stared. Then he growled his deepest growl. Still the
stranger paid no attention to him. Bowser did not know what to make of
it.

"I'll teach that fellow a lesson," said Bowser to himself. "I'll shake
him, and shake him and shake him until he hasn't any breath left."

By this time the stranger was down on the ground and starting for
another tree, minding his own business. Then something happened.
Bowser made a rush at him, and instead of running, what do you suppose
the stranger did? He just rolled himself up in a tight ball with his
head tucked down in his waistcoat. When he was rolled up that way, all
the little spears hidden in the hair of his coat stood right out until
he looked like a great chestnut-burr. Bowser stopped short. Then he
reached out his nose and sniffed at this queer thing. Slap! The tail
of the stranger struck Bowser the Hound right across the side of his
face, and a dozen of those little spears were left sticking there just
like pins in a pin-cushion.

"Wow! wow! wow! wow!" yelled Bowser at the top of his lungs, and
started for home with his tail between his legs, and yelling with
every jump. Then the stranger unrolled himself and smiled, and all the
little meadow people and forest folk who had been watching shouted
aloud for joy.

And this is the way that Prickly Porky the Porcupine made friends.




IV

PETER RABBIT HAS SOME STARTLING NEWS


Little Mrs. Peter Rabbit, who used to be Little Miss Fuzzytail, sat at
the edge of the dear Old Briar-patch, anxiously looking over towards
the Green Forest. She was worried. There was no doubt about it. Little
Mrs. Peter was very much worried. Why didn't Peter come home? She did
wish that he would be content to stay close by the dear Old
Briar-patch. For her part, she couldn't see why under the sun he
wanted to go way over to the Green Forest. He was always having
dreadful adventures and narrow escapes over there, and yet, in spite
of all she could say, he would persist in going there. She didn't feel
easy in her mind one minute while he was out of her sight. To be sure
he always turned up all right, but she couldn't help feeling that
sometime his dreadful curiosity would get him into trouble that he
couldn't get out of, and so every time he went to the Green Forest,
she was sure, absolutely sure, that she would never see him again.

Peter used to laugh at her and tell her that she was a foolish little
dear, and that he was perfectly able to take care of himself. Then,
when he saw how worried she was, he would promise to be very, very
careful and never do anything rash or foolish. But he wouldn't promise
not to go to the Green Forest. No, Sir, Peter wouldn't promise that.
You see, he has so many friends over there, and there is always so
much news to be gathered that he just couldn't keep away. Once or
twice he had induced Mrs. Peter to go with him, but she had been
frightened almost out of her skin every minute, for it seemed to her
that there was danger lurking behind every tree and under every bush.
It was all very well for Chatterer the Red Squirrel and Happy Jack the
Gray Squirrel, who could jump from tree to tree, but she didn't think
it a safe and proper place for a sensible Rabbit, and she said so.

This particular morning she was unusually anxious. Peter had been gone
all night. Usually he was home by the time Old Mother West Wind came
down from the Purple Hills and emptied her children, the Merry Little
Breezes, out of her big bag to play all day on the Green Meadows, but
this morning Old Mother West Wind had been a long time gone about her
business, and still there was no sign of Peter.

"Something has happened. I just know something has happened!" she
wailed.

"Oh, Peter, Peter, Peter Rabbit
Why will you be so heedless?
Why will you take such dreadful risks,
So foolish and so needless?"

"Don't worry. Peter is smart enough to take care of himself," cried
one of the Merry Little Breezes, who happened along just in time to
overhear her. "He'll be home pretty soon. In fact, I think I see him
coming now."

Mrs. Peter looked in the direction that the Merry Little Breeze was
looking, and sure enough there was Peter. He was heading straight for
the dear Old Briar-patch, and he was running as if he were trying to
show how fast he could run. Mrs. Peter's heart gave a frightened
thump. "It must be that Reddy or Granny Fox or Old Man Coyote is
right at his heels," thought she, but look as hard as she would, she
could see nothing to make Peter run so.

In a few minutes he reached her side. His eyes were very wide, and it
was plain to see that he was bursting with important news.

"What is it, Peter? Do tell me quick! Have you had another narrow
escape?" gasped little Mrs. Peter.

Peter nodded while he panted for breath. "There's another stranger in
the Green Forest, a terrible looking fellow without legs or head or
tail, and he almost caught me!" panted Peter.




