Selby Splits Read online

  ‘Snakes,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘I could swear someone just cried “Snakes!” Like that.’

  ‘I heard it, too,’ Professor Krakpott said. ‘But I thought they said “cakes”. Maybe it’s one of those local people outside selling something.’

  ‘I’m afraid it sounded like “shakes” to me,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘Could we go now? I’m tired of all these tunnels. I’m sure we’ve seen the whole tomb by now.’

  ‘Yes, certainly,’ the professor said. ‘I’ve had enough, too. Back we go.’

  And so it was that the three of them — Mrs Trifle, Dr Trifle and Professor Krakpott — made their way back towards the entrance.

  ‘Selby?’ Mrs Trifle called. ‘Selllllllllllby! Where are you?’

  … Selby realised what he must do.

  ‘These rocks all around me are travelling just as fast as I am!’ he thought. ‘But if I grab one and pull myself up on top of it, it will hit the snakes first. It’s my only chance!’

  Selby reached over and grabbed the huge block of rock next to him with all four paws, clambering on top of it as it hit. All around him stone blocks from the floor above rained down on the snakes.

  ‘It worked!’ Selby screamed as he scrambled up to the room above and then up the dangling root to the top of the tomb.‘That’s what I call a really really really really really close call!’

  ‘There you are, Selby,’ Mrs Trifle said, picking him up. ‘I knew you’d be waiting here at the entrance.’

  ‘It’s been a typical archaeological day,’ Professor Krakpott said to the Trifles, as they headed back along the path. ‘No close calls. No split second actions. Nothing like in those movies. And no dancing dead. Dead boring would be more like it.’

  ‘Maybe for you,’ Selby thought. ‘But certainly not for me.’

  Paw note: For more about the professor, see the story ‘Professor Krakpotts Puzzle’ in the book Selby’s Secret. S

  SELBY’S (GREAT) EXPECTATIONS

  ‘The reason I’ve asked you to come here is to tell you that Selby is now a very rich dog,’ the lawyer told the Trifles.

  ‘I’m a what?’ Selby thought. (But he didn’t say it out loud.)

  ‘He’s a what?’ Mrs Trifle asked. (And she did say it out loud.)

  ‘My client was a very wealthy woman. When she died we found this will,’ Mr Jaggers said, holding up a crinkly piece of paper.‘I’ll read it.’

  To Mr Jaggers, my old friend and lawyer,

  When I die I would like all of my proper ty to go to a very important little fellow. His name is Selby and he lives with his owners, Dr and Mrs Trifle, in the town of Bogusville. And, by the way, he’s a dog. I want to give him the best life that I can. So I’m giving him and his owners the use of my mansion, Havisham House. They will be looked after by my faithful servant, Bentley, and there will be plenty of money each week for expenses. Fur thermore, Selby is to be treated exactly like a person. He is to be fed the very best people food and allowed to sit at the dinner table.

  ‘Is it a joke?’ Mrs Trifle asked.

  ‘Certainly not, Mrs Trifle. But I have no idea what was behind this. She had no family but why she would want Selby to have the use of her mansion is a mystery. She hated dogs.’

  ‘Where is this Havisham House?’ Dr Trifle asked.

  ‘It’s in the wealthiest part of Snobs’ Bay.’

  ‘But that’s nowhere near Bogusville,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘We’d have to move house. I’d have to quit my job. We’d miss our friends.’

  ‘It’s the chance of a lifetime,’ the lawyer said. ‘Your friends can email or come for visits. Havisham House is wonderful.’

  ‘I guess if we don’t like it there we can always sell it and move back,’ Mrs Trifle said.

  ‘Only if Selby agrees to sell it,’ the lawyer said.‘Here’s the last bit of the will.’

  None of this can be changed unless Selby says so.

  Remember, whatever Selby says, goes.

  (signed)

  Margaret Provis

  ‘“Unless Selby says so”?’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘What “Selby says goes”? But Selby can’t say anything. Are you sure that this Mrs Provis was … all there?’

  ‘You mean, was she bonkers? I don’t think so. A bit odd, maybe, but she had all her marbles. She was a remarkable woman. She made and lost several fortunes in her lifetime. At the end of her life, she was very rich again.’

