CHAPTER TWO
What had happened to the Scrobbler was this:
When Jim climbed off the train and raced off down the platform, the rucksack on his back bounced up and down, up and down, and the Scrobbler glopped right out and on to the ground.
Now the Scrobbler was in a very bad mood.
Firstly, he was angry with Jim’s Mum and Dad for saying he couldn’t go on the train unless he was corpled up in a rucksack. Secondly, he was angry with Jim for corpling him into the rucksack, most uncomfortably. Thirdly, he was angry with Jim’s little sister for eating chocolate whilst he, the Scrobbler, was corpled in the rucksack with none of his own.
These three things were quite bad enough. But when no-one noticed that he had glopped out on to the cold stony platform, when they all ignored him and went off without him, the Scrobbler was furious.
‘Don’t care!’ he growled. ‘Don’t care. No, not in the least.’ He blinked his izzbits. ‘In fact, I’m glad,’ he snarled.
And with that, he jumped up with a ‘Yip-yip yippee! I’m free! I’m free!’ and snurgled off down the platform, until he came to a sign.
The sign was written in big red letters. It said:
DO NOT, ON ANY ACCOUNT, WALK ON THE RAILWAY LINE.
The Scrobbler gleered at the sign. Remember that he had very little bran in his branbox, and besides he always did the opposite to what he was told. This is why he flipped off the platform and on to the rails.
Oh glibless Scrobbler, what are you doing down there on the train track? Do you want to get squashed? Actually the Scrobbler was trying to get back to Jim’s Granny’s house, where he knew there was a fridge full of ice cream and a cupboard full of cake.
He had an idea that he could run all the way back there along the railway line. (I told you he was branless.) So off he set, hurtling over the wooden sleepers, between the gleaming rails. And as he hurtled, he yammered to himself – yammered so loudly that he never heard what the loud speaker said.
What it said was this: THE TRAIN TO LONDON WILL BE ARRIVING IN ONE MINUTE. It said it very loudly and all the people standing on the platform heard it.
They picked up their bags and bundles and babies and got ready to get on the train. One very impatient man was in such a branless hurry that he came right to the edge of the platform, tripped, and dropped bag, bundle and baby on to the railway line.
Down they all tumbled, between the Scrobbler on one hand and the oncoming train on the other. It was a terrible thing to happen…
… because if there was one thing that really annoyed the Scrobbler, it was babies.
Horrible, wet, showy-offy things. All they do is yell ‘Me, me, me! Stand up. Sit down. Gimme some milk. Change my nappy.’ They’re not happy if you take your eyes off them for one second. That’s what Jim’s Scrobbler thought. ‘Get lost!’ he snarled. He rolled his izzbits. He gave an angry flump of his tickler.
Just then, the loud speaker gave its last warning. THE TRAIN TO LONDON WILL BE ARRIVING ANY MOMENT NOW, it said. But the Scrobbler wasn’t listening. He stuck out his grabbers, picked up the baby and flung it far far away.
Up flew the baby, high in the air, right to the roof of the station, and down again, glop! into the arms of her dad, who decided straight away to be sensible and never drop his baby again.
As for the Scrobbler, at that very instant the train to London arrived in the station and smacked him on the branbox.
Now the only thing that stopped Jim’s Scrobbler being knocked stone dead then and there was the fact he was mostly made of rubber, and could bounce like a ball.
Up flew the Scrobbler, high in the air, right to the roof of the station, and down again, glop, on to a ledge beside a pigeon.
‘Well I never. A flying dog do,’ said the pigeon snootily and flapped off with its nose in the air.
Well the Scrobbler could swap insults as rudely as anyone else, but he lay on the ledge and said never a word. This was because the train had smacked him right out of the here-and-now, and into the middle of Chapter 4, which is where you’ll find him, if you look.