“And George,” added Boots fervently. “You can’t expel him either … sir.”
“How odd,” said Mr. Sturgeon. “I was under the impression that I was Headmaster of this institution. I believe I have the power to expel any student who misbehaves as grossly as the two boys you just mentioned,”
“But Elmer was in his room all the time,” Bruno protested. “He couldn’t have been at Miss Scrimmage’s.”
“George too,” said Boots. “He came home from the dance and never left our room until the fire alarm went off.”
Mr. Sturgeon smiled icily. “So,” he said, “instead of being able to complain that Drimsdale and Wexford-Smyth are unsuitable roommates, you are obliged to come here to defend them.”
He knows, thought Boots miserably. He knows everything.
“Contrary to popular belief,” the Headmaster went on, “I am not as stupid as some of you think. I was a boy once myself, you know, and I understand all the little tricks.” His voice continued, colder than ever. “What you tried to do to your roommates was thoughtless and cruel. They are, of course, in the clear; I never for one moment believed they were guilty. It was I who suggested that they pretend to be expelled — just to see what kind of boys you two really are.”
Bruno and Boots sat in stunned silence.
“Had you not come to me to prevent their expulsion, I would have immediately sent you both packing.” He paused to let his words sink in. The silence was deafening. “However, the fact that you have done the right thing does not mean you will get off scot-free. Miss Scrimmage’s flower beds and bushes have been badly trampled. You two will therefore report to the gardener’s shed every morning at sunrise and work to repair the damage. Any new supplies which may be required will be purchased from your pocket money. This means, Walton,” he added, “that you will join O’Neal for dishwashing duty, since your allowance has already been used up to pay the exterminators. You know the rates, I believe.”
“Yes, sir,” said Bruno.
“As for you, O’Neal, your privileges are suspended for the remainder of the year. Walton, at the rate you’re going, yours just might be restored to you by the time you reach the age of forty-three. You may go.”
Both boys stood up. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Mr. Sturgeon actually smiled at them. “I am glad to see that instead of complaining about your punishment you appreciate what was not done to you. Please go to your rooms — and separately. Good day.”
Bruno and Boots left the office and headed back towards their dormitories.
Moments after the boys had left, Mr. Sturgeon’s telephone buzzed. He grimaced. “That’s right on schedule too.”
He lifted the receiver to his ear. “Hello … Yes, Miss Scrimmage. I was just about to call you … I’m sending two of my boys over to repair the damage. They’ll be working from sunrise every morning … Yes, Miss Scrimmage, we intend to cover all losses … Miss Scrimmage, with all due respect, I must ask you not to refer to my boys as hoodlums when your girls were responsible for the riot … Oh yes, they were. My boys could not possibly have achieved that result without inside help from those female barbarians of yours … I’ve told you, your flowers and bushes will be replaced. My boys merely thought they were rescuing your girls from a fire … What about your sign? May I remind you that it was no one from Macdonald Hall who shot a hole through it … Well, perhaps you should teach them fishing. They certainly aren’t learning manners! And furthermore, Miss Scrimmage … Miss Scrimmage? …”
As Mr. Sturgeon replaced the receiver, a picture flashed through his mind: boys milling and shouting, girls running and screaming, and on the balcony, Miss Scrimmage with her shotgun. He put his head down on the desk and laughed until the green blotter was soaked with tears.
Chapter 10
Breakfast at Scrimmage’s
At daybreak Bruno and Boots were trudging along Miss Scrimmage’s driveway. In the grey dawn they could barely make out the ruined hedges and flower beds.
“If there was any justice,” mumbled Bruno as he pushed the wheelbarrow, “I would be riding in this thing and you would be pushing, because this is all your fault.”
Boots ignored him. His attention had been captured by something else. “Ah,” he said with delight, “we were expected. News travels fast in this place.” He pointed to the orchard.
Slung between two apple trees was a makeshift banner. WELCOME BRUNO AND BOOTS it read. Under the sign stood a small folding table covered by a bed-sheet tablecloth and set with Miss Scrimmage’s best china, silver and crystal. A cardboard sign on the table said Breakfast is Served. Milk, orange juice, fresh rolls and butter, strawberries and cold cereal awaited the boys.
