Selby's Shemozzle (5 page)

Suddenly Selby straightened up.

‘Okay, Sylvia, I can see you're not going to talk to me. Maybe you don't trust me or maybe you're shy. Or maybe your throat is too sore from lots of talking. But I have to know if you can understand me, so I'm going to tell you a joke. If you understand it, you'll laugh. You won't be able to stop yourself. Here goes … Okay, so there was this elephant and this mouse walking along the street one day and …'

Selby went on and on telling his killer joke to Sylvia. Finally he got to the punchline.

‘Then, with a twinkle in his eye the elephant said to the mouse …' Selby stopped and looked at Sylvia. ‘Are you ready for this?' he asked.

‘Yes, of course. Keep going,' a voice said.

Selby looked down at Sylvia in amazement, but before he could say anything, a voice behind him said, ‘Well, go ahead!'

Selby spun around to see the two women standing in the doorway.

‘I don't believe it!' Fiona cried. ‘A real, live talking animal!'

‘I don't believe it either!' Davina cried. ‘I thought you'd just made it all up about animals talking!'

‘I thought I had too!' Fiona said.

‘Gulp,' Selby gulped, and he could feel the sweat starting to pour off him. ‘I've been caught red-mouthed. They know my secret! Maybe if I tell them the punchline, they'll laugh so hard I'll be able to get away. No, that's no good, because they probably didn't hear the joke from the beginning. Besides, they've seen what I look like now. Bogusville is a small town. They're sure to find me. I guess I'll just have to confess.'

‘Come on now, talk!' Fiona Fullstop said, bending down. ‘We heard you do it! Come on, Sylvia, talk!'

‘Sylvia?' Selby thought.

‘Yes, talk, Sylvia!' Davina demanded.

‘This cat is a goldmine!' Fiona said, pushing Selby out of the way to get to the cat box. ‘I'm going to sell this story for millions and billions of dollars! Hey! Who let that dog in here?! Out of the way, you!'

Selby watched as Fiona Fullstop grabbed the cat box and barged out the side door of the theatre with Davina close behind. In a second they'd sped away.

‘It was all a bit of a shemozzle,' Mrs Trifle said to Dr Trifle when she got home. ‘The book launch was cancelled. By the time I got there the author had run off, taking her cat with her.'

‘She probably just didn't want to be embarrassed when her cat didn't talk,' Dr Trifle said. ‘Everyone knows that animals can't talk.'

‘I don't know,' Mrs Trifle said, giving Selby a good scratch under the chin. ‘Sometimes I get the feeling that Selby understands every word we say. Isn't that true, Selby?'

‘I could answer that,' Selby thought, sighing secretly at the thoughts of the wonderful times he'd hoped to have with Sylvia, ‘but I won't — not yet, anyway.'

‘What's this game on TV with the balls and the numbers?' Dr Trifle asked as he watched a red ball with a number on it roll down a tube.

‘It's called a lottery, dear,' Mrs Trifle said.

‘A lottery? Do people win money or something?'

‘Yes. They buy a ticket with numbers on it. If their numbers come up they can win millions of dollars.'

Dr Trifle scratched his head, then said, ‘What do they do with the money?'

‘I guess they buy houses and yachts and they travel.'

‘It all sounds pretty silly to me.'

‘I agree,' said Mrs Trifle. ‘But some people enjoy just the betting part. They feel good when they think they can win and they feel bad when they lose. And if they do win then they jump up and down and scream. They like it when their feelings go up and down like a roller-coaster.'

‘Well, I don't,' Dr Trifle said. ‘I feel good just the way I am.'

‘Oh, how I'd love to win millions of dollars,' Selby thought as he lay nearby. ‘But what would I do with the money? I don't really
need
anything. I have something that no amount of money can buy. I've got the wonderful Trifles to look after me.'

Selby watched another ball roll down and stop.

‘But wait,' he thought. ‘
I've
got everything I need, but how about all the poor people who haven't? If I won millions of dollars, I think I'd give it away. That would make me feel really good. What am I thinking?, I can't buy a lottery ticket anyway.'

Selby was right. He couldn't buy a lottery ticket. But that didn't mean he couldn't find one — which is exactly what happened …

* * *

Two days later, Selby was out for his morning walk. He'd just passed the Bogusville Newsagency, and there it was on the ground.

‘A lottery ticket,' he thought. ‘Someone must have dropped it. And they didn't write their name on it so I can't give it back. Hey, this is going to be fun!'

