Read Westlake, Donald E - Novel 25 for Free Online

a card in the package with the
truck. Philip's mother picked it up and read it. She said, "Oh! It's from
your Uncle Fred."
                   Philip said, "Who's he?"
                   "He's a man who used to be in college
with your father. He visited here one time when you were still a baby. I guess
you wouldn't remember him."
                   "I guess not," said Philip.
                   He didn't worry about it. He knew the world
was full of people named Uncle This and Aunt That,
grown-ups who seemed to know him even though he didn't know them and who
weren't really his uncles and aunts at all. And every once in
a while one of these make-believe uncles or aunts would give Philip a present.
                   Like this dump truck, which happened to be the
first dump truck Philip had ever owned. He'd seen dump trucks, of course, on
television and down at the corner where men were digging for the new apartment
house, but up until now he'd never actually owned a dump truck for himself .
                   Philip took his dump truck into the living
room and put it down on the floor. He pushed the button that started it and it
ran across the rug and stopped at the sofa. He
                  

 
      pushed the other
button and the scoop made pick-up motions. Then he got some blocks and put them
in the truck. He pushed the last button and the back of the truck lifted up and
the blocks slid out onto the rug.
                  

 
                   The truck worked all right, but somehow Philip
wasn't pleased.
                   He did it all again. He made the truck move,
and stop, and dump blocks out. He made the scoop move.
     
                   But something was wrong. And Philip knew what
it was.
                   Dirt.
                   The main point about a dump truck, it's
supposed to carry dirt. You put it down on the ground, and the scoop picks up
big mouthfuls of dirt and fills up the truck, and then you push the button and
the truck drives across the yard to where you want to move the dirt, and then
you push the other button and the back of the truck lifts up and all the dirt
slides out. That's what a dump truck does.
                   What Philip needed was some dirt.
                   But there just isn't very
much dirt around an apartment house. There's dust, especially under the
beds and in the backs of the closets, but that never gets deep enough to dig
in. And what else is there? Outside, the ground is all covered with cement and
asphalt and cobblestones. Inside, the ground is all covered with wooden floors
and tile and rugs.
                   Still, Philip now had himself a dump truck,
and he did want to operate that dump truck, right away. The problem was to find
some dirt.
                   Philip went back to the kitchen. He said to
his mother, "Mom, where can I find some dirt?"
                   "Some what?" his mother asked.
                   "Some dirt. To dig in, with this dump truck here."
                   "Oh, dirt! Well,
I'll tell you what. This Sunday, we'll all
                  

 
      go over to the park,
you and your father and I, and you can play with your new truck there, how's
that?"
                   "Yes, but what about right now?"
Philip said.
                   "Philip, I have a million things to do
right now."
                   Philip walked around the kitchen with the dump
truck in his arms. "I sure wish I could find some dirt," he said.
                   His mother said, "The next time we visit
Grandma you can take the truck along with you. She's got plenty of dirt around
her house."
                   "I sure wish I could find some dirt right
now," said Philip.
                   "You go on out of the kitchen," his
mother