“Those girls!” sighed Bruno gratefully. “They remind me of us!” It was the highest compliment he could pay.
Their spirits much improved by the welcome, Bruno and Boots feasted like royalty. They were reluctantly preparing to start work after their hearty breakfast when they heard footsteps rustling in the grass. Diane and Cathy soon appeared, leading a parade of girls in jeans and T-shirts.
“Detail, halt!” ordered Diane. The girls stopped.
Cathy walked up to Bruno and Boots. “Good morning,” she greeted. “We’re the Good Samaritan Committee. You just relax and leave everything to us.” She turned to Diane. “All right. Let’s get to work.”
The boys watched in fascination. Two girls took down the banner and began to dismantle the table. The rest set to work with shovels and hoes on the garden and hedges. In an hour’s time the hedge looked almost normal and the flower beds, though a little bare, were once more neat and orderly.
“Where were they,” gasped Bruno, “when I was catching ants?”
“I’ll bet they’re good dishwashers too,” added Boots. He shivered at the image of himself in the Macdonald Hall kitchen, up to his ears in soapsuds, earning his measly two dollars an hour.
Cathy, covered in earth, her arms scratched by the bushes, came over and dropped exhausted beside them. “That’s that,” she puffed. “Sorry, but there are an awful lot of dead flowers that will have to be replaced. Maybe this will help.” She dropped a battered paper bag into Boots’s lap. “There’s fourteen dollars and nine cents,” she said. “We took up a collection at dinner time. It’s sort of a contribution for Saturday’s entertainment. Even Miss Scrimmage gave us all her change — but of course she thought she was giving it to the Red Cross.”
“You are so wonderful,” declared Boots, “that you defy description!”
Bruno just sat there shaking his head. “I don’t know what to say!”
“You?” Cathy laughed. “You don’t know what to say? The Mouth is silent?”
“Say thank you, Bruno,” said Boots.
“I don’t know if I can,” Bruno grinned. “I have a feeling she’s the one who pulled the fire alarm.”
“Right,” Cathy giggled. Then she shouted, “All right, girls! Give it to them!”
Before they could move or try to defend themselves, the boys were attacked by the work crew. The girls smeared dirt all over their clothes and their faces. “Hey!” gasped Bruno. “What’s this for?”
“You wouldn’t want Mr. Sturgeon to think you’d been taking it easy, would you?” Diane replied.
“We’re supposed to have been gardening, not digging a tunnel,” Boots protested, spitting dirt out of his mouth.
“And The Fish won’t even see us,” groaned Bruno, “You’ve messed us up for nothing.”
“And you’re supposed to be so smart!” Cathy scoffed. “Make sure he does see you. Go to his office and report that the work is done. When he sees you he’ll feel like a first-class heel. You two are the most pitiful sight in the world!”
A few minutes later the boys walked across the road and back to their own campus. On the way, they began to discuss their next move.
“I don’t know,” said Boots. “I think we’d better give up. We’re never going to get rid of George and Elmer and get ba
ck together again.”
“We’re not giving anything up,” Bruno said stubbornly.
“Bruno,” Boots argued, “this time we came awfully close to getting expelled. Nothing is worth that.”
“I have one more plan,” said Bruno. “As I always say, when all else fails, be an angel.”
“An angel?” Boots echoed.
“Yeah. You know — good behaviour, good grades, the whole bit. We’ve got two weeks until exams. If we can make a good showing, I bet we’ll get put back together again as a reward.”
“That’s a great idea,” Boots finally agreed. “It might even work. At least it won’t get us into any more trouble.”
“All right, then. Let’s do it,” Bruno decided. “I expect straight A’s from you, Melvin.”
“The amount of time I’ve spent washing dishes,” grumbled Boots, “the only thing I’ll be able to get an A in is home ec!”
“Straight A’s,” Bruno repeated. “See to it!”
The two boys walked along in the damp grass until they came to the Faculty Building. Boots tried the door. “Rats,” he said. “How come it’s locked?”