V

PETER RABBIT TELLS HIS STORY


When Peter Rabbit could get his breath after his long hard run from
the Green Forest to the dear Old Briar-patch, he had a wonderful story
to tell. It was all about a stranger in the Green Forest, and to have
heard Peter tell about it, you would have thought, as Mrs. Peter did,
that it was a very terrible stranger, for it had no legs, and it had
no head, and it had no tail. At least, that is what Peter said.

"You see, it was this way," declared Peter. "I had stopped longer than
I meant to in the Green Forest, for you know, my dear, I always try to
be home by the time jolly, round, red Mr. Sun gets out of bed and Old
Mother West Wind gets down on the Green Meadows." Mrs. Peter nodded.
"But somehow time slipped away faster than I thought for, or else Mr.
Sun got up earlier than usual," continued Peter. Then he stopped. That
last idea was a new one, and it struck Peter as a good one. "I do
believe that that is just what happened--Mr. Sun must have made a
mistake and crawled out of bed earlier than usual," he cried.

Mrs. Peter looked as if she very much doubted it, but she didn't say
anything, and so Peter went on with his story.

"I had just realized how light it was and had started for home,
hurrying with all my might, when I heard a little noise at the top of
the hill where Prickly Porky the Porcupine lives. Of course I thought
it was Prickly himself starting out for his breakfast, and I looked
up with my mouth open to say hello. But I didn't say hello. No, Sir,
I didn't say a word. I was too scared. There, just starting down the
hill straight towards me, was the most dreadful creature that ever has
been seen in the Green Forest! It didn't have any legs, and it didn't
have any head, and it didn't have any tail, and it was coming straight
after me so fast that I had all I could do to get out of the way!"
Peter's eyes grew very round and wide as he said this. "I took one
good look, and then I jumped. My gracious, how I did jump!" he
continued. "Then I started for home just as fast as ever I could make
my legs go, and here I am, and mighty glad to be here!"

Mrs. Peter had listened with her mouth wide open. When Peter finished,
she closed it with a snap and hopped over and felt of his head.

"Are you sick, Peter?" she asked anxiously.

Peter stared at her. "Sick! Me sick! Not a bit of it!" he exclaimed.
"Never felt better in my life, save that I am a little tired from my
long run. What a silly question! Do I look sick?"

"No-o," replied little Mrs. Peter slowly. "No-o, you don't look sick,
but you talk as if there were something the matter with your head. I
think you must be just a little light-headed, Peter, or else you have
taken a nap somewhere and had a bad dream. Did I understand you to say
that this dreadful creature has no legs, and yet that it chased you?"

"That's what I said!" snapped Peter a wee bit crossly, for he saw that
Mrs. Peter didn't believe a word of his story.

"Will you please tell me how any creature in the Green Forest or out
of it, for that matter, can possibly chase any one unless it has legs
or wings, and you didn't say anything about its having wings,"
demanded Mrs. Peter.

Peter scratched his head in great perplexity. Suddenly he had a happy
thought. "Mr. Blacksnake runs fast enough, but he doesn't have legs,
does he?" he asked in triumph.

Little Mrs. Peter looked a bit discomfited. "No-o," she admitted
slowly, "he doesn't have legs; but I never could understand how he
runs without them."

"Well, then," snapped Peter, "if he can run without legs, why can't
other creatures? Besides, this one didn't run exactly; it rolled. Now
I've told you all I'm going to. I need a long nap, after all I've been
through, so don't let any one disturb me."

"I won't," replied Mrs. Peter meekly. "But, Peter, if I were you, I
wouldn't tell that story to any one else."




VI

PETER HAS TO TELL HIS STORY MANY TIMES

Once you start a story you cannot call it back;
It travels on and on and on and ever on, alack!


That is the reason why you should always be sure that a story you
repeat is a good story. Then you will be glad to have it travel on and
on and on, and will never want to call it back. But if you tell a
story that isn't true or nice, the time is almost sure to come when
you will want to call it back and cannot. You see stories are just
like rivers,--they run on and on forever. Little Mrs. Peter Rabbit
knew this, and that is why she advised Peter not to tell any one else
the strange story he had told her of the dreadful creature without
legs or head or tail that had chased him in the Green Forest. Peter
knew by that that she didn't believe a word of it, but he was too
tired and sleepy to argue with her then, so he settled himself
comfortably for a nice long nap.

When Peter awoke, the first thing he thought of was the terrible
creature he had seen in the Green Forest. The more he thought about
it, the more impossible it seemed, and he didn't wonder that Mrs.
Peter had advised him not to repeat it.

