Selby Sprung Page 2

  ‘To the Control Room!’ Myrna shouted.

  There, on a huge screen was Selby, silently singing and dancing his way across a field.

  ‘What’s he saying?’ the Evil Genius demanded.

  A man wearing headphones turned around.

  ‘Our lip-reading experts are working on it now. He seems to be singing an old song called “Singin’ in the Rain”.’

  ‘It’s him!’ the old man said, rubbing his hands together. ‘I’ve found him! I’ve finally found Selby, the talking dog!’

  ‘Shall we zap him with a death ray, sir?’ Myrna asked.

  ‘No, you fool! He’s no good to me dead! We have to catch him alive! Send in our Australian agents. Keep an eye on him but have them wait till I get there. No mistakes this time. Get my hyper-supersonic stealth jet ready immediately! I’m going to catch this devious dog myself.’

  I’d be ruining it if I told you right now about the dreadful things that finally happened to Selby and how nothing would ever be the same again. If I did, you might stop reading this book right now and miss out on all the other exciting adventures Selby had since the last book. Be patient. By the time you’ve finished reading Selby Sprung, you’ll know all there is to know.

  Happy reading …

  Selby was falling, falling, falling down through the clear sky towards the ground far below. Above him the little aeroplane spluttered and coughed, leaving puffs of smoke across the sky.

  The wind forced his mouth open in the shape of a scream and pinned his ears back against his head.

  Terror gripped his heart.

  ‘I’m dead!’ he screamed in his brain. ‘Where’s my parachute! Where are the pine trees to break my fall and save my life?! Where is a pond or a river when I need it?!’

  No, there was nothing below but the awful sight of Bogusville Airport’s rock-hard runway. Selby clenched his teeth, knowing that his days were about to end forever. It was then that he remembered something.

  ‘Today is Dr and Mrs Trifle’s twenty-fifth wedding anniversary,’ he thought, ‘and I’m about to go splat!, and ruin it. It’ll ruin every anniversary for them from now on. This is so sad. Oh woe woe woe.’

  Suddenly the plane above him went into a steep arc, shooting almost straight upwards. And then it plunged, nose down, towards the ground.

  ‘Poor Brian,’ Selby thought. ‘This isn’t his fault — it’s mine!’

  To make matters worse, Selby saw the tiny shapes of the Trifles appear on the runway below, their arms held out as if to catch him.

  ‘Oh, no!’ he wailed. ‘I’m going much too fast! They love me so much that they’re going to die trying to save me! We’re all going to die! How did I get myself into this mess?’

  It had all started a week before, when Mrs Trifle was trying out her fancy new CyberSew Bob-Bob-Bobbin 300 Series sewing machine.

  ‘Our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary is coming up,’ she said to Dr Trifle, ‘so I bought myself a present. This will save you the trouble of buying one for me. And it’s just what I’ve always wanted. So thank you, darling.’

  ‘Present? Sewing machine? Anniversary?’ Dr Trifle said. ‘Oh, yes, you’re welcome. Happy anniversary. When did you say it was?’

  ‘He never remembers anniversaries — or birthdays,’ Selby thought. ‘He never even knows what day of the week it is.’

  ‘What’s this?’ Dr Trifle said, taking a sudden interest in the sewing machine, and especially the little monitor on its side. ‘It looks like a tiny TV screen. Is that so you don’t miss your favourite programs while you’re sewing?’

  ‘Heavens no. This machine has a computer in it,’ Mrs Trifle explained.

  ‘So you can check your emails?’

  ‘No, have a look at this.’

  Dr Trifle and Selby watched as Mrs Trifle put a piece of white cloth in the machine and then tapped the monitor with her fingers. The sewing machine came alive, its needle moving up and down and side to side stitching various colours onto the cloth. In a few seconds the machine stopped.

  ‘Wow!’ Dr Trifle exclaimed. ‘You wrote my name! And you put roses and vines all around it! That’s fantastic!’

  ‘That is fantastic!’ Selby exclaimed in his head. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it. For the first time in my life I have the urge to sew.’

  ‘But I have a problem,’ Mrs Trifle said.

  ‘Is there something wrong with the machine, dear?’

  ‘No, this is nothing to do with sewing,’ Mrs Trifle said, handing Dr Trifle a letter. ‘I got this today.’

  And this is what it said:

  Deer Misses Tirfle,

  I’m tha sky riter you rote two. I wud b happi to rite a sine for u so thancks 4 gettin aholt uf me. I wil b in Bosgus Beegut Bogobus yer towne on Fryday and I ken do it then so c u soone.