“Because it’s only seven o’clock,” Bruno replied.
“Oh. Well, so long.” Boots turned to leave.
“What do you mean ‘so long’? You heard Cathy: The Fish has to see us. We’ll have to go to his house. I didn’t get all muddied up for nothing.”
“His house?” Boots asked in dismay.
“His house,” said Bruno calmly.
Bruno and Boots walked across the campus to a small cottage with a white picket fence and climbing roses. Bruno rang the bell. The door was opened by a small dark-haired woman in a flowered dressing gown. “Good heavens!” she cried. “Whatever happened to you?”
“Good morning, Mrs. Sturgeon. Mr. Sturgeon told us to repair the damage to Miss Scrimmage’s gardens,” said Bruno. “We just came to report that we’ve finished.”
“If you’ve finished,” Mrs. Sturgeon exclaimed, “what time did you start?”
“Half past five,” replied Brunno in his most pitiful voice.
“Without breakfast? Come in at once!” Mrs. Sturgeon bustled them ahead of her into the kitchen.
When Mr. Sturgeon came down for breakfast he found the boys established in his cosy kitchen, eating his porridge with Bruno seated in his favourite chair. As he entered they jumped to their feet, raining mud all over the clean white floor.
“Good morning, sir,” they chorused.
“Er — good morning, boys,” said the Headmaster. He sent a puzzled look in the direction of his wife and got an angry glare in return.
“The coffee’s not ready, dear,” she said coldly. “I’ve been too busy with these poor boys.”
Mr. Sturgeon looked at the bedraggled pair. “To what do I owe the honour of this early morning visit?”
“We just came to report that the work at Miss Scrimmage’s is completed, sir,” said Bruno, “and Mrs. Sturgeon very kindly asked us in.”
“All done, you say? That was awfully fast work.”
“We wanted to get it finished quickly, sir,” said Bruno smoothly. “We do have exams to think about.”
“Yes — er — that’s very wise,” mumbled Mr. Sturgeon. “You will have to study hard.”
“And they will need their sleep,” snapped his wife.
Bruno and Boots gulped down the rest of their oatmeal, thanked their hostess with touching gratitude and said good-bye. As they crossed the campus in the direction of the dormitories, Bruno mused, “I always wondered if there was a higher authority in this place than The Fish.”
“Now we know,” laughed Boots. “Mrs. Fish. He must be getting heck!”
* * *
“That was a terrible thing to do to those children,” Mrs. Sturgeon scolded. “It’s a good thing their mothers couldn’t see them this morning.”
“But Mildred, those two —”
“I don’t care what they’ve done,” she interrupted. “Getting children out of bed at five o’clock in the morning and working them like animals without breakfast!”
“Speaking of breakfast …” said Mr. Sturgeon hopefully.
“I don’t think you deserve any,” she replied, “but you may have some toast. The boys ate all the porridge.”
In spite of his annoyance and hunger, Mr. Sturgeon was beginning to feel a little guilty. “Maybe I was a little too hard on them, Mildred. I won’t make them pay to replace the dead flowers. And I suppose I can take them off dishwashing duty. After all, it is exam time.”
“That’s better,” said his wife triumphantly. “Care for a scrambled egg?”
Chapter 11
“Congratulations, Boys”
Perry Elbert teetered into Dormitory 2, his arms piled high with books. Just in front of his own door, his shoe got caught in a hole in the carpet. Perry hit the floor with a thud, his dozen textbooks landing in twelve consecutive aftershocks.
The door of room 201 burst open. Bruno emerged howling like a madman. “What’s all the noise out here? Can’t a guy study? Don’t you have any consideration for other people? You can’t go around making such a racket in the halls!”
Perry was shocked. “At least,” he pointed out, “what I drop doesn’t walk away and infest the dorm.”
Bruno’s door slammed shut. Elmer had retreated to the school library — there was just no room for him in 201 now that Bruno had taken over. Textbooks, papers and charts were spread about on both beds, both desks and a good portion of the floor. Notes on organic chemistry were taped to the bathroom walls so that no time would be wasted. Bruno himself was red-eyed from lack of sleep. Exams were to begin the next day.
