The Last of the Really Great Whangdoodles

by Julie Andrews Edwards

  The Last

  of the Really Great

  Whangdoodles

  BY JULIE EDWARDS

  SCHOLASTIC INC.

  New York Toronto London Auckland Sydney Mexico City New Delhi Hong Kong

  For Blake and Emma, Goeff, Jenny, Kim, Tony, Frank, Herb, Dad . . . and all the other kids around our house . . . for their love, patience and help.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced in whole or in part, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to HarperTrophy, a division of HarperCollins Publishers, 10 East 53rd Street, New York, NY 10022.

  ISBN 0-439-16592-X

  Text copyright © 1974 by Julie Edwards. Cover illustration copyright © 2000 by Hilary Zarycky. All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc., 555 Broadway, New York, NY 10012, by arrangement with HarperTrophy, a division of HarperCollins Publishers. SCHOLASTIC and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.

  12 11 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 1 2 3 4/0

  Printed in the U.S.A. 40

  First Scholastic printing, October 1999

  Contents

  PART ONE / Challenge

  PART TWO / Capture

  PART THREE / Conquest

  Epilogue

  PART ONE

  Challenge

  ONE

  It was a crisp, sunny October afternoon and Benjamin, Thomas and Melinda Potter were visiting the Bramblewood Zoo.

  They hadn't particularly wanted to visit the zoo, but Mrs. Potter had been very firm about it.

  "Daddy has been working extremely hard," she had said, "and I think he needs an afternoon of peace and quiet. Here's some money. I suggest you go to the zoo."

  There was no arguing with Mrs. Potter in this mood. So the three children had dutifully taken the bus from the stop at the corner of their street and had ridden through the pretty university town of Bramblewood as far as the zoo.

  Although it was the end of October and very cold, the sun was shining brightly from an unusually clear sky. Only a few clouds on the horizon gave a hint of possible rain. Late autumn leaves blew along the pavement and rolled in through the main gates of the zoo as if inviting the children to follow.

  On this lovely Sunday the place was crowded with

  visitors and there were popcorn sellers, balloon vendors and a man pushing a yellow cart piled high with toys. Children yelled happily as they scampered to the rides and to the animal cages.

  In spite of their early reluctance to venture out, Benjamin, Thomas and Lindy had to admit, now that they were there, that the zoo didn't seem a bad place to visit after all.

  "I want to see the tigers," Tom announced.

  "I want to see the donkeys and the ducks," countered Lindy.

  "Donkeys and ducks," Tom scoffed. "Anyone can see a donkey or a duck, and you don't have to go to the zoo for it. That's just a waste of time."

  "I know, I know," Lindy replied. "I just feel like seeing a donkey and a duck today. I don't know why."

  "Oh, look—if we're going to spend the afternoon trailing around, looking at animals like that . . ."

  "Well, we're not," Ben interrupted firmly. He was used to his younger brother and sister squabbling with each other. "We're going to see the elephants first. Because I'm the oldest and I'm in charge. C'mon."

  The children visited the elephants and then the lions and the tigers. They slowly moved on to see llamas and leopards and rhinos and reindeer; crocodiles and hippopotamuses and brown bears and polar bears. They watched the performing seals and Lindy saw three ducks and twelve penguins, which made her very happy.

  Tom suggested that they visit the aquarium. They wandered through the dim corridors whose only light came from the many illuminated tanks in which turtles, sharks, eels and other underwater creatures were to be seen. It was gloomy and damp inside.

  Lindy was very glad when Ben chose to go to the reptile house. But she clung tightly to his hand as she gazed at the cobras and rattlesnakes and a giant python.

  "I'd love one of those for a pet," Tom said enthusiastically.

  "Ugh! I think they're gross. Really gross," Lindy exclaimed.

  "You just say that 'cause you're scared of them."

  "No, I don't. They're not my favorite things. But I'm not scared."

  "Then why are you sucking your thumb?"

  "I like the taste."

  "Cut it out, you two," said Ben. "What shall we do next?"

  Lindy announced that she was tired, cold and extremely hungry.

  The children bought a bag of delicious, sticky- looking doughnuts and three cups of hot, sugary chocolate. Carefully, they carried the steaming mugs to a bench that caught the late afternoon sunshine and which was close to a fenced yard containing two large, disdainful-looking giraffes.

  Lindy had no sooner sat down than one of the giraffes spotted the doughnut she had in her hand and immediately undulated towards her on spindly legs, looking as though his knobby knees would buckle beneath him at any moment. The animal lifted his long neck over the wire netting and brought his face to within inches of Lindy's—just as she was about to take a large mouthful of her doughnut.

  The giraffe and the child gazed at each other with serious concentration for a moment. Then Lindy solemnly said, "No," and moved herself and her doughnut farther along the bench out of the giraffe's way.

