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Ice Cream Truckitis
Tilly and Skinny were coming out of the grocery store, each carrying two bags of groceries, when they noticed the white truck parked in front of Al's Auto Repair Shop across the street.
"Oh, no," Skinny said, "I hope the ice cream truck is not sick."
"Probably just having his new tune put in," Tilly said. "Probably nothing to worry about."
"Let's go see," Skinny said.
The pair walked across the street. Al Parker's boots were sticking out from under the truck.
"Hey, Al," Skinny called. "What's up with the truck? Just routine isn't it? Nothing major? Nothing to keep it off the road or anything?"
Al's grumbled reply was unintelligible. Skinny squatted down. "Anything I can do to help? You're just doing a tune up, right?"
Al coughed out something. Tilly noticed a greasy wrench lying in a pool of oil. "If you're doing a tune up," Tilly said, "could you put in something different from 'Pop Goes the Weasel'? I was getting mighty tired of that by the end of last summer."
Something clattered. Al growled. Something banged.
"Years ago I remember 'Turkey in the Straw.' That was a lively little piece. I wouldn't mind hearing that again." By the strangest coincidence, a pair of tiny feathers drifted up past Tilly's eyes.
Bang, bang, ping, bang, from underneath the truck. "Al? Al, are you all right?" More feathers, soot gray. "Al?"
Nothing.
"Skinny," said Tilly, "crawl on under there and see if you can give Al a hand."
"I've got my hands full of grocery bags," Skinny said.
"Brigger rust-a-merch! Thistle barrel!" Al's gruff voice scraped the pavement, chased by six or seven fierce bangs and a rapid burst of sharp bings. "Cobwebbing cockerspaniel!"
"I hope those aren't new flavors of ice cream," Tilly whispered to Skinny.
Skinny giggled.
"Maybe we'd better mosey off," Tilly suggested. "I'm sure Al has things under control."
"He'd better," Skinny said as they started to stroll home. "It would be dreadful if ice cream season got delayed. Feel how hot the sun is today. I could go for a triple dipper right this instant."
"Me, too," Tilly said. It was then that he noticed the drips. Cherry vanilla blooming from the side of the bag. A sticky trail of Rocky Road.
"Oh, no," Skinny said. "Oh, no, oh no, oh no. We're leaking! Do something, Tilly. Do something."
"Thistle barrel," Tilly said.
"Oh, great," Skinny said. "That helps a lot."
"Worth a try," Tilly said. "Anyway, someone will be happy."
"Who?"
"The ants. Ice cream season comes early for them this year."
Story by Walter Galen Art by Leila Colbrese |
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