"Listen carefully," he said. "This is very naughty of you. You're always sneaking into pockets and bags. You're a stowaway, always hitching rides. Where am I supposed to put you now? I have to work here all day, what am I going to do with you?"
"Don't worry, I can entertain myself," said Wiplala. "I'll just stay here on your desk and play in your pen tray. I can draw some pictures. Have you got a pencil for me, one that isn't too big?"
"Out of the question," said Mr. Blom. "People come in and out of this office when you least expect them. And I never know when the boss might want to see me. You'd be sitting here in full view of everyone."
"I could hide behind the telephone," said Wiplala. "Or in the ashtray. I could even help you. I can type, you know."
"Very funny," said Mr. Blom gloomily.
"No, I really can type. I jump from key to key."
"Listen, you, I'm not having it. I'm busy and you're keeping me from my work and..." Mr. Blom didn't finish his sentence because the door opened and a young woman came in carrying a stack of paper.