Mr Tickles' Green Pen
Mr Tickles' Green Pen
Once upon a time a brownie called Mr Tickles had a fine green pen. He was very proud of it, for it was a beautiful green, and it wrote very well indeed. It was a fountain pen, and he always kept it full of ink, so that he might write letters at any time
But he was always losing it! Sometimes it was found on the dresser, sometimes on the mantelpiece, and once in the middle of the best bed, which made Mrs Tickles very angry indeed, for it had left a spot of ink behind.
‘Tickles, why can’t you keep your green pen in your pocket?’ she said, a dozen time a week. ‘You are always losing it. You must waste hours and hours trying to find it.’
‘I know,’ said Tickles. ‘It is a great nuisance. I do try to remember to put it into my pocket, but it so often falls out, you know. And besides, I already have two pencils and a notebook in my pocket. There really isn’t room for a pen too.’
‘Well, why not do as the butcher boy does?’ said Mrs Tickles.
‘What does he do?’ asked Mr Tickles.
‘He puts his pen behind his right ear,’ said Mrs Tickles. ‘He comes every morning to take my order, and he has never to hunt for his pen for there it always is, tucked safely behind his ear!’
‘What a splendid idea!’ said Mr Tickles. ‘I wonder if my ear will hold my green pen.’
He hunted about for his pen and found it stuck in a jug on the dresser. He put it behind his right ear and it held it beautifully. He was very pleased.
‘Now I shall always know where it is!’ he said, rubbing his hands. ‘Aha! I shall waste no more time in looking for it again!’
‘That’s good,’ said his wife. ‘Now listen, Tickles, I’m going out to do my shopping. Will you please write a note to the sweep while I am gone, and ask him to come and sweep the chimney next Saturday? Now don’t forget because it is most important and I shan’t have time to do any letter writing today.’
Tickles promised to do the letter writing today.’
Tickles promised to do the letter, and his wife took her basket and went out. Tickles cleaned his new boots, and then he scraped out his pipe, for it was very dirty. Then he frowned.
‘Now, what was it that Mrs Tickles said she wanted me to do?’ he wondered. 'Ah, ‘yes – I promised to write a note to the sweep. Well, I’ll do it now before I forget!’
He took out his notepaper and sat down. He felt in his pocket for his green pen. But it wasn’t there. Brother! Where was it?
‘That pen is always disappearing!’ grumbled Mr Tickles, crossly. ‘Now where did I put it?’
He hunted here and he hunted there. He looked on the dresser, he looked under the table. He went into the bedroom and looked on the bed. He looked simply everywhere! But he couldn’t find that green pen.
‘Let me see,’ said Mr Tickles. ‘I cleaned out my pipe this morning and put the scrapings in the dustbin. Oh, dear!’
Just then, who should come into the garden but the dustman to take away the rubbish from the dustbin. He picked up the bin and strode out to his cart. Mr Tickles tapped loudly on the window.
‘Wait, wait!’ he cried. ‘There is something valuable in the dustbin!’
But alas! The dustman had already tipped the dustbin into his cart. Mr Tickles ran out and scolded him
‘Why didn’t you wait when you heard me tapping at my window? My green fountain pen, the only one I have dropped into the dustbin. Now it’s gone into the cart.’
‘Well, sir,’ said the dustman, ‘I could go through the rubbish for you, if you like, and find your pen.’
‘You’d better do that,’ said Mr Tickles. ‘I really must have my green pen back.
’
The dustman began to search through the rubbish. He hunted through the cabbage leaves and the tea leaves, he looked in all the old tins, and he shook out the papers. But he couldn’t find that pen anywhere. At last he went back to Mr Tickles.
‘I’m very sorry, sir,’ he said, ‘but I can’t find that pen of yours.’
‘Dear, dear how foolish of you!’ said Mr Tickles. ‘I tell you it must be there!’
The dustman took a piece of paper from his pocket and gave it to Mr Tickles. ‘If you’ll just sign that paper, sir,’ he said, ‘I’ll see that your pen is hunted for once again, when I get back to the works. But I can’t stop and look any longer myself, because I’m late as it is.’
‘Very well, I’ll sign the paper,’ said Mr Tickles, impatiently. ‘Dear me, I wish I’d looked in the cart myself for my pen _ I’m sure I should have found it. It’s too bad to lose a fine green pen like that!’
He put the piece of paper on the flat top of his gatepost to sign it. He took his green pen from behind his ear, where he had so carefully put it, and signed his name. The dustman stared at him in amazement.
‘Now, what are you staring at me like that for?’ asked Mr Tickles, putting back his pen behind his ear. Really, really, it is very rude of you!’
‘It may be rude,’ said the dustman. ‘But pray tell me this, Mr Tickles _ why do you make me waste my time in looking for your green pen when you have it behind your ear all the time? You have just signed your name with it!’
Mr Tickles put up his hand _ and, of course, there was his green pen, behind his ear, just as the dustman had said! He did feel dreadful! He went first pink, then red, then purple.
‘How foolish I am!’ he wailed suddenly. ‘Oh, Dustman, don’t tell Mrs Tickles, will you? See, here are two pounds for all your trouble. Oh dear, dear, dear, what a stupid fellow I am!’
The dustman took the two pounds, grinned all over his face and went back to his cart, whistling. Mr Tickles went into the house, muttering to himself.
‘I’ll never forget where I put my green pen again, I never, never, never!’
But I shouldn’t be surprised if he forgets again tomorrow, would you?