"I won't," said Peter to himself. "I won't repeat it to a soul. No one
will believe it. The truth is, I can hardly believe it myself. I'll
just keep my tongue still."

But unfortunately for Peter, one of the Merry Little Breezes of Old
Mother West Wind had heard Peter tell the story to Mrs. Peter, and it
was such a wonderful and curious and unbelievable story that the Merry
Little Breeze straightway repeated it to everybody he met, and soon
Peter Rabbit began to receive callers who wanted to hear the story all
over again from Peter himself. So Peter was obliged to repeat it ever
so many times, and every time it sounded to him more foolish than
before. He had to tell it to Jimmy Skunk and to Johnny Chuck and to
Danny Meadow Mouse and to Digger the Badger and to Sammy Jay and to
Blacky the Crow and to Striped Chipmunk and to Happy Jack Squirrel and
to Bobby Coon and to Unc' Billy Possum and to Old Mr. Toad.

Now, strange to say, no one laughed at Peter, queer as the story
sounded. You see, they all remembered how they had laughed at him and
made fun of him when he told about the great footprints he had found
deep in the Green Forest, and how later it had been proven that he
really did see them, for they were made by Buster Bear who had come
down from the Great Woods to live in the Green Forest. Then it had
been Peter's turn to laugh at them. So now, impossible as this new
story sounded, they didn't dare laugh at it.

"I never heard of such a creature," said Jimmy Skunk, "and I can't
quite believe that there is such a one, but it is very clear to me
that Peter has seen something strange. You know the old saying that he
laughs best who laughs last, and I'm not going to give Peter another
chance to have the last laugh and say, 'I told you so.'"

"That is very true," replied Old Mr. Toad solemnly. "Probably Peter
has seen something out of the ordinary, and in his excitement he has
exaggerated it. The thing to do is to make sure whether or not there
is a stranger in the Green Forest. Peter says that it came down the
hill where Prickly Porky the Porcupine lives. Some one ought to go ask
him what he knows about it. If there is such a terrible creature up
there, he ought to have seen it. Why don't you go up there and ask
him, Jimmy Skunk? You're not afraid of anybody or anything."

"I will," replied Jimmy promptly, and off he started. You see, he felt
very much flattered by Old Mr. Toad's remark, and he couldn't very
well refuse, for that would look as if he were afraid, after all.




VII

JIMMY SKUNK CALLS ON PRICKLY PORKY


"A plague upon Old Mr. Toad!" grumbled Jimmy, as he ambled up the Lone
Little Path through the Green Forest on his way to the hill where
Prickly Porky lives. "Of course I'm not afraid, but just the same I
don't like meddling with things I don't know anything about. I'm not
afraid of anybody I know of, because everybody has the greatest
respect for me, but it might be different with a creature without legs
or head or tail. Whoever heard of such a thing? It gives me a queer
feeling inside."

However, he kept right on, and as he reached the foot of the hill
where Prickly Porky lives, he looked sharply in every direction and
listened with all his might for strange sounds. But there was nothing
unusual to be seen. The Green Forest looked just as it always did. It
was very still and quiet there save for the cheerful voice of Redeye
the Vireo telling over and over how happy he was.

"That doesn't sound as if there were any terrible stranger around
here," muttered Jimmy.

Then he heard a queer, grunting sound, a very queer sound, that seemed
to come from somewhere on the top of the hill. Jimmy grinned as he
listened. "That's Prickly Porky telling himself how good his dinner
tastes," laughed Jimmy. "Funny how some people do like to hear their
own voices."

The contented sound of Prickly Porky's voice made Jimmy feel very sure
that there could be nothing very terrible about just then, anyway, and
so he slowly ambled up the hill, for you know he never hurries. It was
an easy matter to find the tree in which Prickly Porky was at work
stripping off bark and eating it, because he made so much noise.

"Hello!" said Jimmy Skunk.

Prickly Porky took no notice. He was so busy eating, and making so
much noise about it, that he didn't hear Jimmy at all.

"Hello!" shouted Jimmy a little louder. "Hello, there! Are you deaf?"
Of course this wasn't polite at all, but Jimmy was feeling a little
out of sorts because he had had to make this call. This time Prickly
Porky looked down.

"Hello yourself, and see how you like it, Jimmy Skunk!" he cried.
"Come on up and have some of this nice bark with me." Then Prickly
Porky laughed at his own joke, for he knew perfectly well that Jimmy
couldn't climb, and that he wouldn't eat bark if he could.

