Free Selby's Secret by Duncan Ball Page B

on a raspy voice. “I have (mumble mumble) fever and no one’s allowed to come near me.”
    â€œWhat kind of fever?” the man asked.
    â€œI have,” Selby shouted and then he let his voice drop again and he put a paw over his mouth, “(mumble mumble) fever.”
    â€œI still can’t hear you. It sounds like
mumble mumble
fever.”
    â€œIt’s doodlyboop fever,” Selby said, “and it’s very catching.”
    â€œI’ve never heard of doodlyboop fever.”
    â€œMost people who hear of it are dead by dinnertime,” Selby said. “Just push the blinkin’ paper under the door and I’ll sign it.”
    â€œI can’t get it under,” the man said, crumpling the paper as he tried. “There’s not enough room.”
    â€œOkay. I’ll open the door and go into my study. Just give the paper to my dog and he’ll bring it to me,” Selby said. “But I warn you, don’t set foot in the house if you know what’s good for you.”
    Selby unlocked the door and let the breeze blow it slowly open.
    â€œHere you go, mutt,” the man said, thrusting the paper into Selby’s mouth and giving him a good slap on the behind as he turned to go. “Get that stupid man to sign the thing. I’ve got to get cracking. It’s a long way back to civilisation.”
    Selby dashed into the darkened study, hopped on the chair and turned on the desk lamp to read the small print on the form.
    â€œMutt, schmutt,” Selby said, angry at the slap on the behind and at the man calling Dr Trifle stupid. “Well the form seems all right. I’ll just sign it and get rid of him.”
    Selby signed the paper using his best imitation of the doctor’s handwriting. He had folded it and put it in his mouth when suddenly the shadow of the
Lucky Millions
man fell across the desk.
    â€œHey!” the man said. “What’s going on here? Where’s Dr Trifle?”
    Selby turned his head slowly and looked at the man.
    â€œIn a second,” he thought, “he’ll know that Dr Trifle isn’t here. In another second he’ll know the horrible truth: that I’m the only reading, writing and talking dog in all of Australia and — as far as I know — in the world. This could be my last second of freedom. I’ve got to act fast.”
    The man snatched the paper from Selby’s mouth just as Selby’s paw hit the button on the desk lamp and cast the room into darkness. Before the man’s eyes could adjust to the dark, Selby yelled, “Get out of here, you fool! Get out before my dog rips you to pieces!”
    Selby growled and sank his teeth into the man’s leg as he ran out of the study and straight out the front door and through the petunias.
    â€œHelp! Call off your dog!” the man cried as he leaped into his car, throwing the envelope with the tickets in it out the window as he sped away.
    â€œSilly man,” Selby said, spitting out a piece of pants and picking up the envelope. “Why do people insist on making life so difficult?”

A Busman’s Holiday
    â€œThis is all very odd,” Dr Trifle said to Mrs Trifle as they stood on the pier waiting for the yacht to come and take them out to the Barrier Reef. “I still don’t see how we won these tickets.”
    â€œI told you. It was just luck,” Mrs Trifle said, feeling a little tired after the long flight from Bogusville. “I found a note in the letterbox with the tickets telling us all about it. Apparently they picked our names out of a hat. The point is,” she said, patting the smiling Selby, “when you need things, somehow they happen. We both needed a holiday and here we are.”
    â€œMy heavens,” Dr Trifle said, watching as a beat-up boat pulled into the pier. “What afunny-looking old thing that is. I wonder when our dream yacht will be along.”
    â€œAt your