  ‘I still can’t understand how this Mrs Provis even knew who Selby was,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘I don’t think she ever lived in Bogusville. This is all so unexpected.’

  Suddenly Selby’s memories came flooding back.

  ‘Margaret Provis,’ he thought. ‘That must have been Maggie’s full name. I can’t say that this was unexpected. In fact I had great expectations that something like this would happen.’

  The room became all wobbly and filled with wavy lines — the way rooms do when you remember back to another time. In a second, Selby was imagining something that happened years before. There he was looking out the front window of the Trifles’ house. The Trifles were away for the day and he’d just watched a TV program about first aid.

  An old lady dressed in shabby clothes was walking slowly past the house. She was the woman who lived in a shack outside Bogusville.

  ‘Poor old Maggie,’ Selby thought. ‘She’s all alone and doesn’t have a friend in the world. I wish they wouldn’t call her “Maggie the Witch” behind her back. People can be so cruel.’

  Selby was just thinking sad thoughts about poor people and old people and poor old people when the woman fell.

  ‘Gulp,’ Selby thought. ‘Oh, no, she’s not getting up! And there’s no one else around! I’ve got to do something!’

  Selby picked up the phone and was about to ring triple-O.

  ‘But wait!’ he thought, remembering the TV first aid program. ‘I think I’m supposed to roll her onto her side so she can breathe properly. I’d better do that first before I call the ambulance.’

  Selby dashed to the woman’s side. Her eyes were closed. He put his front paws under her shoulder and started to roll her onto her side.

  ‘You’ve fallen down,’ he said out loud the way you’re supposed to, ‘and I’m rolling you onto your side.’

  The woman’s eyes popped open.

  ‘What are you doing that for?,!, you stupid dog,’ the woman snapped.

  ‘Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing,’ Selby said out loud as he rolled her onto her side. ‘She’s really out of it,’ he thought. ‘She won’t remember that I talked.’

  ‘Now what are you going to do?, you little dickens,’ the woman demanded.‘You’re going to bite me, aren’t you?’

  ‘No, I’m going to ring an ambulance,’ Selby said calmly.

  ‘You can’t do that, you nincompoop. You’re just a stupid smelly dog,’ the woman cackled.

  ‘Don’t try to get up,’ Selby said, dashing for the house.

  Selby put on his best Dr Trifle voice on the telephone and soon the ambulance was there, taking the old woman to hospital. As they lifted her onto a stretcher, she looked at Selby.

  ‘Listen here, dog,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry I was grouchy. Thanks, I owe you one. I don’t like dogs but you seem okay. If I ever get my money back, I’ll look after you. If I’ve learnt one thing in life it’s this: there are times when you should help people — and stupid dogs — even if you don’t like them.’

  The ambulance officers looked over at Selby and scratched their heads.

  ‘What’s that dog’s name?’ Maggie asked them.

  ‘That’s Selby, the mayor’s dog,’ one of them answered.

  ‘How’d he learn to talk?’

  ‘Talk? Listen, lady, we’ve got to get you to hospital.’

  ‘Selby,’ Maggie said before they closed the ambulance door, ‘you can expect to hear from me again.’

  ‘Now I know why they call her “Maggie the Witch”,’ Selby thought. ‘What a grouch-puss! But, you know, I think she meant that stuff
about helping me.’

  And so it was that Selby and the Trifles moved to Snobs’ Bay, leaving their house in Bogusville empty. It turned out that Havisham House was just as wonderful as Mr Jaggers had said it was.

  ‘The fountains and flowers are magnificent,’ Mrs Trifle said to Mrs Provis’s butler, Bentley, as he served tea and cakes on the verandah. ‘We’re so happy here.’

  ‘And so am I,’ Selby said, heaving a silent sigh.

  ‘I’ll take your dog into the kitchen,’ Bentley said,‘and give him some scraps of food.’

  ‘Scraps of food?’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘Oh, no, no, no. Selby is supposed to eat what we eat. It’s in Mrs Provis’s will.’

  ‘With respect, madam,’ the butler said, giving Selby a sideways glance, ‘the old biddy is dead. She’ll never know.’

  ‘I jolly well will!’ Selby thought. ‘Scraps of food?! Whose house is this, anyway?!’