Jimmy made a face at him. "Thank you, I've just dined. Come down here
where I can talk to you without straining my voice," he replied.

"Wait until I get another bite," replied Prickly Porky, stripping off
a long piece of bark. Then with this to chew on, he came half way down
the tree and made himself comfortable on a big limb. "Now, what is it
you've got on your mind?" he demanded.

At once Jimmy told him the queer story Peter Rabbit had told. "I've
been sent up here to find out if you have seen this legless,
headless, tailess creature. Have you?" he concluded.

Prickly Porky slowly shook his head. "No," said he. "I've been right
here all the time, and I haven't seen any such creature."

"That's all I want to know," replied Jimmy. "Peter Rabbit's got
something the matter with his eyes, and I'm going straight back to the
Old Briar-patch to tell him so. Much obliged." With that Jimmy started
back the way he had come, grumbling to himself.




VIII

PRICKLY PORKY NEARLY CHOKES


Hardly was Jimmy Skunk beyond sight and hearing after having made his
call than Redeye the Vireo, whose home is in a tree just at the foot
of the hill where Prickly Porky lives, heard a very strange noise. He
was very busy, was Redeye, telling all who would listen how happy he
was and what a beautiful world this is. Redeye seems to think that
this is his special mission in life, that he was put in the Green
Forest for this one special purpose,--to sing all day long, even in
the hottest weather when other birds forget to sing, his little song
of gladness and happiness. It never seems to enter his head that he
is making other people happy just by being happy himself and saying
so.

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Booker prize shortlist drops early frontrunners
Latest news and features from guardian.co.uk, the world's leading liberal voice

Extract: The Whales by Evie Wyld

Christos Tsiolkas and David Mitchell, both much-tipped when they appeared on the award longlist, have been overlooked in the six finalists

Listen to Claire Armitstead and Sarah Crown discuss the Booker shortlist on a special edition of the Guardian Books Podcast

It headed the most controversial Man Booker prize longlist in years, but Christos Tsiolkas's The Slap has failed to make the final cut for the literary award, as has David Mitchell's much-tipped fifth novel, The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet.

Judges overlooked Australian novelist Tsiolkas's tale of the consequences when a child is slapped at a suburban barbecue – which is either "unbelievably misogynistic" or "riveting from beginning to end", depending on who's asked – and Mitchell, twice shortlisted for the prize in the past, to select a shortlist which ranges from two-time former winner Peter Carey's Parrot and Olivier in America to Emma Donoghue. The Irish writer has also stirred up debate with her Josel Fritzl-inspired Room, the story of a boy and his mother imprisoned in a tiny room for years.

Orange prize winner Andrea Levy's The Long Song, about the last years of slavery in Jamaica; Howard Jacobson's The Finkler Question, a cerebral comedy about grief and Anglo-Jewishness; experimental novelist Tom McCarthy's C, which tells the story of Serge Carrefax, a first world war radio operator who escapes from a German prison camp; and South African writer Damon Galgut's tale of a young man travelling through Greece, India and Africa, In a Strange Room, complete the six-strong shortlist for the £50,000 prize, announced this morning.

"It's been a great privilege and an exciting challenge for us to reduce our longlist of 13 to this shortlist of six outstandingly good novels," said chair of judges Andrew Motion, the former poet laureate. "In doing so, we feel sure we've chosen books which demonstrate a rich variety of styles and themes – while in every case providing deep individual pleasures."

The panel of judges had previously read 138 books to select the 13 titles for their longlist, with Martin Amis's new novel The Pregnant Widow and Ian McEwan's venture into comic fiction Solar both overlooked and Carey the only previous Booker winner on the longlist.

His inclusion on the shortlist today for Parrot and Olivier in America, a reimagining of Democracy in America author Alexis de Tocqueville's visit to the New World, gives him the chance of becoming the first ever writer to win the Booker three times, having previously taken it in 1988 for Oscar and Lucinda and 2001 for True History of the Kelly Gang.

"The omission of both David Mitchell and Christos Tsiolkas from the shortlist is a real shock. While both writers might rightly feel aggrieved at being overlooked, I imagine it took some wrangling amongst the judges to reduce one of the best longlists in years to six," said Jonathan Ruppin at independent book chain Foyles, who, while praising all six books for their "lightness of touch which means the reader doesn't get bogged down in something worthy or dull", predicted that Room was the most likely title to go on to win the award.

