Droozle

Droozle was probably the greatest writer in the world—any world!
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.