“I assure you that she will not appear again,” said Elmer, looking meaningfully at Bruno and patting his back pocket, where the folded contract was safely tucked away.
Boots leaned over to Bruno. “Pssst! I thought his throat closes up when there are girls around.”
“I think he’s cured.”
“Well,” said Elmer to Bruno and Boots, “have a good sleep. See you on the bus tomorrow.”
Bruno was in shock. “He hoofed us out!” he exclaimed, as he and Boots made their way back to their own room. “I can’t believe it’s Elmer!”
Boots grimaced. “Let’s just hope he gets back to normal soon.”
Chapter 10
The Glory and the Pizza
While the Zucchini Warriors were covering themselves with glory in Kingston, a blessed event took place under the north bleachers of the Macdonald Hall football stadium. The two female Manchurian bush hamsters gave birth to litters only an hour apart. By morning, forty-one baby bush hamsters were munching happily on the castaway zucchini sticks. The babies looked like miniature versions of the adults, except for the mane of long hair framing the parents’ heads. That would grow in about three weeks. It took only that long for a newborn bush hamster to reach full maturity.
The four parents watched carefully, making sure none of the babies strayed beyond the enclosure of the bleachers. This watchfulness was not necessary. It seemed that newborn bush hamsters were every bit as fond of the taste of deep-fried zucchini sticks as their parents were.
But with the large new number of mouths to feed, and no home football game in over a week, the food supply was quickly dwindling. So the two fathers ventured forth from under the stands to seek out a new source of nourishment for their growing families. Their keen noses soon led them to a large garbage bin outside the Macdonald Hall kitchen, where the pickings were excellent.
They were sampling the scrapings from last night’s lasagna when two sets of human hands reached down to grab them. Hair standing on end, the bush hamsters took off at top speed, but the humans followed and chased them …
* * *
“… around the corner of the Faculty Building, and right along the front driveway,” finished Mark Davies. “And, let me tell you, those little guys can move. Chris and I were gasping.”
Bruno and Boots were back in room 306, catching up on their homework late Monday afternoon when Mark came by to tell them about his encounter with the bush hamsters.
“Did they get away?” asked Bruno.
Mark nodded. “We chased them halfway to the moon! Chris had to stop in the middle because of his foot.”
“What’s wrong with his foot?” asked Boots.
“Ingrown toenail,” Bruno told him. “Haven’t you been listening to your local blabbermouth lately?”
“Then those speed demons ran me into the ground. But it’s good news anyway, right? It means they’re somewhere around the campus.”
“Right,” agreed Bruno. “Let’s go tell Elmer. Maybe a little good news will bring him back down to earth.”
Elmer wasn’t in his room, but a neighbour said he’d gone into town with one of the faculty and his wife on a shopping trip and was due back shortly.
Bruno frowned. “Elmer doesn’t shop.”
“After the last few days,” said Boots fervently, “I’d believe you if you told me he was growing a tail! Nothing would surprise me.”
He was wrong. At that moment, Elmer appeared at the end of the corridor. Both boys gawked. The person they were looking at bore no resemblance to Elmer Drimsdale, school genius. He looked like the cover of Funky Beat magazine. His crew cut, now bleached platinum blond, stood up in short spikes. His glasses had been tinted to look like shades and reset into sleek gunmetal frames. He wore a black leather jacket and tight crocodile-skin pants over combat boots.
“Elmer!” gasped Bruno. “What happened to you?”
Elmer looked highly insulted. “Nothing ‘happened,’” he said stiffly. “It just occurred to me that, since I’m a star, I should see to it that I look like one.”
“Come on, Elmer — think!” Boots pleaded. “You’re not the star! Cathy is!”
Elmer glared at him. “When the game is over, who do the newspapers interview? Who gets the glory and the pizza?” There was no answer. “Exactly,” he said with satisfaction.
“Well, anyway, Elm,” said Bruno, “we’ve got great news for you. Mark spotted a couple of your bush hamsters on campus.”
“I am the most important person in junior high school athletics,” said Elmer simply. “I have no time for such things.”