Waterstone's tipped C to take the prize, with fiction buying manager Simon Burke calling it "a challenging yet dazzling novel". "The news that David Mitchell has not made the shortlist will cause great wailing and gnashing of teeth across the bookworld, but perhaps is a useful reminder of the independence and unpredictability of the Booker," he said. "But this is still a hugely varied and exciting list, worthy of the Booker brand. Carey and Levy have to be strong contenders, but our money is on Tom McCarthy. The more people that read [C] the better."

The bookies agreed, with William Hill immediately installing McCarthy as 2/1 favourite to win the prize. "There has been a considerable media buzz around all of the books on the shortlist, and literary punters have staked more money in total on Tom McCarthy to win than any of the other authors, so he is a worthy favourite," said spokesman Graham Sharpe. Donoghue and Galgut came in second at the bookmaker, both at 3/1, with one customer so sure that In A Strange Room would win that they placed £400 on Galgut at 7/1, the largest single bet on the prize "for a few years", said Sharpe.

Carey came in fourth, at 5/1, with Levy at 7/1 and Jacobson the 8/1 outside to take the prize.

The opinion-splitting novels picked for this year's longlist have helped make it the most popular since 2001, with Tsiolkas's novel selling the most copies, followed by Donoghue's. The winner, who will join a roster of former winners including Margaret Atwood, Roddy Doyle and JM Coetzee, will be announced on 12 October. Last year's winner Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel is the fastest-selling Booker winner ever, with sales of around half-a-million copies to date.

The Man Booker shortlist in full:

Peter Carey's Parrot and Olivier in America

Emma Donoghue's Room

Damon Galgut's In a Strange Room

Howard Jacobson's The Finkler Question

Andrea Levy's The Long Song

Tom McCarthy's C

To buy all six Booker shortlisted titles for only £65 (save £37.94) with free UK p&p visit the Guardian Bookshop or call 0330 333 6846.


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The Marxist Miliband

Evie Wyld, whose debut novel After the Fire, a Still Small Voice won the 2009 John Llewellyn Rhys prize, has written a short story, The Whales, exclusively for Booktrust, where she is currently writer-in-residence. Here we join Jimmy, Elaine, Terry and Yvonne, deep in the bush after five days of walking. The conclusion will appear on the Booktrust website tomorrow

There are four of them footslogging single file along the trail. They sweat and wave their sticks at the flies, spitting the salt off their lips and feeling the rub of their backpacks, hot on their shoulders. A storm bird knows about them from miles off and lets out a wop-wop-wop, getting higher and louder as it goes. Jimmy watches Elaine look up at the gum-treed sky. He follows her gaze. No, he thinks. The bird is wrong; overhead is blue without a wash of cloud.

The crack of dry bark, the whistle of whip birds and sometimes a thundering in the undergrowth – a wombat, a pademelon – it all makes Jimmy feel younger. He can feel the muscles in his thighs working, can feel them thank him for not being stood at the assembly line six hours a day.

Five days of walking and now they are deep in the bush. In another day, they'll turn east, head for the sea, where if they make good time, they'll see the humpbacks heading south towards the Antarctic, their new calves in tow. There'll be a party that night, between the four of them. Terry the young bow-legged one from further down the line with a touch of the idiot about him, Yvonne his frizz-plaited, heavy cousin who runs accounts and her friend Elaine who is nothing to do with the factory and who returns his glances, smiling. Not a bad lot really, especially the girls.

Three days down the coast and they'll arrive home about ready for that soft bed and the meal without char-grit from the campfire, or the dog food pong of tinned meat. It's been good so far. He thinks of what was waiting for him if he hadn't gone bush this week – all those monkey-wrenches wanting to be set. It's been time to move on for a while, he sees that now. Only he'll wait and see what comes of Elaine and the damp hair that ringlets at the back of her neck.

Later in the day he spots a bower bird's chapel. Even this far in, the bird has found a blue toothbrush and bits of turquoise plastic to frame its humpy. He takes a photo, so that the side of Elaine's brown leg slides up the view finder.

'They only collect blue stuff', he says, mainly to Elaine. He feels the roots of his fingers strain as he reigns himself in, his stiff hands reminding him not to overdo it. Steady on.

Chances are, Elaine already knows more than him about bower birds – she told him she's walked the bush for six years, since she left varsity, this last two with Yvonne for company and he only knows from camping out when money gets bad. But he wants to show something to her. Elaine squats next to him and traces an arc with one finger in the dirt, looking at the toothbrush. She is smiling with her eyebrows pulled in.

