Fizzlebert Stump and the Bearded Boy Read Online Free Page B

and Mr Stump made two cups of tea, while Fizz poured himself another lemonade.
    ‘Have you heard the news?’ his dad said as he stirred his tea.
    ‘What news?’ asked Mrs Stump, now back at her dressing table where she was adding the finishing the touches to her clown face.
    ‘The Circus Inspectors are coming on Saturday.’
    She put down the grease paint stick and turned to look at her husband. ‘Really?’
    ‘What’s that mean?’ asked Fizz. ‘Who are these inspectors?’
    ‘They’re from the British Board of Circuses. They’re officials. They have clipboards.’
    ‘Yes, and red pens, too,’ added his mum.
    ‘They decide whether a circus is any good or not.’
    ‘What? How? Why?’ asked Fizz, not sure which question he wanted to get out first and so blurting a little bit of each of them all at once.
    ‘Well,’ said his dad, ‘they just watch the show and see if it’s any good. Sometimes they look around backstage too, to make sure it’s all safe and what-have-you. Sometimes they ask questions. Every Inspector has his or her own way of testing, that’s what they say. It’s usually pretty easy. Nothing to worry about.’
    His mum gently honked her horn in agreement.
    ‘We’ve never failed one yet, have we dear?’
    She honked again.
    ‘No. I’ve been in circuses for twenty years or more,’ his dad said, ‘and I’ve never once been reprimanded, down-graded or expelled. Not once.’
    ‘Expelled? What does that mean?’ said Fizz beginning to feel worried.
    ‘Well, that only happens in the most extreme cases,’ Mr Stump said. ‘When things are seriously bad and the acts are rotten. Sometimes, the Circus Inspectors will recommend an act be removed from the circus and sent back to Civvy Street. Sometimes, if it’s really bad, the whole circus might be expelled. Closed down, you might say. Demobbed.’
    ‘Civvy Street? Where’s that?’ Fizz asked.
    ‘It’s nowhere, Fizz,’ his mum said.
    Fizz didn’t like the sound of being Nowhere. It sounded dull.
    ‘It’s not a real place, son,’ his dad clarified. ‘Civvy Street just means the world outside the circus. Expelled acts get dumped out there and are given ordinary jobs. You know, they’re made to be accountants or shop assistants or the people who tidy up the leftovers in restaurants. Boring jobs. Normal jobs. “Just stuff” sort of jobs.’
    ‘You mean,’ Fizz said, gulping, ‘not circus jobs?’
    ‘Exactly. That’s it.’
    ‘And these Circus Inspectors can do this to a whole circus?’
    ‘Well . . .’ his dad began in a thoughtful tone.
    ‘ Monty Marsh’s Mirabelles ,’ said his mum.
    ‘What?’
    ‘She’s right,’ Mr Stump said. ‘They stopped touring about six years back. Never heard from again. Never mentioned again in the British Board of Circuses Weekly Newsletter either. Just vanished.’
    ‘And that was ’cos of these Inspectors?’ Fizz asked. He thought he’d heard of all the circus that were out on the road ( Auntie’s Amazing Antipodean Acrobatics and Frobisher’s Freak-O-Rama-Land and Simon’s Simple Circus and La Spectacular De La Spectacular De La Rodriguez’ Silent Circus Of Dreams and so on), but he’d never heard of Monty Marsh’s Mirabelles .
    ‘Well, the Circus Inspector’s bad report is just one theory,’ his dad said. ‘Some people say Monty retired to open an outward bound centre in North Wales, and some people reckon he never could read a map right and is still out there somewhere looking for the next town.’
    ‘But what do you think, Dad?’
    ‘I’m with your mum, Fizz. A Bad Report.’
    Fizz was in a lather now. He thought about the act he did with Charles, Captain Fox-Dingle’s elderly lion. Would it be enough to impress these Inspectors?
    ‘Easy-peasy,’ his mum said, adding an upward toot on her swannee whistle.
    ‘What?’ Fizz said, startled out of his thoughts.
    ‘There’s nothing to worry about, Fizz,’ his dad said. ‘Your mum’s right. This circus will pass