Roald Dahl: George's Marvellous Medicine

George crouched down, holding out a spoonful of Marvellous Medicine Number Two. 'Come on, chicken,' he said. 'Good chicken. Chick-chick-chick.'

A white chicken with black specks on its feathers looked up at George. It walked over to the spoon and went peck .

The effect that Medicine Number Two had on this chicken was not quite the same as the effect produced by Medicine Number One, but it was very interesting. ' Whooosh !' shrieked the chicken and it shot six feet up in the air and came down again. Then sparks came flying out of its beak, bright yellow sparks of fire, as though someone was sharpening a knife on a grindstone inside its tummy. Then its legs began to grow longer. Its body stayed the same size but the two thin yellow legs got longer and longer and longer . . . and longer still . . .

'What's happening to it?' cried Mr Killy Kranky.

'Something's wrong,' George said.

The legs went on growing and the more they grew, the higher up into the air went the chicken's body. When the legs were about fifteen feet long, they stopped growing. The chicken looked perfectly absurd with its long long legs and its ordinary little body perched high up on top. It was like a chicken on stilts.

'Oh my sainted aunts!' cried Mr Killy Kranky. 'We've got it wrong! This chicken's no good to anybody! It's all legs! No one wants chickens' legs!'

'I must have left something out,' George said.

'I know you left something out!' cried Mr Kranky. 'Think, boy, think! What was it you left out?'

'I've got it!' said George.

'What was it, quick?'

'Flea powder for dogs,' George said.

'You mean you put flea powder in the first one?'

'Yes, dad, I did. A whole carton of it.'

'Then that's the answer!'

'Wait a minute,' said George. 'Did we have brown shoe polish on our list?'

'We did not,' said Mr Kranky.

'I used that, too,' said George.

'Well, no wonder it went wrong,' said Mr Kranky. He was already running to his car, and soon he was heading down the village to buy more flea powder and more shoe polish.

'Here it is!' cried Mr Killy Kranky, rushing into the kitchen. 'One carton of flea powder for dogs and one tin of brown shoe-polish!'

George poured the flea powder into the giant saucepan. Then he scooped the shoe-polish out of its tin and added that as well.

'Stir it up, George!' shouted Mr Kranky. 'Give it another boil! We've got it this time! I'll bet we've got it!'

After Marvellous Medicine Number Three had been boiled and stirred, George took a cupful of it out into the yard to try it on another chicken. Mr Kranky ran after him, flapping his arms and hopping with excitement. 'Come and watch this one!' he called out to Mrs Kranky. 'Come and watch us turning an ordinary chicken into a lovely great big one that lays eggs as large as footballs!'

'I hope you do better than last time,' said Mrs Kranky, following them out.

'Come on, chicken,' said George, holding out a spoonful of Medicine Number Three. 'Good chicken. Chick-chick-chick-chick-chick. Have some of this lovely medicine.'

A magnificent black cockerel with a scarlet comb came stepping over. The cockerel looked at the spoon and it went peck .

' Cock-a-doodle-do !' squawked the cockerel, shooting up into the air and coming down again.

'Watch him now!' cried Mr Kranky. 'Watch him grow! Any moment he's going to start getting bigger and bigger!'

Mr Killy Kranky, Mrs Kranky and little George stood in the yard staring at the black cockerel. The cockerel stood quite still. It looked as though it had a headache.

'What's happening to its neck?' Mrs Kranky said.

'It's getting longer,' George said.

'I'll say it's getting longer,' Mrs Kranky said.

Mr Kranky, for once, said nothing.

'Last time it was the legs,' Mrs Kranky said. 'Now it's the neck. Who wants a chicken with a long neck? You can't eat a chicken's neck.'

It was an extraordinary sight. The cockerel's body hadn't grown at all. But the neck was now about six feet long.

'All right, George,' Mr Kranky said. 'What else have you forgotten?'

'I don't know,' George said.

'Oh yes you do,' Mr Kranky said. 'Come along, boy, think . There's probably just one vital thing missing and you've got to remember it.'

'I put in some engine oil from the garage,' George said. 'Did you have that on your list?'

'Eureka!' cried Mr Kranky. 'That's the answer! How much did you put in?'

'Half a pint,' George said.

Mr Kranky ran to the garage and found another half pint of oil. 'And some anti-freeze,' George called after him. 'I sloshed in a bit of anti-freeze.'

Back in the kitchen once again, George, with Mr Kranky watching him anxiously, tipped half a pint of engine oil and some anti-freeze into the giant saucepan.

'Boil it up again!' cried Mr Kranky. 'Boil it and stir it!'

George boiled it and stirred it.

'You'll never get it right,' said Mrs Kranky. 'Don't forget you don't just have to have the same things but you've got to have exactly the same amounts of those things. And how can you possibly do that?'

'You keep out of this!' cried Mr Kranky. 'We're doing fine! We've got it this time, you see if we haven't!'

This was George's Marvellous Medicine Number Four, and when it had boiled for a couple of minutes, George once again carried a cupful of it out into the yard. Mr Kranky ran after him. Mrs Kranky followed more slowly. 'You're going to have some mighty queer chickens around here if you go on like this,' she said.

'Dish it out, George!' cried Mr Kranky. 'Give a spoonful to that one over there!' He pointed to a brown hen.

George knelt down and held out the spoon with the new medicine in it. 'Chick-chick,' he said. 'Try some of this.'

The brown hen walked over and looked at the spoon. Then it went peck .

' Owch !' it said. Then a funny whistling noise came out of its beak.

'Watch it grow!' shouted Mr Kranky.

'Don't be too sure,' said Mrs Kranky. 'Why is it whistling like that?'

'Keep quiet, woman!' cried Mr Kranky. 'Give it a chance!'

They stood there staring at the brown hen.

'It's getting smaller,' George said. 'Look at it, dad. It's shrinking.'

And indeed it was. In less than a minute, the hen had shrunk so much it was no bigger than a new-hatched chick. It looked ridiculous.

'There's still something you've left out,' Mr Kranky said. 'I can't think what it could be,' George said.

'Give it up,' Mrs Kranky said. 'Pack it in. You'll never get it right.'

Mr Kranky looked very forlorn.

George looked pretty fed up, too. He was still kneeling on the ground with the spoon in one hand and the cup full of medicine in the other. The ridiculous tiny brown hen was walking slowly away.

At that point, Grandma came striding into the yard. From her enormous height, she glared down at the three people below her and she shouted, 'What's going on around here? Why hasn't anyone brought me my morning cup of tea? It's bad enough having to sleep in the yard with the rats and mice but I'll be blowed if I'm going to starve as well! No tea! No eggs and bacon! No buttered toast!'

'I'm sorry, mother,' Mrs Kranky said. 'We've been terribly busy. I'll get you something right away.'

'Let George get it, the lazy little brute!' Grandma shouted.

Just then, the old woman spotted the cup in George's hand. She bent down and peered into it. She saw that it was full of brown liquid. It looked very much like tea. 'Ho-ho!' she cried. 'Ha-ha! So that's your little game, is it! You look after yourself all right, don't you! You make quite sure you've got a nice cup of morning tea! But you didn't think to bring one to your poor old Grandma! I always knew you were a selfish pig!'