'It's to impress the female – then she'll come down and he'll do a sexy dance.' As he explains, he wiggles his tail a little in a sexy dance and Elaine smiles wider.

Terry who has been leaning over them to get a look, gyrates around his walking stick. What his mating dance lacks in accuracy it makes up for in energy and the other three look on in silence while he makes the noise of a boombox with his lips pressed together. Jimmy's fingers stretch out towards the ground in embarrassment as he keeps his bad eye – the eye that he thinks of as his secret eye – on Elaine.

'You're a disgustin' specimen, Terry', says the stone-buttocked Yvonne. Terry quickens his hips and points, wiggling himself towards her.

Yvonne stands stiff and still like a wary buffalo. 'Never been the brightest crayon in the box', she says and they all push past him, smiles held down. Jimmy looks back to see him finish in a bunny squat and a flick of his head.

'Yeah!' says Terry loudly, arms raised and both thumbs up to the tops of the trees like they are his audience.

'Yeah' and he finds a cigarette in his back pocket, lights it and considers its glowing end before following on.

There'd been a night of heavy breathing when Elaine and Jimmy faced each other in their swags. They hadn't touched but they'd looked hard in the dark, seeing the glints of each other's tongues, teeth and eyes. There is a luxury in not touching, Jimmy thinks, in not just going with your gut; they don't have all the time in the world but they have this time, which won't end for another few days.

He looks forward to it, imagines the beach in an old film kind of a way. The last night when they will open the wine they've lugged all this way – they'll cool the bottles in a rock pool for a couple of hours, while they see what the beach has for them. He's a beach person at heart, it's where his childhood is at and he can't wait to show off about it. Terry's brought along his spearfishing gear and says he reckons on a good spot up at the point. Jimmy imagines striding into camp, a jewfish slung over one shoulder, a clutch of softly ticking crays hung from their whiskers in his other fist. When the moon's up and the salty wine is drunk, their fingers warm and sticky with sand and cray brains, he'll rub his foot over hers. He'll put his wrists either side of her jaw, so as not to touch her with his prawny fingers and he'll plant a long warm kiss on her mouth, one that shows them both that this is the start of things. He could think about staying on at the factory, him who hasn't stayed in one spot for more than six months at a time since he was 16. Or else, Elaine could come with him, go feral together up the coast. He gets the feeling there's not much holding her to the city anymore. He looks down at himself and he speaks softly to his hands You're orright you bung-eyed bastard. You're an okay sort after all.

Elaine breaks off from the group to take a pee in the scrub. She squats behind a paperbark and laughs. She's been hip deep in croc water, has woken up feeling a huntsman, as big as both of her hands put together, tangling with her feet in her swag. But the idea that the group might hear the sound of her pissing makes it so that she can't go. Eventually, she manages and makes a wet stain on the gum leaves. She pulls her shorts back up and a twig cracks not far up ahead. Shadows rise and fall as something heavy moves away. She catches up with the others at a jog.

Jimmy, that trunk of a man with his duff eye and his bear hands and her pal Yvonne are arguing about a fish. The argument is snapper versus flathead, but in what capacity Elaine is not sure. Terry is unusually quiet for a conversation involving food and he walks a little way from Jimmy and Yvonne.

'Stone lighter?' he asks quietly.

'It was a pee', she says, but her face flushes anyway.

'Right', says Terry and he smiles a weird smile. Elaine accidentally catches his eye.

By five o'clock they reach a small billabong. They strip down to their underwear and jump in like kids, laughing, drowning each other with splashing. Terry tries to duck the girls under, Jimmy dives for yabbies and opens his eyes in the bourbon-coloured water. The white legs of the other three bicycle in the open water. When he comes up for air, he can see that Yvonne is pleased with her breasts and bobs them gently up and down making small waves to the bank.

Jimmy looks a long time at Elaine and she looks back. There is a water level smile between them. He is aware of the ripples that come from his heartbeat and he sees how Elaine's canines creep over her bottom lip. Her hair is dark now, but in the light you can see into it. Where the sun hasn't caught her, her skin is like the damp underside of a leaf.

Elaine thinks she's some wonderful creature. The water holds her in on all sides, she feels good in her skin. The billabong is black from the tea trees that line the bank and when she flicks her legs to the surface she's a pale fish. She pauses before she puts her head under – a brief worry about spluttering and snotting in front of Jimmy, but then she thinks of the beach and the sea to come and she duck dives.

