The Treasure of Mr Tipp (4 page)

“What a pity Bob's not allowed to wave from the roof any more,” I said.

We collected our bikes and were just leaving when a large, silver car arrived and stopped outside the gate. A man with a briefcase got out and headed towards Mr Tipp.

I saw Mr Tipp frown.

“I bet that was Mr Gripe,” I said to Sara and Surinder. “I wonder what he wants now. I hope it doesn't mean more trouble for Mr Tipp.”

But it did.

After our visit to Mr Tipp, we headed into town to spend our pocket money. At least Sara and Surinder did, I was still saving up for my new bike.

We met Mum and Ellie and Gran in the shopping mall. Ellie was eating an ice cream while Mum and Gran signed a petition.

“It's for more bins in the town centre,” said Mum. “These ones are overflowing.”

“And they smell,” declared Gran. “The streets are a disgrace. They weren't like that when I was a girl.”

Sara, Surinder and I giggled. It was hard to imagine my gran ever being a girl. Gran smiled, too, and gave us some money
for ice cream. We raced each other to the café, and took ages to decide what flavour we wanted. Then we strolled around, licking our cones and checking out the latest trainers. Surinder was thinking about buying a pair with his birthday money and disappeared inside a shop. Sara was heading to the library, so I cycled home.

Dad was just settling down on the sofa to watch some sport, but he listened carefully when I told him the story of Bob and Mr Gripe.

“Bob could have been a danger,” he said.

“But Bob's been taken down, so why would Mr Gripe go back to see Mr Tipp?”

Dad shrugged. His favourite football team had just appeared on the screen and he had other things to think about.

But I didn't. I thought about the mystery of Mr Gripe all weekend, and still couldn't come up with an answer.

I'll get up extra early on Monday morning, I decided, and go and call on Mr Tipp. That way I'll find out what's going on.

But when I arrived at number 34 and a half, Mr Tipp was already outside on his three-wheeler bike, with his trailer piled high.

“You've been out rescuing treasure early today,” I said.

Mr Tipp shook his head sadly.” Not
rescuing
, Jonny,” he said. “Getting rid off. I've got to take all this stuff to the dump. Mr Gripe was here on Saturday and he said
I have to clear everything out of my front garden.”

“But why?” I said. “It's your garden.”

“Health and safety again,” said Mr Tipp. “Someone might come to the house and trip over it. And he said there had been lots of complaints from the neighbours about the mess.”

“Yours isn't the only messy garden,” I said. “What about the shoulder-high grass next door?”

But Mr Tipp just sighed and pedalled away.

I popped his paper in the milk churn and carried on with my round. When I got to number 13, I bumped into Captain Cross-eyed.

“Good morning, Jonny,” he said. “You look a bit glum. Is something wrong?”

“It's Mr Tipp,” I said, and told him the story.

“That's odd.” Captain Cross-eyed frowned. “I know Mr Tipp's garden is a bit messy, but no one around here would ever complain. It's far too useful. He's always got spare parts for washing machines or lawn mowers, and he's always fixing things for people, too. Mr Tipp's a very kind and clever man.”

“I know,” I said. “But now he thinks the neighbours are complaining about him and he's really upset.”

Then I had one of my brilliant brainwaves. That happens sometimes. I think I must have genius genes. I remembered the petition from Saturday. Perhaps the neighbours would sign something to get Mr Gripe to leave Mr Tipp alone.

I asked Captain Cross-eyed what he thought.

“Splendid idea,” he said. “You write out the petition and I'll sign it. Better still, I'll go round the neighbours with you and get them all to sign, too.”

I grinned as I pedalled off. No one would dare to argue with an enormous pirate.

I was in good time for school. That pleased Miss Dodds. I got all my maths problems correct, too. That pleased her even more.
I scored a goal at football practice. That pleased Mr McGregor, who'd been threatening to drop me from the team. And
I
was pleased that we had art that afternoon. I like art. I'm quite good at it, so I don't usually get into any trouble…

Miss Dodds had pinned up a picture of Monet's
Water Lilies
for us to copy, and I'd finished mine in record time. It was quite like Monet's, except I had painted some large frogs on the lily pads.

I was just waiting for them to dry, when I spotted a spare piece of paper.

That would do for the petition, I thought. I could write it out while Miss Dodds was busy helping Sara. Sara is hopeless at art. She can't even draw a straight line with a ruler.

So I wrote out a petition like the one I had seen Mum and Gran sign. It said:

I was very pleased with that “valuable member of the community” bit, as I'd heard my dad say it about Captain Cross-eyed. Then I started to illustrate the edges by drawing some of Mr Tipp's robots. I put in Charlie, Ben, Mop-head Alice and Bob.

“Jonny Smith, what are you doing?”

Oh no! I hadn't heard Miss Dodds approach.

“Er, it's a petition,” I said. “Captain Cross-eyed, who lives at 13 Weird Street, is going to take it round the neighbours with me. Mr Tipp, who lives at 34 and a half, is being asked by the council to clear up his garden because the neighbours are complaining about the junk… But they're not. Mr Tipp's an inventor who makes robots.

That's Charlie with his red rubber glove, who opens the front door; Ben, who sweeps the floor, though I've never actually seen him do that; and Mop-head Alice, who switches on the kettle. I've seen her do that. And that's Bob, the scarobot I told you about last week…”
When you didn't believe me, either
, I could have added.

Miss Dodds gave me one of her looks. The one that can turn your belly to jelly.
“If you persist with this silly storytelling, Jonny Smith,” she said. “I will have to speak to your parents about it at parents' night. Have a think about it. The choice is yours.”

YIKES!