Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator

The President himself remained calm and thoughtful. He sat at his desk rolling a small piece of wet chewing-gum between his finger and thumb. He was waiting for the moment when he could flick it at Miss Tibbs without her seeing him. He flicked it and missed Miss Tibbs but hit the Chief of the Air Force on the tip of his nose.
'Do you think the men from Mars have accepted my invitation to the White House?' the President asked.
'Of course they have,' said the Foreign Secretary. 'It was a brilliant speech, sir.'
'They're probably on their way down here right now,' said Miss Tibbs. 'Go and wash that nasty sticky chewing-gum off your fingers quickly. They could be here any minute.'
'Let's have a song first,' said the President. 'Sing another one about me, Nanny … please.'
THE NURSE'S SONG
This mighty man of whom I sing,
The greatest of them all,
Was once a teeny little thing,
Just eighteen inches tall.
I knew him as a tiny tot.
I nursed him on my knee.
I used to sit him on the pot
And wait for him to wee.
I always washed between his toes,
And cut his little nails.
I brushed his hair and wiped his nose
And weighed him on the scales.
Through happy childhood days he strayed,
As all nice children should.
I smacked him when he disobeyed,
And stopped when he was good.
It soon began to dawn on me
He wasn't very bright,
Because when he was twenty-three
He couldn't read or write.
'What shall we do?' his parents sobbed.
'The boy has got the vapours!
He couldn't even get a job
Delivering the papers!'
'Ah-ha,' I said. 'This little clot
Could be a politician.'
'Nanny,' he cried. 'Oh Nanny, what
A super proposition!'
'Okay,' I said. 'Let's learn and note
The art of politics.
Let's teach you how to miss the boat
And how to drop some bricks,
And how to win the people's vote
And lots of other tricks.
Let's learn to make a speech a day
Upon the TV screen,
In which you never never say
Exactly what you mean.
And most important, by the way,
Is not to let your teeth decay,
And keep your fingers clean.'
And now that I am eighty-nine,
It's too late to repent.
The fault was mine the little swine
Became the President.
'Bravo, Nanny!' cried the President, clapping his hands. 'Hooray!' shouted the others. 'Well done, Miss Vice-President, ma'am! Brilliant! Tremendous!'
'My goodness!' said the President. 'Those men from Mars will be here any moment! What on earth are we going to give them for lunch? Where's my Chief Cook?'
The Chief Cook was a Frenchman. He was also a French spy and at this moment he was listening at the keyhole of the President's study. 'Ici, Monsieur le President!' he said, bursting in.
'Chief Cook,' said the President. 'What do men from Mars eat for lunch?'
'Mars Bars,' said the Chief Cook.
'Baked or boiled?' asked the President.
'Oh, baked, of course, Monsieur le President. You will ruin a Mars Bar by boiling!'
The voice of astronaut Shuckworth cut in over the loudspeaker in the President's study.
'Request permission to link up and go aboard Space Hotel?' he said.
'Permission granted,' said the President. 'Go right ahead, Shuckworth. It's all clear now … Thanks to me.'
And so the large Transport Capsule, piloted by Shuckworth, Shanks and Showler, with all the hotel managers and assistant managers and hall porters and pastry chefs and bell-boys and waitresses and chambermaids on board, moved in smoothly and linked up with the giant Space Hotel.
'Hey there! We've lost our television picture,' called the President.
'I'm afraid the camera got smashed against the side of the Space Hotel, Mr President,' Shuckworth replied. The President said a very rude word into the microphone and ten million children across the nation began repeating it gleefully and got smacked by their parents.
'All astronauts and one hundred and fifty hotel staff safely aboard Space Hotel!' Shuckworth reported over the radio. 'We are now standing in the lobby!'
'And what do you think of it all?' asked the President. He knew the whole world was listening in and he wanted Shuckworth to say how wonderful it was. Shuckworth didn't let him down.
'Gee, Mr President, it's just great!' he said. 'It's unbelievable! It's so enormous! And so … it's kind of hard to find words to describe it, it's so truly grand, especially the chandeliers and the carpets and all! I have the Chief Hotel Manager, Mr Walter W. Wall, beside me now. He would like the honour of a word with you, sir.'
'Put him on,' said the President.
'Mr President, sir, this is Walter Wall. What a sumptuous hotel this is! The decorations are superb!'
'Have you noticed that all the carpets are wall-to-wall, Mr Walter Wall?' said the President.
'I have indeed, Mr President.'
'All the wallpaper is all wall-to-wall, too, Mr Walter Wall.'
'Yes, sir, Mr President! Isn't that something! It's going to be a real pleasure running a beautiful hotel like this! … Hey! What's going on over there? Something's coming out of the lifts! Help!' Suddenly the loudspeaker in the President's study gave out a series of the most ghastly screams and yells. 'Ayeeeee! Owwwww! Ayeeeee! Hel-l-l-lp! Hel-l-l-l-l-lp! Hel-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-lp!'
'What on earth's going on?' said the President. 'Shuckworth! Are you there, Shuckworth? … Shanks! Showler! Mr Walter Wall! Where are you all! What's happening?'
The screams continued. They were so loud the President had to put his fingers in his ears. Every house in the world that had a television or radio receiver heard those awful screams. There were other noises, too. Loud grunts and snortings and crunching sounds. Then there was silence.
Frantically the President called the Space Hotel on the radio. Houston called the Space Hotel. The President called Houston. Houston called the President. Then both of them called the Space Hotel again. But answer came there none. Up there in space all was silent.
'Something nasty's happened,' said the President.
'It's those men from Mars,' said the Ex-Chief of the Army. 'I told you to let me blow them up.'
'Silence!' snapped the President. 'I've got to think.'
The loudspeaker began to crackle. 'Hello!' it said. 'Hello hello hello! Are you receiving me, Space Control in Houston?'