The dark water lifts her hair up and spreads it out, it pushes around her cheeks and taps on her eyelids as she reaches out for the leafy mud of the billabong floor, but even though she goes deep, her hands touch nothing. She kicks up for air and sends a flume of mist from her mouth. She smiles widely at Jimmy who floats on his back like an otter, hands clasped over his chest, dreaming of something.

Frogs and magpies are loud and someone finds a leech and then another and another and there's shrill laughing.

Terry shouts, 'It's eatin' the fuckin' kidneys out of me!' then, 'You girls want me to check under your bras?'

Even though everyone has had a leech before and every person has treated that leech with salt or the tip of a cigarette, quietly, without fear, they all pretend this is the first time they've been bitten and they wallow in the hysteria, enjoying it like gobble-mouthed kids.

Out of the water, damp shirts wrapped around them like towels, Jimmy burns a fat one off Elaine's shoulder. She looks at him sideways and curls a bit of paper bark around her finger.

'Ta', she says, as Jimmy passes her the cigarette which they share puffs from. He looks at her with his good eye. It creases in the corner.

The four of them set up camp a little way from the water hole, away from the leeches. Terry makes a small tepee out of kindling and rings stones around it to stop the fire spreading. Once it's lit they hang over a billy and drink tea while they watch the bats turning circles in the creeping darkness. Yvonne stirs up a thick damper and they bake it in a pan over the fire, to be eaten with a warmed tin of bean stew and rice pudding for afters. The birds are mostly quiet and the cicadas and frogs rev themselves up, as everyone slaps on Rid against the mosquitoes.

'Reckon we'll beat those whales, the way we're moving', Terry says cleaning his bowl with a licked finger.

'Fuckin' A.' Yvonne brings out a flask of bourbon to swill down the pudding with. She takes a long unflinching pull of it before passing it round and beginning a murder story.

'There's this girl went missing not far from Tully – all the kids hitchhike out there…' The dark gets deeper and everyone settles in, enjoying the creep of it. Elaine thinks that there's nothing you can't fix by putting your cheek to the land and feeling it settle. She studies the landscape of Jimmy's face. He is unashamedly enthralled by Yvonne's story. His funny eye looks directly at Elaine but doesn't see her. The lines on his forehead have dirt ground in. He's older than Elaine and she wonders what it is he's been doing all the time he's been alive.

In the silence, after Yvonne's concluding remark 'They only ever found her thumb', Terry farts, a loud one and everyone groans.

'Well, that's put that to bed', he says and they all unroll their swags around the fire and climb in for the night. Jimmy feels the hot weight of Elaine's foot on his and his fingers twitch on their own. Elaine sees Terry's wet eyes, tangerine from the fire and spreads her toes out. She stays awake for as long as possible, making up script after script of how it will go with Jimmy once they reach the sea. She replays the swim at waterhole until she's unsure if she's made parts of it up. She finally falls asleep with her heartbeat high in her chest.

Jimmy wakes long before dawn with a pressure like a stone on his bladder. He swears quietly and rolls out of his swag to ease the ache against a tree. In the undergrowth to his right, something scrabbles. He catches a strong scent and sees a wet snout or eye in the dark. A rumble in the brush and it's gone. Probably a pig or a dingo, but he's glad to get back to the group, where the coals in the fire are still orange. He checks each sleeper. Terry is spread at a diagonal, mouth open, not snoring but making noise. Yvonne sleeps on her front clutching the loose material of her swag, not letting it get away. Elaine is on her side and a brown arm has slithered free. Her hair makes a perfect ring around her ear. As he watches she produces a little noise, a tiny pop from her lips as they're opened with breath. Sleep speaking, thinks Jimmy as he burrows back into his swag, careful not to jog her feet with his, but careful also that they are touching.

The morning is hot and blue from the outset. After tea and a tidy up, they set off, aiming to reach the sea before sunset. Jimmy looks forward to a swim in the bubbling salt, a proper clean down with no bloodsuckers. Terry starts to talk about food almost immediately,

'Lamb chops.' He says confidently to Yvonne. 'That's gotta be the best type of food; lamb chops with the whole grill piece; onions, mushrooms, boiled spuds – no tomatoes though, I'm so over tomatoes.' Yvonne rolls her eyes at him.

'Couldn't give a rat's ring, Terry,' but she hands him a date and a piece of chocolate. Elaine enjoys her feeling of emptiness. Her spit tastes of eucalyptus, she feels new, like the air and blood in her has been filtered out and changed for something better.

