The Treasure of Mr Tipp (5 page)

I put the petition in my pocket and cycled over to 13 Weird Street after tea. Captain Cross-eyed signed it, then we set off down the road.

When we arrived at number 19, there was a lady dressed in a pink, spangly leotard, doing handstands in her garden.

“That's Ursula Bend. She used to be a circus acrobat,” whispered Captain Cross-eyed, as she began to spin cartwheels.

“Must keep in shape,” she said, landing neatly in front of us. “Now, what can I do for you?”

When we explained, she signed the petition right away.

“I would never complain about Mr Tipp,” she declared. “He fixed my leaky drainpipe. Now it's as good as new.” And we left her swinging round and round on a lower branch of a big oak tree.

“A lot of interesting people live in Weird Street,” I said to Captain Cross-eyed, who just nodded and smiled.

When we got to number 23, I pressed the bell.
DING DONG
!
DING DONG
! it boomed out, just like Big Ben. It gave me such a fright, I nearly jumped out of my socks.

“I should have warned you about that,” said Captain Cross-eyed. “Mr Woyka is a clockmaker and he's a bit deaf.”

An elderly gentleman with side whiskers opened the door. “Who are you?” he peered at me. “If you're selling something, I don't want it.”

“We're not selling anything, Mr Woyka. We just want you to sign a petition to help Mr Tipp,” bellowed Captain Cross-eyed.

“A petition? I never sign anything without reading it. Come in. I must find my glasses.”

We went inside. No wonder Mr Woyka could hardly hear anything, the whole house was full of clocks, tick-tocking, chiming or cuckooing. An elderly lady sat in a rocking chair by the fire, conducting an imaginary orchestra.

“Rose,” bellowed Mr Woyka. “Have you seen my glasses?”

Mrs Woyka did not reply, so Mr Woyka took off her headphones and asked again.

“You had them on when you were looking at old Tom.”

“Ah,” said Mr Woyka, and went over to the biggest of the grandfather clocks. He opened the case and felt inside. “Here they are. Must have slipped off when I wasn't looking.” He put on a pair of very thick glasses and read the petition. “Of course I'll sign this,” he said. “Mr Tipp makes the spare parts to keep old Tom going.” He patted the clock affectionately. Then he gave the petition to his wife to sign, too.

“Right,” said Captain Cross-eyed, when we left. “Now let's go to number 36 and see if Dr Sphinx is around.”

“Number 36,” I gulped. “That's the house with the shoulder-high grass. I have to go there on my paper round. I'm sure wild animals live there.”

Captain Cross-eyed just laughed.

I felt a
bit
braver opening the gate with a large pirate by my side. But not much. I could hear strange rustling sounds in the undergrowth.

“Here, Tiger,” called Captain Cross-eyed.

Tiger
?

A large cat with a stripy tail slid out of the long grass and wound himself round the captain's leg.

“Dr Sphinx has a lot of cats, but Tiger's my favourite.”

More and more cats appeared until the captain and I were surrounded. Then the undergrowth rustled again and a man emerged. He wore jodhpurs, a shirt with lots of pockets, and a strange kind of hat.

“Dr Sphinx,” said Captain Cross-eyed. “This is my young friend, Jonny Smith, and we need your help.”

“Always happy to help,” said Dr Sphinx, and listened to our story.

“It will be a pleasure to sign the petition,” he said. “When Inca lost one of her legs in a car accident, Mr Tipp made her a new one. Look…”

I looked, and noticed for the first time that one of the cats had an artificial leg with a little wheel on the end.

“Cool,” I said.

“Inca thinks so,” smiled Dr Sphinx. He signed his name with a squiggle then disappeared back the way he had come.

It was the same at every house – the neighbours were very happy to sign their names. Even Miss King, with the very neat garden at number 57, agreed. None of them had complained about Mr Tipp's messy garden.

“So Mr Gripe told Mr Tipp a lie,” I said. “My teacher says lying's very, very bad.”

“It is,” agreed Captain Cross-eyed. “Unless there's a very good reason for it.”

“What reason could there possibly be?” I asked.

I was about to find out.

The next morning, I took the petition round to Mr Tipp.

“It's bound to cheer him up,” I said to Mum and Dad, as I grabbed an apple and jumped on my bike.

But it didn't.

“It was very nice of the neighbours to sign this, Jonny,” he said sadly. “But it's too late. This has just arrived.”

He handed me a letter.

“It says my house is a danger to health and safety,” he explained. “The council want to pull it down and put me in an old people's home. They don't think I can look after myself properly any more.”

“But that's crazy,” I said. “Anyway, you've got Charlie and Ben and Alice to help you…”

“Try explaining that to the council.”

“I will,” I said. “Or at least my dad will. Just you wait and see.”

Mr Tipp smiled, but I could see he wasn't convinced.

Dad wasn't convinced, either. “If he really does need looking after, Jonny,” he said quietly. “I don't think this petition will work.”

“Sometimes they do,” said Gran, who had come over for tea. “The one we signed the other day did. I heard from my friend, Mrs Bone, that we're going to get more bins in the town centre. Pity that won't help the mess the chewing gum makes on the pavements, though. Costs the council a fortune to clean
that
up.”

“Mrs Bone?” I said. “Haven't I met her?”

Gran nodded. “She often presents the prizes at your school summer fête. Her husband owns the sweet factory.”

That's when it hit me.

“Gran,” I yelled. “You're a genius. I must get my genius genes from you!”

Thanks to Gran, I had just had another of my brainwaves.

I explained it to my family at length.

“Hmm, it might just work,” said Dad. “Mr Bone's always on the look-out for new ideas. Shall we give it a try?”

“Anything to help Mr Tipp,” I nodded, and crossed my fingers, my toes and my eyes.

Dad phoned Mr Bone and told him all about the Boomerang chewing gum. Mr Bone was very interested, and said he would like to meet Mr Tipp. So Dad phoned Mr Tipp and a meeting was arranged at number 34 and a half the next afternoon.

“Can I come, too?” I asked.

“Of course,” said Dad. “It's all
your
idea.”