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"
You
’
re
right
,
"
the
Trunchbull
said
.
"
It
is
very
good
.
Therefore
I
think
you
should
congratulate
the
cook
.
When
a
gentleman
has
had
a
particularly
good
meal
,
Bogtrotter
,
he
always
sends
his
compliments
to
the
chef
.
You
didn
’
t
know
that
,
did
you
,
Bogtrotter
?
But
those
who
inhabit
the
criminal
underworld
are
not
noted
for
their
good
manners
.
"
The
boy
remained
silent
.
"
Cook
!
"
the
Trunchbull
shouted
,
turning
her
head
towards
the
door
.
"
Come
here
,
cook
!
Bogtrotter
wishes
to
tell
you
how
good
your
chocolate
cake
is
!
"
The
cook
,
a
tall
shrivelled
female
who
looked
as
though
all
of
her
body
-
juices
had
been
dried
out
of
her
long
ago
in
a
hot
oven
,
walked
on
to
the
platform
wearing
a
dirty
white
apron
.
Her
entrance
had
clearly
been
arranged
beforehand
by
the
Headmistress
.
"
Now
then
,
Bogtrotter
,
"
the
Trunchbull
boomed
.
"
Tell
cook
what
you
think
of
her
chocolate
cake
.
"
"
Very
good
,
"
the
boy
mumbled
.
You
could
see
he
was
now
beginning
to
wonder
what
all
this
was
leading
up
to
.
The
only
thing
he
knew
for
certain
was
that
the
law
forbade
the
Trunchbull
to
hit
him
with
the
riding
-
crop
that
she
kept
smacking
against
her
thigh
.
That
was
some
comfort
,
but
not
much
because
the
Trunchbull
was
totally
unpredictable
.
One
never
knew
what
she
was
going
to
do
next
.
"
There
you
are
,
cook
,
"
the
Trunchbull
cried
.
"
Bogtrotter
likes
your
cake
.
He
adores
your
cake
.
Do
you
have
any
more
of
your
cake
you
could
give
him
?
"
"
I
do
indeed
,
"
the
cook
said
.
She
seemed
to
have
learnt
her
lines
by
heart
.
"
Then
go
and
get
it
.
And
bring
a
knife
to
cut
it
with
.
"
