The Pump With No Home
On Birch Street, one red bike pump belonged to everybody. It had a squeaky handle, and it hung on a hook in nobody's garage. People just borrowed it and brought it back, or so they said.
On Saturday morning, Ben had a flat tire and a race to ride in. He ran to the hook. It was empty.
Ben knocked on four doors. Mr. Cole thought Mrs. Fenn had it. Mrs. Fenn thought the twins had it. The twins said they had given it to Mr. Cole. Round and round it went, like a game nobody wanted to play.
At last Ben found the pump in the grass behind Mrs. Fenn's house. Her grandson had used it to blow up a pool float and then forgotten it. The red paint was wet with dew.
Ben fixed his tire just in time. After the race, he did something smart. He nailed a board to the lamp post and tied a basket to it. Beside the basket he hung a row of clothespins, one for each house on the street. Each name was written in marker.
Now, whoever borrowed the pump clipped a clothespin to the basket. The next time it went missing, everybody knew exactly where to look.