Wilberforce Jones was a crabby, mean old man.
Very bad tempered, he was, and snarled at everyone he met.
Usually people avoided him when they saw him coming.
Trying to get Wilberforce Jones to smile or laugh was quite impossible.
Stanley Smith, his next door neighbour, was quite the opposite.
Running daily was one of Stanley’s hobbies, as well as chatting and gossiping with everyone he met.
Quickly, he raced past Wilberforce Jones’ old house.
Past it, he slowed down and stopped for a moment.
Once, when he had been going past, Wilberforce had threatened to set the dog on Stanley.
Not a nice thing to do at all, and Stanley had never forgotten.
Mondays, he always saw Wilberforce in the garden, but he hadn’t been there this time.
Liking Wilberforce was impossible but Stanley was a bit worried now because he hadn’t seen the dog either.
Kayleen, Stanley’s other neighbour, came along the street.
“Just what’s wrong?” she asked.
“I think there’s something wrong at Wilberforce’s place,” said Stanley.
“Huh!” said Kayleen, who really didn’t care.
“Go and knock on his door then if you want!” she said.
Fearful of the dog, Stanley tiptoed up the path and knocked on the door.
Every window was shut and so was every door, and no one answered his cal.
Deciding he couldn’t do anything else, Stanley left the place.
Closed doors, closed windows; it had all looked quite deserted.
But – oh dear, the fact is Wilberforce Jones had left the house.
After all those years he’d decided to move.
Zealously, in dead of night, he’d moved everything out and left.
You see, he wasn’t just crabby but also excessively secret.
Xactly where he went, nobody knows!