by Jack Lasenby
“Mr Bryce said he once had a lazy horse, and he drew a picture of him being hanged with his tongue sticking out, and it cured him. And Mr Bryce gave me some lollies on tick, so I’d have one to give Horse if he pushes the wheelbarrow.”
“Where are the boiled lollies?” Dad said at once.
“In my pocket.”
“Show them to me!” said Dad. “There’s four!”
“Mr Bryce said there’s one for me, one for you, one for Mr Bluenose, and one for Horse – but only after he pushes the wheelbarrow.”
“When am I getting my one?” Dad asked.
“When you help me to draw the picture of Horse being hanged.”
“Did Mr Bryce say that?”
“No, I made it up just now.”
“Let’s have a go!” Dad worked on the drawing with me. We made it much bigger. We drew big ears on Horse. Big lips. And big teeth. Dad found an ink pencil, licked it, and started using that. After a while, he had blue all over his lips.
“There!” Dad said. “That ought to scare him into pushing the wheelbarrow. Now can I have my boiled lolly?”
“You always tell me to say please.”
“Please!”
“I’ve just had an idea,” I told him. “It might better if you wait till I show Horse his picture. If he’s scared and pushes the wheelbarrow, I’ll give you your boiled lolly then. Mr Bryce said it’s a waste of time giving people boiled lollies before they’ve finished their work.”
“That’s not fair!”
“It may not be fair, but Mr Bryce said it’s the only way to get people to do anything. I’m not going to give Horse and Mr Bluenose their lollies till after Horse has pushed the wheelbarrow.”
“What if Horse doesn’t push the wheelbarrow?”
“Then nobody gets a boiled lolly.”
“What about you?” Dad asked me.
“I hadn’t thought about that.”
“It wouldn’t be fair if you had a boiled lolly and the rest of us didn’t.”
“I don’t see why not.”
“Think about it. Anyway, if you’re not going to give us our boiled lollies, what are you going to do with them?”
I looked down at my feet. “I thought I might eat them myself.”
“Don’t you think you should give them back to Mr Bryce?”
“He doesn’t want them back. He gave them to me on tick. Besides, I’ve already licked my one a couple of times.
I couldn’t resist it.”
“Do you know what on tick means?”
I shook my head.
“It means you still have to pay for them. The first empty bottles you take in to Mr Bryce, he won’t pay you for them because you’ve already used them up, getting these boiled lollies on tick.”
“Only four!”
“That’s how tick works. In the long run, it means you pay more for less.”
“It’s not fair!”
“It’s fair in a way. Mr Bryce runs the shop to make money, just as Mr Bluenose grows apples to make money. You collect empty bottles to make money, and I go to work over at the dairy factory to make money.”
As he talked, Dad was adding to the drawing. Horse’s eyes rolled, his tongue stuck out. And his ears hung down over his face. He looked very unhappy.
“If I was Horse, and you showed me the picture,” I said, “I’d be so scared, I’d want to push the wheelbarrow!”
“Me, too,” said Dad. “Now, it’s time you were in bed. Do you want me to look after the boiled lollies?”
“I don’t trust you,” I told him.
“Can you trust yourself?” Dad asked.
“No,” I said, “but I’ll put them under my pillow. My tongue isn’t long enough to lick them there.”
“What if I come and steal them after you’ve gone to sleep?”
“I’ll wake up and bite you!”
“All this trouble,” Dad said, “just because an old horse won’t push a wheelbarrow. Oh, well, if you won’t give me a boiled lolly, I might as well read the paper and go to bed. Goodnight! Sleep tight! Hope the fleas don’t bite!”
“Goodnight!” I told him, and I felt the four boiled lollies wrapped in paper under my pillow. I’d go to sleep with my hand on them so I’d wake up at once if Dad tried to steal them.
16
Scaring Horse and Making Him Jealous, Keeping a Promise, A Great Success, and Why I Climbed Mr Bluenose’s Gate and Ran.
“Mr Bryce told me to draw it,” I said to Mr Bluenose, “and Dad gave me a hand. Mr Bryce said Horse will take one look and want to push the wheelbarrow.”
