Toad Heaven by Morris Gleitzman Page B

other things we can try that aren't living.”
    He saw Goliath's tongue dart out.
    “Goliath,” said Limpy wearily. “Please don't eat ants.”
    “I need something to take away the taste of the mud,” protested Goliath.
    Charm hopped to her feet.
    “How about the things Goliath was eating in the rucksacks?” she said. “Socks and deodorant sticks and hat flakes. We could try living on human stuff.”
    “Good thought,” said Goliath.
    “It is,” said Limpy. “But humans aren't allowed to feed animals in national parks, and I just don't think they're going to accidentally drop enough socks to keep us alive.”
    “I've got it!” yelled Goliath. “I'll break into their buses while they're taking photos of the waterfall and nick stuff. Skin cream, toothpaste, hairbrushes…”
    Limpy shook his head.
    “All right,” said Goliath. “I'll scrape dead insects off the fronts of the buses. That's not stealing, that's cleaning.”
    “Another good thought,” said Limpy. “But we came here to get away from humans, not have you risk your neck getting too close to them.”
    “I don't mind,” said Goliath. “Honest.”
    “I don't either,” said Charm.
    Limpy looked at them both and his eyes pricked with love for them.
    “I know you don't,” he said quietly. “I don't either. But we don't want Mum and Dad and the others risking their necks with buses, do we? Because, well, we might not be around for … you know … forever.”
    Limpy looked at Charm and Goliath. He could tell from their glum faces that they knew what he meant.
    “I haven't got any more ideas,” said Charm.
    “Nor have I,” said Goliath.
    “Okay,” said Limpy. “There's only one thing left. I'll have to try and persuade the folks here to let Mum and Dad and the others eat live insects.”
    “How are you going to do that?” asked Charm.
    Limpy took a deep breath.
    “Call a meeting,” he said.
    The national park residents’ committee sat in a row along the top of an important-looking rock.
    Limpy sat smiling up at them, trying to look like a good neighbor.
    He glanced at Charm, who was sitting next to him, trying to look like a good neighbor too.
    He glanced at Goliath, who was sitting on the other side of him with a mouthful of ants.
    “Goliath!” hissed Limpy furiously. “Stop it!”
    Goliath looked blankly at Limpy; then his face fell.
    “Sorry,” he whispered. “I forgot.”
    The blue-tongue lizard took his place at the center of the rock.
    “As chairman of the residents’ committee,” he said, “I declare this meeting open. We're here to consider a residency application from these three cane toads and a horde of others.”
    “They're not a horde,” said Limpy. “They're rellies.”
    “And they're really kind,” said Charm.
    “And funny,” said Goliath. “Uncle Laurie can blow mucus bubbles that look like frog intestines.”
    Limpy glared at him.
    “Sorry,” whispered Goliath.
    The committee were muttering too, amongthemselves. They turned back to face Limpy and Charm and Goliath.
    “I vote no,” said the possum.
    “I vote no,” said the echidna.
    “I vote no,” said the bat.
    “I vote no,” said the python.
    “I vote no,” said the brush turkey.
    “I vote no,” said the spider.
    “I vote no,” said the dragonfly.
    “And I vote no,” said the blue-tongue lizard.
    Limpy stared at them, stunned.
    “You can't,” he croaked. “You haven't heard me speak yet.”
    “We don't need to,” said the lizard.“We've decided.”
    “Please,” said Limpy, “listen to me. I know cane toads have a reputation for being greedy and selfish and eating everything that moves. And it's true, we have been like that. But we can change. And we can be fair. We'll make ourselves available as food. If you let us live here with you, I promise we'll keep our poison sacs empty so we can be eaten too.”
    Limpy felt Charm frantically digging him in the ribs.
    He knew Charm and Goliath wouldn't like hearing this, but he hoped