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The Curse of the Blue Figurine

Page 15

by John Bellairs


  Now that the serious part of the evening was over with, everybody ate and drank and talked and had a good time. Later Professor Coote wandered upstairs and while looking for the bathroom accidentally discovered the fuss closet. The professor had never told him about the closet, so naturally he wondered what it was for. But when he went downstairs and asked, the professor told him that he was thinking of becoming a Buddhist monk in his old age and was practicing meditation. This explanation did not quite fit the sign on the inside of the closet door, but Professor Coote was not one to pry, so he let it go at that. Then the professor sat down at the piano in the living room and played old songs, and everybody joined in, singing along. Gramma insisted that the professor play "Just a Song at Twilight," and he did, and Gramma got very weepy, because that had been her mother's favorite song. And then the professor played "The Star-Spangled Banner" and told everybody that the evening was over and they had to go home.

  Out on the front walk under the stars the professor was saying good-bye to Johnny. Professor Coote was upstairs in bed. He was staying overnight at the professor's house and was going back to Durham in the morning. Gramma and Grampa had already gone back to their house. Johnny didn't want to go—not yet. He kept thinking that there were more things that he wanted to ask the professor. But he was so sleepy and stuffed with goodies that he could not think what these things might be.

  "Well, John," said the professor amiably, "you've had quite an adventure! Did you think it was as good as the ones you listen to on the radio? Hmm?"

  Johnny made a face. He was thinking that adventures were fine as long as you could sit in your living room and listen to or read about them. "You know what I wish?" he said suddenly.

  "What? What do you wish?"

  "I wish I had a nice safe kind of magic ring that would keep Eddie Tompke off of my back."

  The professor shook his head vigorously. "No, you don't! You don't wish that at all! If you had a ring like that, it would be... well, it would be like carrying a loaded pistol around all the time. Sooner or later you'd be tempted to use it in some evil way, and then you'd be horribly sorry afterward. People don't know when they're well off. I knew a fellow in college, and he was fun to be around. But he was all weak and wasty—didn't have any muscles. So he worked out with weights and ran for miles, and he turned into a real rough and tough bruiser. He also turned into one of the biggest bores on the face of the earth. All he would ever talk about was how he had turned himself into a muscleman. Stay like you are. You'll be a lot—"

  "John-nee! John-nee!"

  Johnny turned and looked. It was Gramma. She was standing on the front steps with her hands cupped to her mouth.

  "What is it, Gramma?" he yelled. "What's the matter?"

  "It's your father! He's on the phone! He's calling all the way from some place I never heard of! Come on! Hurry!"

  Johnny was overjoyed. He hadn't heard from his dad in a long time, and he had been wondering what was happening to him. "Oh, my gosh!" he exclaimed excitedly. "Hey, Professor, I gotta go! Thanks for everything! I... g'bye! G'bye!"

  He started across the street, but at the curb he came to a sudden halt. He turned and gazed forlornly at the professor. He had just realized that his dad would never, ever believe the stuff he had to tell him.

  The professor had read Johnny's thoughts. He started to chuckle. "What's the matter, John?" he asked.

  Johnny did not see what was so funny. "What'm I gonna tell him, Professor? My dad, I mean. What'll I say?"

  The professor thought a second. "Tell him that you got all A's in school, except for the D you got in penmanship. And don't lie about the D. It's always best to tell the truth."

  Johnny stared in astonishment. Then he burst out laughing. Still laughing, he turned and ran back across the street toward the lighted doorway of his house.

 

 

 


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