  "That's really an extraordinary animal," mused Ben as he watched. "Imagine being born with a long neck like that. Imagine being able to reach the tops of trees quite easily."

  "I'd like that," said Tom. "You could see the world from up there."

  "I like giraffes a lot." Lindy spoke with her mouth full.

  "If you could have any animal out of the zoo, which one would you like to take home?" Ben suddenly asked.

  "The python." Tom spoke without hesitation. "Gross," said Lindy. "I'd have a penguin. What would you have, Ben?"

  "Mm, I dunno." Ben thought about it as he sipped his hot chocolate. "I'd like something unusual. An orangutan, perhaps. Or an anteater. Maybe a gorilla."

  "You'll excuse my butting in," said a voice immediately behind the children. "But if you're looking for something really unusual, have you ever considered a Whangdoodle?"

  The children spun around.

  Sitting on the grass behind them, knees drawn up almost to his chin, was a small man. He was holding a rolled umbrella made of clear plastic.

  "I beg your pardon, sir," Ben said, "Did you say something?"

  "Yes, I did. I said, ‘have you ever considered a Whangdoodle?’"

  The little man got up slowly. He had a round cheerful face with bright blue, sparkling eyes, and the few hairs still growing on his balding head were long and grey and flying in all directions. He wore an old brown sports jacket and a blue-checked shirt with a purple, yellow-spotted scarf tied in a casual bow. He had shabby brown trousers and old, but highly polished shoes.

  Ben said, "Excuse me, but I don't think I've ever heard of a Whangdoodle, sir."

  The remarkable-looking gentleman smiled, leaned on his umbrella and crossed one small foot over the other.

  "That's not surprising. It's an extremely rare creature. In fact, I believe there's only one left in the whole world."

  "What does it look like?" Tom asked.

  "Well now, I've not actually seen the Whangdoodle myself," countered the stranger. "Although I do hope to one day."

  "Then how do you know about it?" Lindy wanted to know.

  "Ah—that's a long, complica
ted story," he replied. "Here we are chatting away, and I don't even know your names."

  Tom tugged at Ben's sleeve. He was suspicious of the stranger and wanted to warn Ben that they should be leaving immediately and heading for home.

  But Lindy was already cheerfully giving out information.

  "My name is Melinda Potter. Everybody calls me Lindy."

  "How old are you, Lindy?"

  "I shall be eight on December third."

  "Which means she's seven," growled Tom.

  "Ah, but of course." The stranger turned to him. "And how old are you, young man?"

  "Ten. My name is Thomas Potter."

  "And I'm Benjamin Potter," Ben offered. "I'm thirteen."

  "What about you? What's your name?" Tom wanted to know.

  The stranger placed a hand on his forehead. "Goodness me, what is my name? It seems to have escaped me for the moment." Lindy giggled. Tom nudged Ben hard and jerked his head as though to say, "Let's get out of here."

  "But it's really of no importance," continued the man. 'What is important is that this is a most pleasant afternoon, and, if I'm not mistaken, it is only two days before Halloween, is it not?"

  Lindy gave a little hop of excitement. "Do you know what I'm going to be when we go trick-or-treating?" she asked.

  "Let me see if I can guess." He looked thoughtful. "Snow White? Or possibly Cinderella?"

  "No. I'm going to be a lion," she said proudly. "And very ferocious I'm sure you'll be. What about you, Thomas? What are you going to be?"

  "I'm going to be the Hunchback of Notre Dame."

  "And you, Benjamin?"

  "I haven't quite decided yet. I don't know whether to be Dracula or Frankenstein."

  "Well, I just hope I don't bump into any of you in the dark. I think I would be very scared."

  "Maybe I'll change my mind and go as a Whangdoodle," Lindy said brightly.

  The little man chuckled. "What a good idea."

  "You know, I really don't think there is such an animal," Tom blurted out. Ben actually thought so too, though he was too polite to say so.

  "I assure you that the Whangdoodle exists," said the man. "Look it up in your dictionary when you get home."

  "What does it look like?" asked Lindy.

  "That's sort of hard to describe. It's a little like a moose—or a horse, perhaps. But with fantastic horns. And I believe it has rather short legs."

  "Where does it live?" inquired Tom.

  "Oh, far, far away. Which is a good thing, for if it were here, it would be in a cage like all these other poor animals. I do so hate to see things in cages, don't you?"

  "Then why do you come to the zoo if you don't like it?" asked Lindy with her usual candor.

  "I come to study the animals. I'd prefer to study them in their natural environments, but I just haven't the time."

  Ben suddenly remembered to look at his watch. "Gosh, we're late. You'll have to excuse us, sir, but we have to go now, or we'll miss our bus."

  The little man took a large watch from his pocket. "Yes, it is late," he said. "And we'd better hurry, because it is going to rain."

