The Fantastic Family Whipple Read Online Free Page A

proceeded to follow the chef’s orders.

    Despite his past criminal leanings, Sammy the Spatula had never lied to them about food. This truly was the best French toast they had ever tasted.
    In twenty minutes’ time, most of the Whipple family had eaten all they could, which left the giant piece of French toast still looking relatively untouched, apart from having lost maybe three inches on each side. The only Whipples still actively eating were Simon, Arthur, and Beatrice.
    As Simon could not feed himself, on account of his hands being unable to leave his accordion during his record attempt, Arthur had been assigned to cut Simon’s food for him and raise it to his mouth. Arthur, still balancing on one foot, alternated between serving a bite of French toast tohis brother and serving a bite of French toast to himself, which meant it took them nearly twice as long to eat their breakfast. Beatrice, on the other hand, had already eaten twice as much as both the boys put together, and was showing no signs of slowing down.
    “Very good, dear,” coached her father, “but pace yourself. It’s only a training session. The last thing you need is a hyperextended stomach before the competitive eating season has even begun.”
    As Beatrice grunted her acknowledgement through bulging cheeks, Sammy the Spatula approached Mr. Whipple and said, “I trust your breakfast was satisfactory, sir?”
    “More than satisfactory,” smiled his boss. “Truly
excellent
. You’ve really outdone yourself, Sammy.”
    “Why, fank you, Mr. Whipple,” Sammy smiled back. “Plenty more bread where that came from, of course. The loaf’s the size of a bloomin’ railway carriage, it is. ’Ope you’ll not mind ’aving the World’s Largest Sandwich for lunch and the World’s Largest Bread Pudding tonight for dessert?”
    “Not at all, Sammy. That’ll do nicely.”
    “Very good, sir.”
    The chef hesitated a moment. His smile faded away, then he lowered his voice and added, “Sir—I was wondering if you’d given it any more thought, what we talked about the uvver day.”
    Mr. Whipple exhaled slowly then looked up. “Yes—I’m afraid I have, Sammy,” he said. His voice was nearly a whisper,but Arthur, hopping on one foot between Simon and his father, could just make out the words over his brother’s accordion. “I’m afraid we just can’t do it this time,” Mr. Whipple continued. “We’ve been happy to help you in the past, but I worry if we keep bailing you out whenever you get in over your head, you’ll never learn from your mistakes. I’m sorry, Sammy—really, I am.”
    The chef nodded and gave a sad smile. “It’s all right, guv. I understand. I’m sorry to come to you like this at all—it’s just when I get round the lads from the old days, I start acting a bit like me old self, I’m afraid. But I am trying to do better. If only I might’ve stayed away from the drink this time, I’m sure I’d never have set that record for Largest Losing Bet on a Backroom Game of Hangman. Ravver ironic the word were ‘whisky’ in the end, weren’t it? Serves me right, though, I reckon. Just hope I can convince ‘Meat Cleaver’ Mike to agree to a long-term payment plan.”
    Mr. Whipple smiled warmly. “You’re a good man, Sammy. When you’re ready to get help, we’ll be happy to assist you.”
    “Fanks, guv. You done so much for me already, just letting me come work for you lot. Honestly, there’s nobody in this world I’d ravver cook for.”
    “And there’s nobody we’d rather have cook for us.”
    Sammy smiled, then—catching Arthur’s gaze for a split second—returned to his serving cart.
    Arthur sighed. He had not realized before how badly his personal plan to fix Sammy’s money troubles had hingedon his father’s contributions. The only other donor he had secured was one of rather modest means. He would have to rethink his strategy.
    As Arthur racked his brain for new ideas to help Sammy, Mrs. Waite appeared