She seemed to know that neither crying nor sulking ever got anyone anywhere.
The only sensible thing to do when you are attacked is, as Napoleon once said, to counter-attack.
Matilda's wonderfully subtle mind was already at work devising yet another suitable punishment for the poisonous parent.
The plan that was now beginning to hatch in her mind depended, however,
upon whether or not Fred's parrot was really as good a talker as Fred made out.
Fred was a friend of Matilda's. He was a small boy of six who lived just around the corner from her,
and for days he had been going on about this great talking parrot his father had given him.
So the following afternoon, as soon as Mrs Wormwood had departed in her car for another session of bingo,
Matilda set out for Fred's house to investigate. She knocked on his door and asked if he would be kind enough to show her the famous bird.
Fred was delighted and led her up to his bedroom where a truly magnificent blue and yellow parrot sat in a tall cage.
“There it is,” Fred said. “Its name is Chopper.” “Make it talk,” Matilda said. “You can't make it talk,” Fred said.
“You have to be patient. It'll talk when it feels like it.” They hung around, waiting. Suddenly the parrot said, “Hullo, hullo, hullo.”
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