That evening the Trifles went out and Selby lay in front of the TV watching the coloured balls roll down.

‘Okay,' Selby thought, ‘I want the first one to be seventeen, because that's the first number on my card.'

Selby was daydreaming about giving away millions of dollars, so he wasn't paying attention when the first ball came to a stop. Then he looked and looked again.

‘Hey!' he said. ‘It
is
seventeen! How do you like that?'

Another ball rolled down. This time Selby was paying attention.

‘I need five more,' he thought. ‘Wouldn't it be nice if I got my next one? Come on, sixty-three.'

The second ball rolled and rolled and then finally came to a stop.

‘Sixty-three!' Selby said. ‘Beginner's luck. I got my first two numbers. Maybe I should turn off the TV while I'm still feeling good. I know I won't get three numbers in a row.'

Selby was about to turn off the TV when the next ball dropped.

‘Forty-two?' he said, looking at his card. ‘That's my third number! I can't believe it! That's three. All I need is three more.'

Selby watched the next ball start rolling down the long slide.

‘Eighty-nine,' he thought. ‘I want it to be eighty-nine.'

The ball finally stopped.

‘Eighty-nine!' Selby cried. ‘All I need is two more numbers and I'll be a multi-multimillionaire! I'll be rich! Oh, please let the next one be seventy-one. Please, please, please!'

Selby took a deep breath.

‘Calm down. Lots of people get the first four numbers — it doesn't mean a thing. I've got to stay cool or I'm going to feel really, really
horrible when I lose. Come on, number seventy-one. Selby needs a seventy-one.'

The yellow ball rolled down and down the slide. Selby took a deep breath and put his paws over his eyes. Then he opened them very slowly.

‘Seventy-one!' he screamed. ‘I can't believe it! All I need is a fifteen and I'll win! Come on, fifteen!'

The next ball shot up the tube and then started rolling down and down like the others.

‘I think I see a one on it!' Selby squealed while the ball was still rolling. ‘Yes, it's definitely a one — and a
five!
There's a one and a five! Oh, please, please don't let it be fifty-one! Come on, fifteen! Come to Selby! Selby wants you! Selby
needs
you! Selby loves you, number fifteen!'

Selby jumped higher and higher till his head almost hit the ceiling. His heart pounded. His lungs were bursting. Sweat poured down his face.

Then finally the ball stopped.

Selby lay on the floor, gasping for breath, as he struggled to make sense of what had happened.

‘No,' he mumbled as he crawled towards the TV. ‘It's got to be a mistake. Am I wrong? Am I reading the number wrong? No! It's fifteen! It's beautiful, gorgeous number fifteen!
I've won!!!!! Yiiiiipppppppeeeee!'

Selby panted, clutching his crumpled lottery ticket.

‘Some very lucky person,' the announcer on TV said, ‘has just won ten million dollars, you lucky dog, you!'

‘Little does he know,' Selby thought, ‘that the lucky dog
is
a lucky dog. I'm a millionaire! I'm a
ten
millionaire! Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy! What am I going to do with all that dough?'

Visions of things to buy danced in Selby's head.

‘Of course, I'll give most of the moolah to charity,' Selby said, ‘but I might keep a little bit for a new TV — one of those big flat ones that's as big as a wall. The Trifles wouldn't know where it came from.'

Selby smiled as he imagined the surprise on the Trifles' faces.

‘Of course, we'll need one of those new satellite dishes that gets thousands of programs.
And a better DVD player and some of those fantastic huge speakers. We could have a whole entertainment room with seats like a movie theatre. But hang on a tick — this house is too small.'

Selby thought again.

‘I'll buy a new house — a nice big one like Madame Mascara's. I'll still have half the money to give to the poor people.'

Selby began to imagine his new life in Trifle Mansion.

‘We'll need lots of servants to do the cleaning. It wouldn't be fair if Dr and Mrs Trifle had to do it all. And I'll get them a nice big limo — and a chauffeur to drive it. Maybe I'll only give a quarter of the money away. The poor people should be happy with that,' Selby thought. ‘I guess I'd better get down to the newsagency. How will I do this? I think it's suit time.'

Selby dashed under the house and started to put on the dog suit disguise he kept hidden there.