A similar situation prevailed in room 109, minus the mess. In fact, efficiency reigned supreme: George had hired a tutoring service to make sure he was properly prepared. He sat at his keyboard in a sort of trance as a team of professors in Athabaska, Alberta, fed him practice questions via the Internet. George typed in his answers and numbers on the screen indicated his percentage in each course. All but one were first-class marks. George was extremely upset because he had only attained 78% in physics. He was, however, running a 98% in health.
Boots had also fled to the library. He was more determined than ever to get good marks, because he was convinced that the best day of his life would be the day he could remove himself from the domicile of George Wexford-Smyth III.
* * *
As the days passed, the boys discovered something very unusual about the exams: they were easy. Bruno actually knew the answers! For the first time in his academic life he would not have to wait with bated breath for the test results. And Boots, who was generally a better student than Bruno, became confident that this was going to be the best showing he had ever made.
When Bruno and Boots were once again summoned to the office, they were met by a smiling Mr. Sturgeon who waved them away from the bench and into comfortable visitors’ chairs. He took two brown folders from a drawer.
“My congratulations, boys,” he commended. “Your parents will be very proud of you — and I want you to know that I am proud of you too. I never thought I would see the day that you would both make the Honour Roll — although I have always known you to be quite capable of doing so.”
The Honour Roll! The boys’ faces beamed with delight. “First-class marks, sir? Really?” exclaimed Boots.
“I think my mother is going to want me examined by a doctor!” gasped Bruno.
They were rewarded by a dignified chuckle from the Headmaster. “Please feel free to open the envelopes, boys. You may have a preview of your results.”
Bruno stared at his marks. There were eights instead of sixes and nines instead of sevens. His overall percentage was 86! Boots had even surpassed that with an average of 89.
“For this achievement,” said Mr. Sturgeon, “you both deserve a reward.”
The two exchanged a look of pure joy. Finally, after endless weeks of George and Elmer, they were going to
get back together again. Bruno’s plan had succeeded!
“As a reward for your excellent showing,” Mr. Sturgeon continued, “I am making full restoration of your privileges.” He smiled. “Even yours, Bruno.”
The boys sat silently, expecting to hear more. It came.
“I can’t understand why I didn’t think of it sooner,” the Headmaster declared triumphantly. “Putting you in residence with two such scholars as Elmer Drimsdale and George Wexford-Smyth III was an excellent idea. The results are right there in your folders.”
“Y-y-yes, sir,” stammered Boots. Bruno, for once in his life, was struck absolutely dumb.
“That will be all,” concluded Mr. Sturgeon pleasantly. “Once again may I offer my congratulations. Macdonald Hall is very proud of you.”
Bruno and Boots left the building in a hurry. Never before had their plans backfired so thoroughly.
“If all else fails, be an angel,” mimicked Boots disgustedly.
“The cannon,” said Bruno in a strangled voice. “Midnight.”
Chapter 12
Help!
“Ha, ha, ha,” crowed Bruno. “And you think you’re so smart! Eighty-six percent! What do you think of that, Elmer?”
“It’s very good,” said Elmer. “Congratulations.”
“You bet it’s good! What did you get?”
“Ninety-seven,” replied Elmer.
“Oh.”
In spite of his grades, Bruno was genuinely depressed. He had called for a midnight meeting with Boots, but what would they talk about? What plans could they make? Their only hope seemed to be to wait it out and try again next year when students were being paired off. But even that was doubtful: in Mr. Sturgeon’s mind Bruno + Boots = Trouble was an invariable equation. Life would undoubtedly go on, but it just wouldn’t be much fun any more.
* * *
“Eighty-eight point five,” George Wexford-Smyth III boasted.
“Hmm,” Boots murmured, “that’s a good average.”
“Good?” sneered George, secure in the knowledge that his computer had pulled him through. “I’d like to know what you got, Melvin!”
This Can't Be Happening at MacDonald Hall! Page 6