  Brian Slim

  Sky Riter & Tadoo AHdiss

  ‘What is this?’ Dr Trifle asked. ‘It looks like it’s been written by a five-year-old.’

  ‘It’s from the sky-writer I hired to write the sign over Poshfield. The one to tell everyone about the Bogusville Fair.’

  ‘But he can’t even spell Bogusville,’ Dr Trifle said.

  ‘He can’t spell anything! We can’t have misspelled words all over the sky.’

  ‘Well, you’ll just have to tell him that you’ve changed your mind.’

  ‘He’s on his way here right now in his sky-writing aeroplane.’

  ‘Then tell him when he gets here.’

  ‘I feel really bad about it. His sister says we’re his first customer. And I’ve already sent him a cheque.’

  ‘Then you’ll have to ask for it back. Sky-writers have to be excellent spellers. They sometimes have to write things upside down and in mirror writing so it looks normal from the ground. His spelling is hopeless. Be strong and tell him you can’t hire him.’

  ‘I’m not very good at being strong,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘Anyway, come along. We have to drop those plants off at Melanie’s.’

  Soon Selby was alone, looking at the CyberSew Bob-Bob-Bobbin 300 Series sewing machine and reading the instructions.

  ‘Mrs Trifle is right about not being strong. She’s such a softie,’ Selby thought. ‘Hey, I wonder how you use this thing.’

  Selby reached out slowly and touched the sewing machine’s monitor. It suddenly lit up.

  ‘Let’s see now,’ he said, looking at the boxes that appeared. ‘I think I’ll choose this one.’

  In a moment, Selby had selected some letters and some artwork, put a piece of cloth in the machine and touched the button that said SEW. Once again the machine flew into action and the words began to appear on the cloth:

  HAPPY ANNIVERSARY, DR AND MRS TRIFLE, THE

  And that’s all it said because Selby noticed the Trifles coming down the path towards the house. He quickly stopped the sewing machine and threw away the cloth just as they came in the door.

  ‘Close one,’ he thought. ‘That was so much fun. Hey, sew much fun. I like that.’

  That afternoon, the Trifles and Selby were at Bogusville Airport when Brian Slim arrived in his old bi-plane.

  ‘Mare Trifle!’ he said, jumping down from the cockpit. ‘Thanck u so much fore hirin’ me two do ure sky-riting! Ure miy frist kustamer. I’ll do it reely good, ule cee.’

  ‘This guy can’t even spell when he speaks!’ Selby thought, as he read the tattoo on Brian Slim’s arm which said BRAIN SLIME. ‘Brain slime?’ Selby thought again. ‘He must do his own tattoos, too!’

  ‘Well, actually, Mr Slim —’ Mrs Trifle started.

  ‘Pleaz kall me Brian.’

  ‘Well, actually, Brian —’ Mrs Trifle started again.

  ‘U was so gud to giv mi this job, Mare T,’ Brian interrupted. ‘The benk wuz jest abaut to tayk miy plain a-way. U resqued it. Hay, wen kan I start?’

  ‘Well, that’s the thing, Mr Slim —’ Mrs Trifle started again.

  ‘Yoo are so kind,’ the man said, taking Mrs Trifle’s hand. ‘Your wun in a m
illyon. Maiby mor than that bekuz I’ve bin waytin un waytin fore a job and now eye hav fowned u.’

  With this, the man fell to his knees and kissed Mrs Trifle’s hand.

  ‘Ur un anjell, Mare Trifle! Un anjell!’

  ‘The thing is,’ Mrs Trifle said, slipping her wet hand away from the sky-writer’s lips, ‘we don’t think we want —’

  ‘Wen aye finnish riting this won,’ the man said, ‘everywon wil want mi too wurk fore them. I’ll be writin things everie day and eaven at nite wen there’s a fulle moon. I’ll b ritin “SEE MI FORE A CHEEP LONE” an “KAROL PLEEZ MERRY MI” an “KONGRATULASHONS POPPI ON PASSIN YEER 2”. I’ll do a grate job! U wate and cee!’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Dr Trifle interrupted, ‘but —’

  ‘An then isle be aybull too pai fer mi sistres operayshun,’ the man went on. ‘Maybee she kan halve a normul lyfe an — wot did u saye?’

  ‘I was about to say …’ Dr Trifle said, turning to Mrs Trifle. ‘You tell him, dear.’