  ‘I think we’d better respect Mrs Provis’s wishes,’ Mrs Trifle said politely.

  ‘Anything you say, madam.’

  Bentley brought the cake tray up to Selby’s nose.

  ‘That’s more like it,’ Selby thought as he gobbled two chocolate eclairs and sniffed a piece of chocolate mud cake.

  As the days passed, Bentley was always polite to the Trifles but when they weren’t looking he was terrible to Selby. Once, while Selby was sleeping, the butler trod on Selby’s tail, making him jump to his feet and almost scream ‘Ouch!’ in plain English.

  ‘He’s smiling!’ Selby thought. ‘That was no accident. Owww! That hurts like the dickens!’

  Another time Selby was walking past the kitchen when the butler’s foot shot out and kicked him.

  ‘What did I do to deserve a kick on the bum?’ Selby wondered.

  ‘Hey, boss,’ Selby heard the cook say to Bentley.‘What did the dog do to deserve a kick on the bum?’

  ‘I’ll tell you what he did,’ Bentley said. ‘He inherited this house.’

  ‘So what?’ the cook asked.‘Mrs Provis had to give it to someone.’

  ‘And that someone should have been me,’ Bentley said.‘Who looked after the old grouch in the last years of her life? Not that ugly dog — me!’

  ‘So that’s it,’ Selby thought.‘He’s jealous. And how dare he call me ugly. I think I’m rather good-looking, to tell the truth. I’ll fix him. I’m going to make the Trifles hate him so much that they’ll give him the sack. This is war.’

  Getting the Trifles to get rid of Bentley was never going to be easy. Bentley was always polite and helpful to them. They would never have believed how nasty he was to Selby.

  The first battle of the war was fought in the kitchen. Selby and the Trifles had just had a meal of peanut prawns in the dining room when Selby caught sight of Bentley in the kitchen.

  ‘Look at that guy,’ Selby thought. ‘He’s given himself twice as many peanut prawns as he gave us. We’ll see about that.’

  Selby sneaked into the kitchen and grabbed a mouthful of prawns from Bentley’s plate.

  ‘You wretched dog you!’ Bentley screamed.

  Selby turned and ran for the dining room, gobbling the prawns as he went.

  ‘What’s wrong, Bentley?’ Mrs Trifle asked.

  ‘That dog just grabbed some food right off my plate!’ Bentley screamed.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Mrs Trifle asked. ‘He’s never done anything like that before. Was your plate on the floor at the time?’

  ‘I don’t put my plate on the floor when I eat!’ Bentley shouted. ‘Your dog ate my food! You must lock him away in a doghouse or something.’

  ‘We’re not hard of hearing, so there’s no need to shout,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘Remember that this is Selby’s house and we’re his guests.’

  ‘Yes, of course, I do beg your pardon,’ Bentley said very politely, giving Selby a savage look.

  ‘And that was battle number one to Selby,’ Selby thought, struggling not to smile.

  The second attack came when the butler was bending over in the garden sniffing a rose.

  ‘Sorry about this, Bent,’ Selby thought, looking around to make sure no one was watching.

  With this, Selby leapt up, ripping a piece out of Bentley’s pants.

  ‘What the … !’ Bentley screamed as he chased Selby across the lawn.‘I’ll get you!’

  And get Selby he did. In a second the furious butler had picked Selby up by the collar.

  ‘Is something the matter?’ Dr Trifle asked, as he and Mrs Trifle looked down over the balcony.

  ‘Yes, you idiot! Your dog just tore my trousers!’

  ‘Did he?’ Dr Trifle said.‘I find that very hard to believe.’

  ‘So what is this?’ Bentley said, turning around and pointing to the tear and showing his frilly pink underpants.

  ‘You must have caught it on a rosebush, Bentley,’ Mrs Trifle said, trying not to giggle. ‘Could you put Selby down? And please do not call my husband an idiot.’

  ‘Yes, madam,’ Bentley said, putting Selby down.‘I’m terribly sorry.’

  ‘Battle number two to Selby,’ Selby thought as he looked up innocently.

  The next day, Bentley had just cleaned the white carpet in the library. When no one was looking Selby tracked the stickiest mud he could find all over it. He then quickly washed his paws.

