WfW - 21.10

In October Messymimi at Messymimi's Meanderings is supplying the Words for Wednesday. Today she has given us these two sets:

thanks
preparation
hypothesis
gradual
island
calf
     and/or one or both of the following phrases:
short end of the stick
goody two-shoes

It is now Friday before the first Autumn Holiday at Unicorn Farm. We all know how this ends, as I have told the story of the broom racing earlier on. But these in-between, Susan at home, or filler chapters have to be written as well, and the words today suited one of those.

Susan sat sulking in her room. Thinking to herself: "It's going to be the worst Autumn holiday ever! Why do I always get the short end of the stick? Linda has new clothes if she even bats her eyes at them, she goes riding once a week, and Dad drives a hundred miles or more to bring and fetch her from those silly parties. Well to be honest, he fetches me from parties as well, I just don't want to go to any. All I want is to spend my holiday at the Unicorn Farm. But no. Can't do. Heidi and her family even offered to put me up at their place. But no, and no, and more NO! I've got to stay at home, playing host to the terrible cousins, be friendly-looking when they invade my room and play with my stuff, even breaking it.  I can't even lock the door. I tried all the keys in Dad's big key ring from the cellar. None of them fits. Tomorrow they'll all be sitting exams and making preparations for the broom racing contest down at the Island and I'll just have to sit here, waiting for the invasion." Her anger gradually subsided, and gave way for a bout of crying. She felt lonely, unloved and lost.
She fell asleep, tucked into the corner, and awoke, disoriented when Mum called her down for lunch.
While they ate, Linda told that her friend Jeannet with whom she went riding each Wednesday, and who lived just around the corner, was going to a riding camp during the Autumn holidays. "And not long after she and her family will be moving far away. To Odense, or somewhere thereabout, I think." Linda said, surreptitiously drying her eyes. "Can I go to that riding camp as well. It'll be my last chance to be with Jeannet for a long time, maybe for ever." 
Susan secretly hoped, that Mum and Dad would say yes. Because then she might be able to go to Unicorn Farm as well.
"Well," Mum said, "I think we might be able to afford it, How much did you say it cost?"
"I did not," Linda said, "I'll go and ask Jeannet at once."
"No, don't." Mum said. "I'll 'phone her mum, maybe we can arrange for her dad to take you both, and Dad to drive you back here. Then we only have to drive one trip each."
Mum went to the telephone upstairs, and came back down smiling. "Yes it's a deal. Jeannets dad will pick you up at half past eight tomorrow morning, and Dad will fetch you both at the camp next Saturday."
"Oh," Susan said. "Can I go to Unicorn Farm then? It's not expensive, It'll only cost you the train ticket there and back again."
"Do you really think you can go there all alone?" Mum asked.
"Oh, Mum," Susan said with a tiny sigh. "You've sent me to the Central Station in Copenhagen to pick up Grandma a couple of times already, when she comes here for a stay. I think I can find the train going there just as easily as the one going back home bringing her with me. And when I phone Heidi's parents to tell I'm coming, I can ask them which bus to take to get out there. It's not as if I was going to a foreign country, If all else fails, people still speak Danish, and I can ask for help. I'll promise not to talk to strangers. only train crew, policemen and such. No-one else. I'll behave nicely, sit and read, wash my hands and eat my sandwiches. I can do it. I'm not a baby any longer."
"Yes, I can't see why not." Dad added. It would be kind of unfair to let Linda go to that riding camp, and then forcing Susan to stay at home with that boring old family of hers."
"Oh, Benny. Stop teasing. Yes, you can go, Susan. You've better both start packing,"she added.