After midday, there's a yell from Terry up ahead.

'Get a look at this!' The other three catch up to find him crouching in a small clearing surrounded by stay-a-while and they peer over his shoulder. There's a dead butcher bird on the ground and following the line of Terry's finger into one of the thorny bushes, they see its larder. A small mouse impaled through the neck, stiff and dry, missing parts of its hind quarters, a large Christmas beetle, upside down with the thorn square through the middle and last, still twitching, its legs up and angry, barely impaled through its leaking abdomen, a mouse spider.

'Christssake' whispers Jimmy stepping back.

'How the poor bastard got it up here, I can't figure,' Terry says, pushing the bird with his foot to reveal the green ants starting on its wing. The mouse spider's fangs, black and thick and shiny are up and ready to strike. It waves its legs in the air. Terry picks up a twig to poke it with, but Yvonne knocks it out of his hand.

'Don't be a bum, Terry. I'm not carrying yer fat dead lump out of here if you get bitten. You can count on that.' Jimmy takes a photograph, in which Terry insists on including his own hand, so as get the scale of the thing.

They start to walk on, but Elaine stays behind a beat or two looking at the spider; its fangs reaching for her, legs pointing.

'The sky is falling, the sky is falling!' Yvonne shrieks in a chicken voice as thunder mumbles in the distance. Elaine looks again at the sky, but it's still clear. The thunder is a long way off, but you can smell it in the air, which is heavy and hot. The tips of the trees sway in the sky, but there's no breeze down on the bush floor.

A goanna clings to a Moreton Bay fig above them but nobody sees it.

Jimmy touches the side of Elaine's hand with his little finger and as he does, the leaves to the side of her snaffle and a striped snake comes streaking out of the ground, hitting her on the boot. She barks loudly and kicks trying to get her foot away. The snake's fangs are deeply embedded in the leather of her boot and she shakes her leg hard while around her the others dip and weave and try to help and point their sticks. Jimmy thinks he has control of the situation when he holds Elaine's arm and beats at the snake with his walking stick, accidentally cracking her on the shin. The snake is dislodged, but instead of bolting back into the undergrowth, it turns again and bites Elaine, once, twice, three times and a fourth; calf, back of the knee, thigh, deeply, deeply again on her inner thigh. It's snap-quick and Jimmy doesn't have time to understand and still has Elaine by the arm so she doesn't get away. Finally, Terry gets it – a blow to the eye – and it's stunned. He stomps on the head, but it still twitches, so he beats it with his stick, smashing, till it changes colour, loses its stripes. It is still, but the bush crackles and carries on.

Elaine is tight-lipped and white. Yvonne cries softly into her cupped hands, the small beeps of a bird. Terry shoes leaves over the corpse of the snake and Jimmy still holds Elaine's arm, his grip hard from not knowing what to do, from doing the wrong thing. There is blood, Elaine thinks how it looks like she's got her period and then thinks she'd love a piece of liquorice from her backpack. She starts to turn around, to take her pack off, but her legs have lost their hardness and she is sliding back into Jimmy who is stiff and still.

'Jesus H Christ,' whispers Terry. He looks at the snake and away, prodding it rhythmically with his stick. 'Jimmy,' he says. 'Jesus, Jimmy.'

'S'just a nip,' says Elaine.

As she slides to the ground with the help of Jimmy who has become flesh again, Elaine thinks about the liquorice and then about how it was a tiger. A big dose of tiger and she's starting to feel it now, it feels like it bit her in the artery of her groin. The big one. The one where all the blood lives.

Yvonne straightens herself. She helps Elaine's pack off her back and slides it behind her back to prop her up. She pulls out her poncho and arranges it over Elaine's wounded leg, to keep it out of sight and then snaps the men into action.

'Hot water - get a fire on. Get the first aid.' She looks at the two men who are twisting their fingers. 'C'mon s'only a fuckin' snake bite, let's get it sorted and get on with it.' She's right and Jimmy says so. He says, 'Only a snake bite.' Smiling at Elaine, but what they all think, Jimmy, Terry, Yvonne and Elaine is but it's tiger. And we are deep in. Deep.

• To read the conclusion of the story, visit the Booktrust website from Tuesday 7 September.

• Evie Wyld works in the independent Review Bookshop in Peckham. She is taking part in a live-streamed book club Q&A from the shop at 7.30pm on Thursday 9 September. To find out how to submit questions for the event, visit the Booktrust website


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