  ‘He did it again!’ Bentley screamed at the Trifles. ‘If you country bumpkins don’t get rid of that disgusting dog, I’m out of here!’

  ‘Bentley!’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘Selby’s paws are perfectly clean. He can’t have tracked in the mud. Some other dog must have done it. You certainly don’t believe that a dog could wash his feet, do you?’

  ‘No, ma’am,’ Bentley said.

  ‘Then either find the guilty dog or just clean the carpet again. And I’d rather you didn’t call us “country bumpkins”. We have lived for most of our lives in the country but we are intelligent people.’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Trifle. I’m truly sorry.’

  ‘Another battle for little old me,’ Selby thought.‘What does it take to get this boofhead to quit?’

  What it took was one last trick …

  That evening Selby and the Trifles were sitting at the table, surrounded by wonderful food. Selby sensed that Bentley was hurrying a bit more than normal. When no one was looking Selby managed to tuck the corner of the table cloth into Bentley’s belt without his noticing. Selby watched as the butler darted back towards the kitchen, dragging the table cloth and everything on it onto the floor.

  ‘It’s that dog!’ Bentley screamed.‘He did this!’

  ‘How could he have?’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘You obviously got it caught in your belt, that’s all. It was an accident.’

  ‘It was no accident!’ Bentley screamed, purple with rage. ‘That dog of yours is not a normal dog! He is cunning. He is devious! And he is evil! You’re both so stupid that you can’t see it! Well I’ve had it! I quit!’

  ‘And the winner of the war is … Selby!’ Selby thought.‘Sorry, Bentley, old stick, but you should always be kind to dumb animals because some of them may be smarter than you.’

  Selby was still feeling proud of himself as Bentley stormed off upstairs to pack his bags.

  ‘I guess we’ll have to hire another butler,’ Dr Trifle said.

  ‘Do we have to?’ Mrs Trifle asked. ‘I feel uncomfortable having all these servants around. It’s just not natural.’

  ‘But it’s such a big house,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘There’s no way we could keep it running all by ourselves.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘I don’t much like it here.’

  ‘You don’t? I guess I don’t like it much either. The neighbours are all too posh to be friendly. Plus I’m not doing any inventing because there’s really nowhere that I can make a mess.’

  ‘And I miss my job,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘I never thought I would, but I do.’

  Selby was just passing the kitchen when he heard another conversation. This time it was between t
he cook and the gardener.

  ‘He’s a fusspot, old Bentley,’ the cook said. ‘But I’ll miss him. And I feel sorry for him too.’

  ‘Why’s that?’ the gardener asked.

  ‘Because of his daughter. She’s sick and she needs special medicine. It’s very expensive. I don’t know how he’ll afford it if he doesn’t keep his job.’

  ‘What have I done?’ Selby thought. ‘Sick daughter? Expensive medicine? Losing his job? And the Trifles don’t even like it here. Come to think of it, neither do I. It’s not Bentley that should be leaving, it’s us.’

  Selby’s mind raced as he heard Bentley close his bedroom door for the last time and start down the stairs.

  ‘I’ll go to see Mr Jaggers and tell him that I want to sell the mansion. I’ll split the money between the Trifles and Bentley and then everyone will be happy. But then I’d be telling my secret. My life would be ruined! Hang on, there’s another way.’

  With this Selby raced to the desk in the study and got out a pen and a piece of crinkly paper. He quickly wrote a note and then crept back to where the Trifles were sitting and dropped it on the floor. It wasn’t long before Dr Trifle spotted it.

  ‘Where did this come from?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Mrs Trifle said.‘It seems to be another will. And, look, it’s dated after the other one. Let me read it.’

  ‘Very strange,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘Her handwriting certainly got worse as she got older.’

  ‘Yes,’ Mrs Trifle agreed. ‘But I guess we’ll have to go along with it. Poor Bentley. I didn’t know his daughter was sick. We’d better stop him before he drives away.’

  And so it was that later that day Bentley moved his family into Havisham House.

  ‘I’m sure you’ll be happier back in that Balloonsville place,’ he told the Trifles. ‘In any case — that dog of yours will be. I’ll ask the chauffeur to drive you back.’

  ‘That would be very kind,’ Mrs Trifle said.