Mr Bluenose pointed. “What is that?”
“His tongue sticking out. Mr Bryce said to put it in because it would help to scare Horse.”
“It scares me!” said Mr Bluenose. “Perhaps your picture will work. Do you want to put some apples in the wheelbarrow, and feed them to the pigs on the way up to Horse’s paddock?”
“What for?”
“It will make Horse jealous. He’ll want to do something to please you. Then you show him the picture and scare him, and then he will want to push the wheelbarrow.”
It sounded a good idea when Mr Bluenose said it. I put some apples in the wheelbarrow, put the picture of Horse being hanged on top of them, and pushed the wheelbarrow up to Horse’s paddock. As I went past their sty, I grunted and said hello to the pigs. “I’ll give you your apples on the way back,” I told them. I’d remembered how Horse had whinnied that other time, and I thought it wasn’t really fair, making him jealous of the pigs.
I pushed the wheelbarrow into Horse’s paddock, closed the gate behind me, and poked the hook through the staple. Of course, Horse took one look at the wheelbarrow and ran down the other end of the paddock.
“I’ve got a picture to show you,” I called to him and went to take it out of the wheelbarrow but, before I could show it to him, Horse was back, shoving me out of the way and sticking his head into the wheelbarrow. I waited for him to scream when he saw the picture of himself being hanged with his tongue sticking out, but he just pushed it aside with his nose and began eating. “Those are the pigs’ apples,” I told him.
“This is you being hanged,” I held up the picture. “This is the rope around your neck, and this is your tongue sticking out.” Horse snorted and stuck his head down. Perhaps it was working! I moved between him and the wheelbarrow, but he just leaned against me and reached for another apple. I had to step out of his way. Horse’s nose shoved the wheelbarrow and it moved forward. He moved after it, and the wheelbarrow moved forward again.
Horse grabbed with his big teeth for an apple, and his nose shoved the wheelbarrow again. The wheel turned, and the wheelbarrow ran away down the slope. Horse followed, shoving with his nose and trying to get another apple, and the harder he shoved, the faster the wheelbarrow ran away.
He pushed the wheelbarrow halfway down the paddock before it fell over, and the last of the pigs’ apples rolled out. Horse leapt on them, munching them down, looking over his shoulder in case I was going to take them off him.
“Ha! Ha! Ha!” Mr Bluenose stood at the gate, laughing and pointing. “Mr Bryce’s idea worked! Horse pushed the wheelbarrow!”
“Just with his nose,” I said. “Not properly, with his hands.”
“It does not matter what he pushed it with. He pushed the wheelbarrow!”
I felt quite pleased, even though Horse hadn’t done it the way I wanted him to. I said, “I suppose I’ll have to give him the boiled lolly – even if he did eat the pigs’ apples.”
“Of course you will. But first you should see if he remembers how to push the wheelbarrow. See if he has really learned how to do it.”
I looked at Horse and saw he was worried. “No,” I said to Mr Bluenose, “that wouldn’t be fair. I told him he could have the boiled lolly if he pushed the wheelbarrow, and he has done that, even if he did push it with his nose instead of his hands. I promised him!”
“If you promised him,” said Mr Bluenose
, “then you must keep your promise.”
“Here’s your boiled lolly,” I told Horse. He pulled back his top lip till I could see bits of apple stuck between his big teeth, and he snuffled up the boiled lolly. I heard something crunch, but it might have been apple.
“Here’s yours, too,” I said and gave Mr Bluenose his boiled lolly.
“Thank you,” said Mr Bluenose. “I’ll just have a lick of it now, and put it away for later. Remember, I told you a boiled lolly can last a long time, if you look after it.”
“And one for me!” I said. I put it in my mouth.
“Who’s the other one for?” asked Mr Bluenose.
“That’s for my father, for helping me draw the picture. He doesn’t get many boiled lollies, and I know he loves them.”
“Well, that is a great success!” said Mr Bluenose. “What are you going to do now?”