“But what about your experiments?” Boots blurted out.
“Ah, yes, the experiments. That Elmer Drimsdale doesn’t exist any longer. I have a duty to my public.” With that, he brushed by them and disappeared into his room, crocodile-skin pants chafing at the thighs.
* * *
Dear Kevin,
I am writing because I cannot seem to reach you by phone or e-mail. I am deeply concerned about what it is that has been keeping you at Macdonald Hall for so long. Your letters tell me very little, except that you are involved in some sort of special project.
I must insist that you telephone me immediately so that we can discuss this problem.
Yours sincerely,
Douglas Greer,
Curriculum Supervisor
Klapper read the letter morosely. It looked as though his days were numbered. He would have to go back to the Ministry to get sent on some dull assignment, leaving behind his Warriors, and definitely his heart. And just when the team needed him most, just when everything was beginning to click, just when Macdonald Hall was in hot contention for a play-off spot.
Of course, even if he left this minute for Toronto, he’d arrive at the office with no report. And Greer would never stand for that. So he’d have to do a report — and these things took time! At least through Saturday. He relaxed. And as long as he was here over Saturday, he may as well take in the game.
He glanced at the date and hour on his wristwatch. Greer wanted him to phone in. This was an excellent time for that, because right now Greer would be away at his weekly meeting with the Minister of Education.
Quickly he reconnected his phone and dialled Greer’s secretary. “Hello, Loretta. Kevin Klapper here … oh, not in, eh? What a pity. Well, just tell him I called as he asked me to. Tell him my work is coming along, and I’ll be in touch directly … Thank you, Loretta. ’Bye.”
He hung up and disconnected the phone, well pleased with himself.
* * *
In the weeks that followed, the Macdonald Hall Warriors’ game began to take on a new look. The caught passes suddenly outnumbered the dropped ones. No longer was it common to see a Macdonald Hall defender standing flat-footed and open-mouthed as an opponent danced elegantly around him for a touchdown.
Cathy was flushed with excitement twenty-four hours a day. “Bruno and Boots are so scared that I’m going to get killed that they’re turning into fantastic linemen. Dave is a good receiver, and Sidney would be great if he wasn’t such a klutz. Larry, Wilbur, Pete and those guys are punching up the defence. And the Blabbermouth is amazing everybody!”
Diane snorted. “When I first started at Scrimmage’s, I was expecting a lot of things. But being the roommate of a football hero was not one of them.”
“There’s only one thing that worries me,” said Cathy, sobering suddenly. “Mr. Klapper. What if he has to leave us and go back to Toronto?”
That question was on everyone’s lips. As a celebrating Warriors team clattered into the locker room after their fourth win of the season, very suddenly the talk and laughter stopped, and all attention focused on the curriculum inspector/coach. There was a heavy silence.
Finally Henry Carson got up the nerve to ask everybody’s question. “So, Kevin — uh — got any plans for next Saturday?”
Mr. Klapper looked perturbed and lapsed into deep thought. No one spoke. No one even moved. At last t
he answer came: “Well, my report isn’t quite finished yet. And then there’s the layout and proofreading —” The rest of his remarks were drowned out by a lusty cheer.
Boots snuck out to the bushes behind the clubhouse where Cathy was hiding, awaiting this week’s news. “He’s staying!” And Cathy scampered happily across the highway.
That week, Kevin Klapper sent several progress reports to Toronto — in Latin, since that was the course at Macdonald Hall he was supposed to be working on. Loosely translated, they were four different recipes for jalapeno bean dip. He also took Henry Carson along on one of his visits home, and the two had a pleasant dinner with Marjorie and the children.
Still, on Saturday, when the Warriors won their last game of the regular season, clinching a play-off spot, the question remained: How long could Kevin Klapper stay?
* * *
“We’re in the play-offs! But we shall not stop there! We shall do everything, destroy everyone and win the championship!” This was coming from Elmer Drimsdale, perched atop a dining-hall table, haranguing the lunchtime crowd. The students cheered wildly, except for the group in the corner. Elmer’s friends sat at their usual table, looking on glumly.