  ‘U doan want mi two doo yur ski-riting? Iss that itt?’

  ‘Well, no, I mean yes … It’s just that —’

  ‘U doan thinck I ken do wit, iss thad itt?’

  ‘Well, ah, it’s just that there’s a question about …’ Mrs Trifle said.

  ‘Wot kwestshun?’

  Mrs Trifle looked down into Brian Slim’s eyes. She pulled him to his feet and smiled.

  ‘When can you start?’ she asked.

  ‘U wan mi two do it aftre all! I thaut fore a minut yu were goin two kancel and gette your money back. Oh, thanck yu, thanck yu, thanck yu! I kan doo it rite now?’

  ‘How about tomorrow?’ Dr Trifle said. ‘I have an idea.’

  ‘O Kay.’

  ‘Why didn’t we just tell him to do it today and get it over with?’ Mrs Trifle asked Dr Trifle when they were alone again. ‘What’s this idea of yours?’

  ‘It’s a sewing machine sky-writing idea. I’m going to attach your new sewing machine to his old plane. You can program it. Just type your message into the machine and all he has to do is fly the plane and the writing will come out automatically. That way, he can do the flying but you’ll do the spelling.’

  ‘That’s brilliant!’ Selby thought.

  ‘That’s very clever, dear,’ Mrs Trifle said, ‘but do you really think it’ll work?’

  ‘It’s just a matter of connecting diodes to triodes and pneumonics to hydraulics and bang!, she’ll be apples.’

  ‘She will? Are you sure?’

  ‘Sure, I’m sure.’

  And so it was that the very next day, Mrs Trifle, Brian Slim and Selby watched Dr Trifle load the CyberSew Bob-Bob-Bobbin 300 Series sewing machine into the front cockpit and Brian Slim climb in afterwards.

  ‘The only problem is the weight,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘You’ll need something in the back to counterbalance the sewing machine. Hmmm.’ Dr Trifle hummed as he picked up Selby and strapped him into the back seat. ‘Off you go.’

  ‘Hey, this is grate!’ Selby thought. ‘I mean, great! Poshfield, here we come!’

  Minutes later they were over the crowds of shoppers at Poshfield Plaza.

  ‘Heere goz, ol doggi frend,’ Brian said, turning on the monitor of the sewing machine and then touching the SPECIAL PROGRAM box.

  The plane began to shake violently, its wing and tail flaps flapping from side to side like flags in a cyclone. The little plane jumped all over the sky, putting out puffs of smoke.

  ‘Whoa!’ Selby thought. ‘What’s going on here!’

  ‘Hay, I luv it!’ the pilot yelled. ‘It’s riting like krazie! Doktur Trifle is a jeanyus!’

  Sure enough, behind them Selby could make out the words as they began to appear.

  ‘The dots are like stitches! It’s embroidery in the sky!’ he thought. ‘But this seatbelt is killing me! I wish Brian had a seatbelt for dogs.’

  Soon the message was written and the little aeroplane flew smoothly again. Selby could see crowds gathering in the streets of Poshfield to read the message that told them to come to the Bogusville Fair.

  ‘Now I can relax,’ Selby thought, as the plane flew back towards Bogusville. ‘I’ll just undo this,’ he thought, undoing his seatbelt for a moment and rubbing his sore shoulders.

  Just then the plane started shaking violently again and Selby was thrown from his seat and then out of the cockpit.

  ‘Hay, wots hapnin!!’ the pilot yelled. ‘Sumthins rong!’

  Selby clung with all claws to the edge of the plane as he watched more words forming behind them.

  HAPPY ANNIVERSARY, DR AND MRS TRIFLE, he read. ‘Hey! That’s what I wrote! I thought I deleted it! I’ve got to hang on!’ he screamed in his brain as he watched the rest of the message appear: THE DEAREST, MOST WONDERFUL PEOPLE ON EARTH!

  In the end it was the jolt of the exclamation mark that sent Selby flying out of the plane and into the air. And then he was plummeting downwards, towards Bogusville Airport and the Trifles, just like in the beginning of the story.

  ‘I’m going to kill the most wonderful people in the world,’ he said, blinking back tears, ‘and me too! And Brian is going to feel terrible. He doesn’t even know I’ve fallen out.’

  Selby watched as the plane shot upwards in a huge arc before heading nose down.

  ‘It’s gone completely out of control! It’ll be the end of Brian too,’ he thought. ‘And it wasn’t his fault. Poor Brian. He never did learn how to spell.’

