Droozle

Droozle, by Frank Banta

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Title: Droozle
Author: Frank Banta
Release Date: October 22, 2007 [EBook #23148]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
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DROOZLE
Droozle was probably the greatest writer in the world--any world!
By FRANK BANTA

Jean Lanni could see that his girl friend, Judy Stokes, thought it was the
lamest excuse she had ever heard. If your ballpoint pen won't write as
you want it to, your life doesn't stop, she probably was thinking. You
just get yourself another pen--You don't call off a marriage....
Skeptically the girl with the long, golden red hair pointed at his breast
pocket. "This Droozle I must see. And who's that other member of the
partnership there beside him? An Eversharp pencil named Blackie?"
"No, that is the other end of Droozle. Permit me to introduce you."
Blandly the tall, young artist slid Droozle from his breast pocket,
straightened him from his U-shape and handed his twelve-inch pen to
her.
"A snake!" she shrieked.
"What else?"
"Why, I thought those ruby eyes were jewels! I must have squeezed
right up against him when I kissed you," she cried indignantly.
"You did. I felt him squirm a little."
"Oh! And here I thought it was your heart beating wildly."
"Well, maybe it was. It does that sometimes."
"Let's try again. And this time hold your snake behind you." The
long-legged girl stood on tiptoe to reach him.
"It was your heart beating wildly," she decided a moment later. "Which
makes me think you might not just be trying to get rid of me by a silly
excuse."
"Believe me, I'm not," he urged. "Droozle is the key to all my
fortunes."
"All right, tell me about it. But first tell me where in the universe you
got him."

"Oh, that was just after I graduated from art school. I was on my grand
tour. We had an unexpected stopover at the Coffin planetary system. I
discovered ballpoint snakes are the chief export of Coffin Two. When
we lifted ship, I had acquired my little puppy snake, Droozle."
"Is a puppy snake like a puppy dog?" she asked, fascinated. "I mean, do
they have their little domestic troubles, such as the calls of nature?"
"Oh, he was thoroughly pocket-broken before I acquired him. But he
did like his little jokes, and I learned to leave him curled up in a
circular ashtray until maturity sobered him."
* * * * *
"Well, I should say! You drew sketches with him, didn't you tell me?"
He nodded. "At first he only had one color of ink--red--and if I
sketched with him all day he would commence to look wretchedly
anemic. He took two days to refill, normally. But I could use him again
in only one day's time provided I didn't mind the top three-fourths of
my pen laying on my arm."
"I hope his weight didn't get tiresome," she commiserated, holding in
her amusement.
"I coped somehow," he answered sturdily. "Later he learned--after I
squeezed him on the liver a few times just to show him how--to switch
to a lovely shade of ochre, which was delightful on pale green or pink
paper. Why, what's the matter, Judy?"
"Go on," she choked. "Go go go!"
He beamed. "I write my letters with him too. Every day I wrote with
him, first in red, and then in ochre to give him a rest. He seemed to love
to write more than to sketch. He would jump into my hand with tail
happily pointed downward as I sat down to my writing desk. And when
I later saw his dark green stripes turning pastel and knew that anemia
was imminent, and started to lay him down for a earned rest, he would

stiffen himself as if to say, 'Oh, come, come! I'm good for half a page
yet!'"
"It sounds as though he was a willing worker, but I still can't see why
his malfunction makes our marriage impossible."
"I haven't gotten to his career as a novelist yet. There lies the heart of
the tragedy."
"Please proceed to the heart of the tragedy."
* * * * *
"It all began when I found him arched up one morning, writing by
himself--with difficulty, it is true. His first message to the world was, 'I
hold that the supine viewpoint is