“I’m going to look for some empty bottles for Mr Bryce. He gave me the boiled lollies on tick. Dad says that means the next bottles I take in to the store, I don’t get paid for.” I sucked my boiled lolly carefully so it would last.
“You know the ditch in front of the post office?” said Mr Bluenose. “I was coming back from the railway station and saw a couple of beer bottles in there. It might be worth having a look in the long grass as well.”
“When did you see them?”
“Early this morning. I had just met the paper train.”
“I’d better run,” I said, “or somebody will pinch them.”
“Hooray!” said Mr Bluenose. “Thank you for teaching Horse how to push the wheelbarrow with his nose. And thank you for the boiled lolly!” But I was running fast, and when he yelled out something else, I couldn’t hear. I did look back, as I climbed the gate. Mr Bluenose was waving my drawing of Horse being hanged with his tongue sticking out. “You can keep it!” I yelled. “To scare Horse with!”
I dropped over the gate and ran.
17
The Bottle Thief Strikes, How I Worked to Pay Off the Boiled Lollies I Got on Tick, and A Pleasure to Do Business With.
“Did Freddy Jones bring in some empty bottles just now?”
“Taihoa!” Mr Bryce looked at me over his glasses and went on unpacking a crate.
“Those empty beer bottles he brought in –”
“Taihoa. Take it easy.”
“They’re mine!”
“Take a deep breath,’ said Mr Bryce. “Now, what’s the trouble?”
“There were some empty bottles in the ditch in front of the post office. They’re mine because Mr Bluenose told me about them, and Freddy Jones pinched them and sold them to you, and when I looked he’d stolen them, and it’s not fair.”
“Calm down. Freddy Jones hasn’t been in here all morning.”
“I showed Horse his picture, and he pushed the wheelbarrow with his nose, not with his hands, but he did push it halfway down the paddock. And I gave him his boiled lolly, and one to Mr Bluenose, and one for me. And Mr Bluenose told me about the empty bottles in front of the post office, and I ran all the way, and they were gone. Stolen.”
“So you got Horse to push Mr Bluenose’s wheelbarrow?” Mr Bryce pushed his glasses on top of his head. “Did Mr Bluenose see it?”
“He said it was a great success. Horse only pushed it with his nose, not his hands. Still, Mr Bluenose said he did push it. Halfway down the paddock.”
“So you taught him how to do it. That’s really remarkable! Here,” Mr Bryce took the big glass lid off the jar of boiled lollies. “Pick out the biggest one you can see. That’s extra for teaching Mr Bluenose’s horse to push the wheelbarrow.”
“Thank you very much,” I told Mr Bryce, “but my father told me what getting things on tick means. And I was going to pay for the boiled lollies you gave me on tick, but Freddy Jones stole my empty bottles. It’s not fair!”
“It can’t have been Freddy Jones,” said Mr Bryce, “because he hasn’t been in here. Unless he sold them to Mrs Doleman. Hey, come back!”
But I was running along the street to Mrs Doleman’s billiard saloon. “Mrs Doleman, did Freddy Jones sell you some empty bottles?” I asked her.
“Nobody’s brought in any empty bottles this morning,” said Mrs Doleman. “But I’ll tell you what – some rapscallion pinched the bottles from round the back of my billiard saloon. So any scoundrel who brings in empty bottles to sell to me is going to get a flea in his ear, I can tell you that!”
“Thank you, Mrs Doleman!” I ran back along the street to Mr Bryce’s. “Mrs Doleman says there’s a bottle thief in Waharoa!” I gulped. “Somebody pinched some empty bottles from round the back of the billiard saloon.”
“I’d better have a look at mine.” Mr Bryce went through the storeroom and out the back of his shop, and I followed. There, in crates and boxes and on the concrete by the tankstand, stood scores and scores of empty bottles. Some were floating in water in an old galvanised iron bath under the tap on the side of the tank.
“I wouldn’t know if there’s any been pinched or not,” said Mr Bryce. “I haven’t got time to soak the labels off them all, and wash the dirty ones.”
“A really wicked bottle thief,” I said, “could sell you some bottles, come round the back here, pinch them, and take them round the front and sell them to you all over again.”