  The plane went faster and faster towards the ground, sweeping in a big loop just under Selby. Amazingly, Selby dropped right back into the back seat again.

  ‘Hey!’ Selby thought. ‘He rescued me! That was the best bit of flying I’ve ever seen! He’s back in control of the plane again! What a pilot! He may not be a great speller but he’s a genius flier! I’m going to live! Isn’t life wonderful!’

  The little plane continued on a long curve upwards and then downwards again till it levelled off. Brian brought the plane in for a smooth landing and the Trifles came running, pulling Selby out of the plane and hugging him.

  ‘Oh Selby, Selby, Selby,’ Dr and Mrs Trifle cried, smothering him with kisses. ‘You’re alive! Oh, thank you, Brian for saving him! He must have slipped out of his seatbelt. And thank you for that lovely second message. How did you know it was our wedding anniversary?’

  ‘Well I … I meen I … I meen I doan no wot hapened,’ the pilot said. ‘The plain jus rote that lass bit and then it took off up, and then it took off down, an the nex thing I new the dog wuz in the plain agin.’

  ‘You mean it was just a coincidence that he saved me?’ Selby wondered.

  ‘You mean you didn’t do it on purpose?’ Mrs Trifle asked.

  ‘No, the sowing mashine maid me go right up and then rite down again,’ Brian said. ‘Hay! I jest no that I’m gunna get a sowing mashine jus like that won an it’s gunna maik mi millyons! Oh, thank yu thank yu thank yu!’

  Selby breathed a big sigh of relief. He looked over at a group of school children standing nearby. They pointed up to Selby’s message about the Trifles’ anniversary and the big heart that encircled it.

  ‘I forgot about the heart,’ Selby thought. ‘It was the heart that sent the plane up like that and it was the heart that brought it down again. I was saved by a heart!’

  And that’s not all, because Brian Slim went on to be the first multi-millionaire sky-writer — who couldn’t spell.

  Seconds ago I was lying there,

  my brain begins to clear.

  I stretch my legs and stand up straight,

  just before the dawn.

  It’s still the wee small hours

  I sit up, stretch and yawn.

  As I get up this morning

  by Selby Trifle

  AS I GET UP THIS MORNING

  ‘I’d like you to meet my girlfriend, Wendy,’ said Gary Gaggs, the Trifles’ old friend and favourite comedian. ‘We’re getting married soon.’

  ‘I’m so happy for you,’ Mrs Trifle sa
id, shaking the woman’s hand. ‘Have you known each other long?’

  ‘Just a couple of months,’ Wendy said, ‘but we’re so in love.’

  ‘We certainly are,’ Gary said. ‘And we’re going to move back to Bogusville permanently.’

  ‘But surely you’ll keep touring with your comedy shows,’ Dr Trifle said.

  ‘No, I’m quitting comedy forever.’

  ‘Quitting comedy?!’ Selby thought.

  ‘Quitting comedy? But it’s in your blood,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘What would you do?’

  ‘I don’t know. I might work in a bank or something.’

  Dr and Mrs Trifle waited for a moment and then started smiling.

  ‘Go ahead, Gary,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘Say it. Say you want to work in a bank because you might find yourself alone.’

  ‘Oh, oh, oh, I get it!’ Selby thought as he struggled not to laugh. ‘He wants to find himself a loan. That’s one of Gary’s best job jokes!’

  Gary looked at the Trifles very seriously. Wendy looked even more serious. Tears formed in her eyes.

  ‘But Gary, you shouldn’t work in a bank because you might lose interest,’ Mrs Trifle said, with a laugh. ‘Remember that one?’

  ‘That’s great!’ Selby thought. ‘I love Gary’s job jokes! Why are Gary and Wendy both looking so serious?’

  ‘You could be a shoe salesman,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘But they might give you the boot. Ha ha!’

  ‘Or you could work in a calendar factory,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘But your days would be numbered.’

  ‘You could make doughnuts,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘But you’d hate the hole thing.’

  ‘Or you could get a job making bread,’ Mrs Trifle said, ‘but you wouldn’t knead it.’

  ‘Oh, oh, oh,’ Selby thought. ‘You wouldn’t knead it. Like kneading bread. I get it! Oh, don’t make me laugh!’

  ‘Hey, I’ll bet you two met in a revolving door,’ Mrs Trifle said, ‘and you’ve been going around ever since.’

  Wendy burst into tears and went running to the loo.

  ‘What did we say?’ Mrs Trifle asked. ‘Did we hurt her feelings?’