DIRT!
The window box was just wide enough for the truck. Philip put it down at one end and pushed the buttons. When the truck was full of dirt, he drove it down to the other end of the window box and dumped the dirt out again.
It worked fine. Everything was A-OK.
Philip made the dump truck work again. And again. And again.
Some of the dirt fell over the side of the window box, but there was still plenty left. More than enough.
Philip kept working.
Then all at once, Philip’s mother came in and said, “So it’s true.”
Philip said, “What’s true?”
“Mister Neep just called me,” Philip’s mother said, “and told me you spilled dirt all over the top of his hat.”
Philip said, “Me?”
“Just look out the window,” said his mother.
So Philip looked out the window, being very careful to hold on. He leaned over the top of the window box and looked down toward the ground.
It was true all right. Way down there, his brass buttons shining in the sunlight, was Mister Neep. He was holding his hat in his hand and looking up. When he saw Philip, he shook his fist. That was to let Philip know he was not at all pleased.
“You can’t play in the window box,” said Philip’s mother. “The next thing you know, you’ll drop your new truck on Mister Neep’s head, and that wouldn’t be so good.”
“I’ll play somewhere else,” said Philip.
“Good,” said his mother.
So Philip walked around and around the apartment again, looking for someplace else with dirt. But there wasn’t anyplace else with dirt, nowhere in the apartment.
After a while, Philip went to the kitchen and said to his mother, “I’m going out and play.”
“All right,” said his mother. “And you be sure and tell Mister Neep you’re sorry you spilled dirt on his hat.”
“I will,” said Philip.
Down in the elevator went Philip, carrying his dump truck. He went outside in the sunlight. Mister Neep was standing there with his arms folded. He was still angry, and he looked as big as a mountain.
Philip said, “I’m sorry about spilling dirt on top of your hat, Mister Neep. I didn’t mean to do it. I won’t do it again.”
Mister Neep thought it over, and decided not to be mad any more. “Apology accepted,” he said.
“I was just playing with my new dump truck,” Philip explained. “Would you know where I could find some dirt?”
“Well,” said Mister Neep, “in my experience, dirt seems to fall from the sky sometimes. The only other place I can think of is the park.”
“My mother will take me there on Sunday,” said Philip. “But I was thinking about right now.”
“Then I don’t know,” said Mister Neep.
“Oh, well,” said Philip. “I’ll just keep on looking.”
Philip went back inside, feeling very glum. He didn’t know where to look next for dirt.
Then, all at once, he saw a great big pot of sand next to the elevator. It had been there all along, but Philip had just never noticed it before.
This pot of sand was for grown-ups. They put cigarettes in it before getting into the elevator. But Mister Neep had just put fresh sand in the pot this morning and it was still clean.
The pot was just big enough for the dump truck to circle in. Philip knelt down on the floor beside the pot of sand, and he and his dump truck went back to work.
Philip found that sand was very good stuff to work with. The scoop bit into it smoothly every time, and it spread out to fill every corner of the truck, and when he dumped it out, it made a very interesting mountain shape. Philip worked and worked.
All of a sudden, a shadow spread over the pot of sand. Philip looked up. Mister Neep was standing there with his hands on his hips. Mister Neep’s face looked like the sky just before a thunderstorm, but with some red in it around the nose.
Mister Neep was angry again.
Philip said, “Am I doing something wrong, Mister Neep?”
“Take one look at that floor,” said Mister Neep.
Philip took one look at the floor. Then he knew what Mister Neep was angry about. The dump truck hadn’t just been moving sand around inside the pot. It had also been spilling sand onto the floor. There was quite a bit of sand on the floor now, almost as much as there was in the pot.
“I’m going to have to clean that up,” said Mister Neep.
“I’m sorry,” said Philip. “I didn’t notice it.”
“Well, I noticed it,” said Mister Neep. “And if I notice any more from you today, you just might notice a stinging sensation in the seat of your pants. Do you follow me?”
“Yes,” said Philip. “You mean you might swat me.”
“That’s exactly what I mean,” said Mister Neep. “Now, I’m going to go get the broom and dustpan. Where will you be when I come back?”
“Somewhere else,” said Philip.
“Very good,” said Mister Neep.
Mister Neep went away to his closet for the dustpan and broom. Philip picked up his truck and went somewhere else.
Where Philip went was outside on the sidewalk. He stood there with his new truck and looked around. He tried and tried to think where he could find some dirt to dig in, but there just didn’t seem to be any dirt anywhere.
Out beyond the sidewalk was the street. Buses rumbled by on the street. Trucks thundered by. Tractor trailers growled by. Automobiles and taxicabs whizzed by. Little foreign cars zipped by.
Philip’s mother had told him never to cross the street by himself. With all those buses and trucks and tractor trailers and automobiles and taxicabs and little foreign cars rushing by, Philip could understand why his mother wanted him to cross only with grown-ups.
That was why he had to wait till Sunday to go to the park. In the park, there was dirt and there was grass and there were trees and...
TREES!
Trees grow in dirt. Always. Every time.
And that means, where you find trees, you are absolutely certain to find dirt.
And where was there a tree?
Right in front of the apartment house!
True, it was an awfully little tree. It was such a small and skinny tree that it had to be held up with two poles. But there was dirt around it. Genuine, honest-to-Pete, real-life dirt.
There was dirt in a square the size of a piece of sidewalk. The tree was growing out of the dirt, and the poles holding the tree were stuck in the dirt, but there was still room for Philip’s truck.
Plenty of room.
Now, this was best of all. This was better than the window box, because Philip could make the truck turn around here. And it was better than the pot of sand because he could make the truck go straight ahead.
Philip began to move big truckloads of dirt.
And bigger truckloads of dirt.
And even bigger truckloads of dirt.
Oh, oh!
Philip looked up and tried to smile. “Hello, Mister Neep,” he said. “Is something wrong?”
“Not if what we want is a dead tree,” said Mister Neep. “If we want a dead tree, we’ll just ask you to dig it up for us. But if we want a live tree, then I’d say something’s wrong, yes.”