“Thanks for warning me,” said Mr Bryce. “I’ll tell you what. You take the labels off those ones in the bath, put them in the empty crates, and put in another lot to soak, and we’ll call it square, those boiled lollies you had on tick.”
It was harder work than it looked. Some bottles had spiders’ webs inside, and I had to clean them out with a bottle-brush that hung from the tankstand. But I washed all the ones in the bath, peeled off the labels, put them in the wooden crates, and filled the bath with another lot.
“You did a good job,” said Mr Bryce. “Here’s a bag of boiled lollies.”
“And does that mean I’ve paid off the boiled lollies I had on tick?”
“We’re all square,” said Mr Bryce. “It’s a pleasure to do business with you. Just one thing though. You said you gave Horse his boiled lolly. And Mr Bluenose. And the one for yourself. But I gave you four lollies on tick. What happened to the other, the one for your father?”
“I’ve got it in my pocket. Dad helped me draw the picture of Horse being hanged with his tongue sticking out, so I’m going to give it to him at midday when he comes home from work. Dad loves boiled lollies for lunch.”
“Why didn’t you give it to him before, when he helped you draw the picture?”
“Remember you told me not to give Horse the lolly till he’d pushed the wheelbarrow? Well, the same thing with Dad. I told him I wasn’t giving him his lolly till the picture worked.”
“Gee,” said Mr Bryce, “you’re pretty tough to do business with.”
“No,” I said. “But I’m learning about things like tick.”
“Well, any time you want to earn a few boiled lollies, remember I’ve got lots of bottles round the back that need washing and the labels soaked off.”
“Thank you,” I said. “But it’s really more fun finding them in the ditch and in the long grass and selling them to you.”
“I can understand that,” said Mr Bryce. “But you’re going to have to be smart, now we’ve got a bottle thief in Waharoa.”
“I know who stole my bottles!”
“It can’t be Freddy Jones,” said Mr Bryce. “I saw him with his mother getting on the nine o’clock train to Matamata. They won’t be home till the four-thirty. So it can’t be him.”
“I’m going to tell Dad,” I said. “He’ll help me draw a picture of a bottle thief being hanged with his tongue sticking out. It worked with Horse, so it’ll work with him, too.”
“You’d better give your father his boiled lolly first, or he might not do the drawing.”
I thought of Dad sitting on his own at home, waiting for his lunch. “Thanks, Mr Bryce!” I ran.
18
When I told Dad how Horse had pushed the wheelbarrow with his nose, he demanded his boiled lolly at once. He sucked it noisily as I told him how I washed the empty bottles and paid off the boiled lollies I’d got on tick.
“And Mr Bryce gave me a whole bagful for teaching Horse to push the wheelbarrow!”
“Are you going to give me any?” Dad asked.
“You’re still chewing the one I just gave you.”
“Yes, but for when it’s finished.”
“If it was me, you’d say I was being piggy. Oh, all right! Don’t pretend to cry! We’ll see,” I told him. “But, first, you’ve got to do something to earn it.”
“What?”
“Draw a picture of a bottle thief being hanged with his tongue sticking out.” And I told Dad about my bottles in the ditch outside the post office, and how the bottle thief stole them.
“Who’s the bottle thief?”
“I thought it was Freddy Jones, but Mr Bryce said he saw him getting on the nine o’clock train to Matamata this morning. And both Mr Bryce and Mrs Doleman said nobody had brought in any empty bottles today, but Mrs Doleman said some rapscallion had stolen some empty bottles from round the back of the billiard saloon.”
“How can I draw a bottle thief when I don’t know who it is?”
“Just draw somebody without a face. Smooth like an egg. That should scare him!”
“It’s a scary idea, all right. But you wanted their tongue sticking out.”
“What about drawing him with a mask over his eyes? And I’ll show it to him, and he’ll have to own up.”
“You still think it’s Freddy Jones, don’t you?”
“Who else would steal my bottles?”
“Poor Freddy Jones.” Dad shook his head. “I forgot,” he said. “I brought home a treat for you!” He held up a brown paper bag.