‘Once we're in the mansion,' he thought, ‘I think I'll tell the Trifles my secret. But if they
know I can talk they might put me to work around the house. But hang on, we'll have lots of servants to do the work, so I really can tell them. Hey, and we can travel. I love to travel! So do the Trifles. We'll go everywhere first class. No, forget first class — I'll buy a private jet. And I'll need bodyguards, cos everyone will know I'm a talking dog and that. Okay, so there will only be a teeny bit of money left for the poor people. That's okay. They won't miss it if they never had it. But wait — I guess I should build a private landing strip next to the mansion, so we won't have to go all the way to the airport.'

It was a strange and lumpy figure who walked up to the counter in the newsagency.

‘I think I've won today's big jackpot,' it said.

The newsagent stared for a moment.

‘You're a dog, right?'

‘That's right.'

‘Very clever! Now no one's going to know who won, so you can't be hassled for money all the time.'

‘That's right.'

‘They can't rob you either.'

‘Right again.'

‘Oh, this is exciting,' the newsagent said. ‘I've never sold a winning ticket before. Let me just put your ticket through the machine and make sure that it is the winning ticket.'

The door behind Selby opened slowly and an old man came in, leaning heavily on his walking stick.

‘Could you check my ticket to see if I won?' he asked.

‘This gentleman here thinks he's won,' the newsagent said.

The man looked at Selby.

‘He doesn't look like a gentleman. He looks like a dog,' said the old man, searching his pockets. ‘Now, where is my ticket … I bought it here yesterday. It should be here somewhere, unless I dropped it on the street. Never mind, I'm sure I didn't win anything. I never do. Sorry to trouble you.'

Selby watched the old man shuffling slowly towards the door. He looked at his shabby coat and worn-out shoes.

‘It must be his ticket I found,' Selby thought. ‘Now I feel awful. Here I was all excited about winning the money and giving it away to the poor — well, maybe a bit of it — and it was a poor little old man who really won it. I can't do this. If I take the money I'll feel guilty forever.'

Selby dashed ahead, opening the door for the man and quickly slipping the ticket into his pocket.

‘Excuse me,' Selby said, ‘why don't you look through your pockets again?'

‘Oh, no, Mr Dog,' the old man answered. ‘The man said that you won it anyway.'

‘Well, maybe I didn't. I'm not very good with numbers. I might have read them wrong. Have another look … please?'

‘It doesn't matter,' the old man said. ‘What would I do with all that money anyway?'

‘For starters, you could buy some new clothes,' Selby thought. (He didn't say it, he only thought it.) Then he said, ‘Please, let me have a look.'

Selby pulled open the pocket where he'd put the ticket.

‘It's there,' he said. ‘Look!'

‘Goodness me. So it is.'

Selby took the ticket to the counter.

The newsagent put the ticket into the lottery machine. Suddenly bells rang and whistles whistled and buzzers buzzed.

‘You won, Mr Penticost!' the newsagent cried. ‘Sorry, mate,' he said to Selby. ‘I guess you lose. And all that trouble with the dog suit, too.'

‘But I feel good and that's all that matters,' Selby thought on his way home. ‘I had all the fun of winning the money and then the double
fun of giving it to someone who really needed it. What could be better?'

That evening on TV the Trifles saw the shouting and cheering crowd at the newsagency.

‘Can you believe this?' Mrs Trifle said. ‘Someone here in Bogusville just won ten million dollars in the lottery! It's Mr Penticost.'

‘Maybe he can buy himself some new clothes,' Dr Trifle said. ‘And fix up that broken-down house.'

‘He won't, you know,' Mrs Trifle said. ‘That man is the biggest cheapskate in the world. He's already inherited millions of dollars and he's never spent a cent of it.'

‘And what will you do with the money?' the lottery man asked Mr Penticost. ‘Buy a mansion? A yacht? An aeroplane? Or are you going to give it to charity?'

‘Charity?!' the old man said. ‘You've got to be joking! I'll save it. And then it'll all go to Wilbur when I'm gone.'

‘Who's Wilbur?'

‘My cockatoo. Did you know that cockatoos can live to be eighty years old? With all this
money, I know he'll always have enough birdseed.'

‘Oh, groan,' Selby thought. ‘I could have had all the money! I could have given it to charity! How much birdseed can Wilbur possibly eat?!'

‘The funny thing,' the old man said, ‘is that I was in a bit of a shemozzle — I couldn't find my ticket. So a very kind dog looked in one of my pockets and found it.'

‘A dog did that?'

‘Yes, and later on I looked in another pocket and found another ticket for the same lottery. I must have bought two tickets without knowing it.'

‘Groan and double groan,' Selby thought. ‘The lost ticket wasn't even his after all! Life just isn't fair.'