“He’s become a complete idiot,” observed Larry sadly.
“And his outfits!” added Mark. “Look at those pants! Some poor crocodile must be running around naked!”
“I want the old Elmer back,” moaned Boots. “I can’t stand to see him like this.” He threw up his hands in despair. “I can’t stand the glare from his clothes!”
“Don’t worry, guys,” said Bruno. “It can’t last any longer than the football season. Pretty soon he’ll be tinkering with some experiment. His bush hamsters might even be back by then.”
“Fat chance,” said Mark. “No one’s seen them since the day they ran me ragged. They’re capital-G Gone.”
“Well, if nothing else, this says a lot for how far the Warriors have come,” said Bruno. He pointed to where Elmer was being lovingly escorted to a table of admirers. “We started from scratch, and now everyone associated with the team is big news. Face it, guys. We’re stars.”
“Oh, come on!” said Boots in disgust. “We won a few games, half by luck, and half by Cathy. She’s the real star.”
“Football is a team sport,” Bruno lectured, “so all her teammates must be stars too.”
“I’ll buy that,” came Wilbur’s voice from behind a stack of veal cutlets. “I’ve always wanted to be a star. Have you seen the restaurants those guys get to eat at?”
“Weird,” observed Larry, his eyes on Elmer. “He’s been the smartest guy at the Hall since the day he got here, and he doesn’t get popular until people think he’s a quarterback.”
* * *
“I don’t know how they can expect us to show any enthusiasm for class with the play-offs coming up,” complained Bruno as he and Boots walked down the hall of the Faculty Building after lunch. “I mean, who can get into history when there’s history in the making? Hi, Perry.”
Perry Elbert grinned broadly. “Hi, Bruno. How’s that lucky penny of yours?”
“Fine,” said Bruno oddly, continuing down the hall. He turned questioningly to Boots. “How does Perry know I have a lucky penny?” Boots shrugged.
A little further on, Kevin Brown was walking with Gary Potts. Passing Bruno and Boots, Kevin tossed over his shoulder, “Hey, Bruno, don’t forget to shine up your lucky penny for the play-offs.” Laughter could be heard all the way down the corridor.
Bruno stopped in his tracks. “I don’t get it.”
Just then someone in a passing group of students called out, “Hey, Lucky, where’s your penny?” This was followed by assorted cackles and guffaws.
“Okay,” said Bruno, looking around like a cornered gunfighter. “Who’s the wise guy who’s been making such a big deal out of my lucky penny?”
At that moment, from around the corner, an all-too-familiar voice announced, “Hey, did you guys know that Bruno Walton has a lucky penny?”
“The Blabbermouth!” chorused Bruno and Boots. They raced around the bend and looked on in horror. There, surrounded by a group of students, was Myron Blankenship, launching into a description of Bruno’s lucky penny. Dave was on the scene as well, trying to quiet his roommate.
“It’s a cheap imitation-silver four-leaf clover with a penny in the middle,” Myron informed everyone. “And it’s ugly!”
“Shut up,” pleaded Dave.
Bruno was furious. “All right, who told the Blabbermouth about my lucky penny?”
Boots flushed. “I’ve been meaning to say something about this, Bruno —”
Bruno staggered back. “You?”
“I was telling Dave about how you used it on the thermostat in our hotel room in Kingston. I didn’t see the Blabbermouth until it was too late!”
“And he keeps it with him on the bench at all the football games,” Myron was elaborating to his audience.
“Okay,” said Bruno, calming down. “We need a logical, clear-headed plan to stop this.” He looked thoughtful for a moment, then suddenly bellowed, “Kill the Blabbermouth!” and made a headlong dash into the crowd of students, hands outstretched toward Myron’s throat.
“Bruno! No!” Boots managed to get a grip on his roommate’s arms and hold him back.
“Hi, Bruno,” Myron greeted him. “We were just talking about you.”
“Let me go!” Bruno commanded. “The world will be better off!”
“You can’t kill him!” pleaded Dave. “He’s the only kicker we’ve got!”
Bruno relented. “Okay,” he sighed. “But as soon as the season’s over, that’s it!” He looked threateningly at Myron.
