Johnny Mackintosh and the Spirit of London Read Online Free Page B

Street where this train terminates. Passengers are reminded to take all their …”
    â€œHere we are then,” Mr. Wilkins said, struggling out of his seat and dusting more dandruff off his lapels. As soon as the cook walked over toward the doors, Bentley climbed up onto his empty seat and watched the station come into view. Miss Harutunian gave the dog a friendly pat, before standing up. Thedoors opened and everyone started spilling out onto the platform. Reluctantly, Johnny got to his feet and gave a gentle tug on Bentley’s lead. The dog jumped down and joined him in the middle of the carriage. Johnny gave him a little rub under his collar and followed the others through the doors, keeping a tight hold of the lead.
    Johnny had no idea a train station could be
this
busy. Mrs. Irvine lifted a large tartan umbrella above her head and shouted, “Follow me,” above the noise of the public address system. The crowds of morning commuters parted before her and a long line of children snaked toward a set of escalators leading up to street level.
    Johnny looked round and found Miss Harutunian immediately behind him. “Can’t we go on the Underground?” he asked. It was the one part of the day he’d been looking forward to. The few times he’d been to London before, he’d traveled by Tube, going in at one end and popping out the other in no time at all.
    â€œThe Manager says it’s ‘not natural’ traveling through all those tunnels,” said Miss Harutunian, grinning broadly. “We’ll walk part way with the others—then it’s a … number 8 bus,” she added, checking the printout she was holding.
    Mrs. Irvine gathered everyone together for a roll-call at the top of the escalators, and then stepped into the street, holding out her arm to stop the oncoming traffic. The long line of inhabitants of 33 Barnard Way set off in pursuit.
    Johnny, though, stopped in the middle of the road and stared open-mouthed at an incredible sight. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing up at the sky.
    â€œWhat?” Miss Harutunian asked, trying to follow his arm.
    â€œThat,” said Johnny. “That building. It’s amazing.”
    Johnny was staring at an enormous curved, cylindrical tower of gleaming glass and metal rising above the shops in front of the station. It was one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen.
    â€œOh. You mean the Gherkin,” Miss Harutunian said.
    â€œActually it’s called 30 St. Mary Axe,” said Mr. Wilkins, who’d come back to hurry them up.
    â€œWow,” said Johnny.
    â€œDon’t care for it myself,” said Mr. Wilkins. “Huge waste of money. Why they had to go and build this monstrosity when there’s plenty of perfectly good office space around London. Or in Castle Dudbury for that matter.”
    â€œBut it’s beautiful,” said Johnny. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
    â€œThe boy’s got no taste,” the cook said to Miss Harutunian. “Same with his food. Won’t eat his liver and onions—oh no. Only likes fancy stuff—like pizza. You’ve got to watch him—we don’t want him lagging behind and running off.” Mr. Wilkins’s little black eyes narrowed on Johnny before he turned and walked away to rejoin the others.
    â€œIf you like this, you should come to New York,” said Miss Harutunian. “We’ve got hundreds. The Chrysler Building’s much prettier.”
    A car honked its horn and Johnny, Miss Harutunian and even Bentley jumped. Quickly, they scurried across the road and joined the back of the straggling group that Mrs. Irvine, umbrella still aloft, was guiding south toward the Tower of London. Johnny kept almost bumping into things as he stared upward at the Gherkin. One of these turned out to be the shelter for the number 8 bus, which was going to take them all the way to