Later Mum came into Susan's room. "I see that you've already packed. But why are you putting your books into the cupboard? And you still look sad. Aren't you happy?"
"Yes. I'm very happy, thank you," Susan said. "But I still have a problem. The terrible cousins will get into my things, and with me not being here, there's no telling what they'll do, break and ruin. You are not keeping a very good eye on them, and neither are their mum and dad. No, I'm not blaming you or anything. Those two are a handful, and I understand that you want to sit and talk rather than watching those two. They are rather spoiled, and ... well, you know them." 
Come and have some tea, then we can try to find a solution.
"Susan's been telling me that brother Frans' daughters are quite a pest." Mum said as she filled their cups. She turned to Susan: "Do they normally get into your things, Susan?" 
"Yes they do, or rather, they did," Susan answered. "Now, when you invite them I tie the door to the mullion in the window nearest the balcony. And then I climb from my window to the balcony and enter the house through your bedroom. And when they are gone again, I repeat the procedure, climbing from the balcony onto the cornice outside and in through the window. Then I untie the rope and everything is back to normal again. What a luck my door opens outwards." Susan smiled.
Mum did not smile. "But Susan. That's dangerous. What if you fell off the cornice. It's a long drop to the ground. Do you remember the boy at Linda's birthday party. He was lucky to break only an arm, when he fell from the balcony."
"I take care; of course I do. But I cannot leave my window open for a whole week. I need a key."
"There's a big ring of keys in the cellar, did you know?" Dad asked.
"Yes I know, And I've tried all of them. Some almost go in, but only almost. The key to my room must be missing. All the other doors have a key, and there's also some keys in that ring, that do not fit any doors."
"Is there a key for Linda's room as well.?" Mum asked, "she'll be away too, and as you said we're not keeping an eye on those two all the time."
"I sure hope there is a key to my room!" Linda said, "I'd hate to think of them trying to feed Snowwhite and her mate crumbs of birthday cake, or some such. They are quite a pain in the behind."
"Yes, of course there's a key to Linda's door," Susan said. "As I said. Once I was very bored I tried all keys and all locks in the whole house. All other doors than mine have a key, some share a key, some keys have no locks, but the only door I could not find a key for, was my own door."
"Now Susan," Dad said. "If you want to lock that door of yours, you have two choices. One with a great deal of fiddly work, one with not too much work, but it'll cost you some money. Option number one. You can take out the lock by unscrewing and pulling out the door handles. Then you can take the lock apart and make it fit one of the other keys by re-ordering the metal levers inside it. Option number two. Find out the number of the missing key and buy one."
"Thank you Dad," Susan said, "I'll try the one with buying a new key, I think. I tried making my wardrobe lock fit another key, and it was quite time-consuming and fiddly even with that simple lock." Privately Susan doubted that locks for Copenhagen keys worked the same way as the much simpler cupboard locks, but she saw no reason saying so and spoiling Dad's good tempers.
A quick perusal of the keys in the big key ring showed Susan that of the 64 keys in this series, Dad called Copenhagen keys, numbers 1 - 6, 11, 16, 31, 34 and 55 were missing.*
"That's maybe a bit many keys for you to buy," Dad said, as Susan told him the result. "You know, the number of the lock, and also the key to it is stamped into the lock. But of course it's hidden underneath a layer or four of old paint. Take this, and scrape off the paint. Then you'll know which key to buy." Susan hugged her Dad, ran upstairs clenching the tool and set to work. She prudently got an old newspaper to spread out to collect the flakes of paint. When the front of the lock was clear, she found a small, indented number "16" just beneath the latch.
She jumped on her bike and hurried down to the Mister Minit shop on the corner of the pedestrian street. The keys were not that expensive, so she bought more of the missing keys anyway after asking the man in the shop which were more common. When she returned home, she put her new key in the lock and tried to turn it. It went in smoothly, telling her it was indeed the right one, but try as she might, she could not make it turn.
Dad was still tinkering in the cellar, and as she described her problem, he extended a small red oil can. "Squirt a generous amount of oil into the lock - from both sides - and wait a bit. Wiggle the handle and the key now and then, The things inside the lock are all made of iron, and even if they're not rusted, they tend to grow together after so long a time."
  After dinner the key gave a bit, and later, just before bedtime it turned all the way. She locked and unlocked the door several times, and squirted some more oil in for good measure. The old oil, black and grimy, ran from the lock, and Susan had to clean the door. But the key turned more smoothly. She squirted in even more oil, wiping off the grimy oil as it ran out. After a bit, the oil was clearer and the key turned with ease. She wiped lock and surrounding thoroughly, put all the other keys in their place on the keyring and returned keyring and oil can to the basement. Then she found a key ring with a three coloured strand she had made at school, and put the key into it. She hung it just inside the door and went to bed.

Well, I did not use all the words, but we also still have to hear about the exams.
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*Susan's dad called these keys Copenhagener keys. Their real name is Danziger keys. Susan's cupboard key was a simple Rex key with only three teeth.