“See you later,” said Myron blithely.
* * *
“Mildred, do turn off the television.”
Mrs. Sturgeon sat in front of Saturday Night Football, watching enraptured. “I’m just trying to brush up on my football, dear. The play-offs are coming up. I want to know what I’m looking at when our boys are out there.”
“I can tell you that easily enough,” said the Headmaster grimly. “You’ll be looking at Kevin Klapper losing his job.”
“Whatever do you mean, William?”
“His superior phoned me today — a Mr. Greer. He wants to know why it’s taken Klapper over seven weeks to do a simple assessment on Macdonald Hall.”
“Oh, goodness!” Mrs. Sturgeon exclaimed. “Did you tell him that Mr. Klapper’s been coaching football, and that he’s absolutely indispensable to the team?”
Mr. Sturgeon sat down and let out a long sigh. “It’s all very complicated, Mildred. I absolutely refuse to turn the man in, because I don’t want Macdonald Hall to be caught in the middle of a war within the Ministry of Education. So I suggested that perhaps he should take the matter up with Klapper himself. And then he began yelling at me all about letters covered in food, disconnected telephones and jalapeno bean dip, whatever that is.”
She frowned. “How odd.”
“Klapper is considered one of the Ministry’s top people. But there is no doubt in my mind that if he doesn’t report to his office soon, he will not have an office to report to.”
Mrs. Sturgeon looked unhappy. “I do hope nothing awful happens to poor Mr. Klapper. The boys adore him. And except for this tiny problem with the Ministry, football has been such a wonderful experience for everyone.”
Mr. Sturgeon groaned aloud. “Not everyone, Mildred. I saw a ghost today on our campus — a ‘cool dude,’ walking around looking like he just might have once been Elmer Drimsdale. You never saw anything like it in your life. It defies description.”
Mrs. Sturgeon’s eyes widened. “Did you speak to him about it?”
“I certainly did. And he explained to me that he was the most popular person in the school, and therefore must keep a high profile.”
“Well,” his wife said thoughtfully, “it’s probably difficult for Elmer to adjust. To live so quietly for so long, and then
suddenly to find the hopes of the entire school riding on your shoulders can’t be easy.”
“That’s another thing troubling me,” said Mr. Sturgeon. “I still find it difficult to believe that the timid, awkward, brilliant boy I’ve come to know at Macdonald Hall is the poised, agile athlete we see on the field. But do you know what bothers me most? When I mentioned the search for his bush hamsters, he flat-out told me that he has no interest at all in where they are.”
* * *
Under the north bleachers of the Macdonald Hall football stadium, the colony of bush hamsters continued to flourish. The success of the Warriors had led to larger turnouts for the games. That meant more zucchini sticks, most of which ended up tossed under the seats.
The combination of spices in the zucchini batter was so healthy for the bush hamsters’ metabolism that the two litters were growing up even more quickly than normal. Elmer’s original four animals were soon to become grandparents. The babies were going to have babies.
Chapter 11
Arnold the Stuffed Hyena
Play-off fever swept Macdonald Hall. In only their first year of existence, the Warriors had qualified, along with seven other teams, to vie for the Daw Cup, the Ontario championship trophy.
“I want every guy in this school making a big fuss over the play-offs!” proclaimed team captain Bruno Walton. He needn’t have bothered.
Editor Mark Davies published a special edition of the school paper, including play-off predictions and a fold-out poster of quarterback Elmer Drimsdale.
Art classes at Macdonald Hall devoted their energies to the production of Warriors banners and signs, and the school band began work on several new songs to celebrate the team’s glory. Pep rallies were held. Across the road, the Line of Scrimmage experimented with more elaborate routines.
Bruno and Boots also started a poster campaign, encouraging the students to bring creative noise-makers to the games — everything from trumpets and cowbells to garbage can lids and spoons. Football was on everyone’s lips.
Students could be seen running imaginary plays on notebook pages, using X’s and O’s as players. The boys were speaking knowledgeably of screens, blitzes, encroachment, clipping and double coverage.
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