  He unfurled his umbrella with a flourish and opened it over his head. Large yellow butterflies were painted all over the clear plastic.

  "Allow me to escort you," he said, and walked briskly towards the front gate of the zoo.

  Lindy fell into step beside him. "I love your umbrella," she said admiringly.

  "I bought it because it's cheery and it makes people look up. Have you noticed how nobody ever looks up?" The man's voice was suddenly irritable. "Nobody looks at chimneys, or trees against the sky, or the tops of buildings. Everybody just looks down at the pavement or their shoes. The whole world could pass them by and most people wouldn't notice."

  Ben and Tom discovered that they were looking at the pavement as he spoke. Quickly, they lifted their heads to the sky, only to get wet faces, for it was beginning to rain. They also bumped straight into Lindy and her escort, who had come to a sudden halt.

  "This is where the bus stops, isn't it?" asked the stranger. "Ah, here comes one now. Very good timing, that. I hate to waste time, don't you?"

  Visitors from the zoo were running for the bus or for their cars. Umbrellas seemed to be popping up everywhere. People who didn't have umbrellas went scurrying by with newspapers on their heads or their coats buttoned up tight.

  "You see what I mean," said the man. "None of them look up. Ever." He helped the children onto the bus. "It has been a great pleasure meeting you all. A most happy afternoon." He waved a red handkerchief as the bus pulled away from the curb.

  "Goodbye. Goodbye," he called after them.

  There was a sudden terrifying sound of rubber tires skidding to a stop and the blaring sound of a car horn. Tom, Ben and Lindy turned quickly in their seats and looked out of the back window of the bus. The little man was standing in the middle of the street, apologizing to a taxi driver who had nearly run him down.

  "I'll bet he was looking up," grinned Ben.

  The bus turned a corner and the scene disappeared from their view.

  TWO

  Tom turned to Lindy in annoyance. "Boy, Lindy, you are the end. You talked and talked to that man. I don't think we should have encouraged him. He seemed as nutty as a fruitcake."

  "Oh, I liked him," Lindy said defensively.

  "Did you notice he was wearing blue and white striped socks?" Ben laughed. "I wonder if he was joking when he said there was something called a Whangdoodle."

  "I'll bet he wasn't," said Lindy.

  "I'll bet he was," countered Tom. "Anyway, I'm going to look that word up in the dictionary when we get home."

  Lindy peered out into the rain. The bus was passing a large park and on the other side of it, half obscured by trees, she saw a tall, thin house with shuttered windows.

  Pointing to it, she asked Tom, "Is that place really haunted?"

  "Sure."

  "Who lives in there?"

  "A terrible ogre and a witch with yellow fangs."

  "Well, nobody's sure about that," Ben said. "But most people stay away from there, Lindy. Especially on Halloween."

  "Well, it wouldn't scare me," she declared. "I don't believe in ogres . . . just fairies."

  "You mean you wouldn't be scared to go up and knock on the front door?" Tom asked.

  "Not at all."

  "I bet you would."

  "I wouldn't." Lindy raised her chin defiantly.

  “Well, I'll make you a bet. I'll bet you five cents that you won't go and knock on the front door of Stone House on Tuesday night," said Tom.

  "Pooh, that's not a good bet," Lindy hedged. "Then I'll make it twenty-five cents."

  The little girl hesitated. She wanted more than anything to join her brothers this year for Halloween. But she wasn't at all sure that she'd have the courage to do what Tom had suggested. Besides which, twenty-five cents represented her week's allowance.

  "You see, you are scared," Tom said triumphantly.

  "No, I'm not," she declared loudly. "It's a bet."

  "Stop it, you two. You're both being stupid," Ben said.

  "Don't look at me. She's the one who started it. If she's too scared to do it, then why doesn't she say so?"

  "I'm not too scared."

  "Okay." Ben threw up his hands in disgust. "But remember, Mom will probably make the final decision about it all anyway."

  The subject came up again that night at dinner. "Lindy, what would you like to do about trick- or-treating this Halloween?" Mr. Potter asked. Lindy looked at her brothers. Tom stopped eating and watched her intently across the table.

  "I was wondering if I could go with Tom and Ben."

  Mrs. Potter looked at her sons.

  "What do you think, boys?"

  "Well, I don't know. . . ." replied Ben. "It's fine for the other two. I mean, they just have to tag along and everything. But I'm always the one who has to be in charge. I mean, look at today. I was constantly watching out for
Lindy and trying to stop her and Tom arguing."

  Mr. Potter smiled. "Tough, being the eldest, isn't it? Accepting responsibility is quite a chore sometimes."

  "It sure is," Ben agreed solemnly.

  "But that's part of growing up, I'm afraid. Part of being thirteen years old."

  Ben considered this. Lindy held her breath.

  "I guess I don't really mind all that much," Ben said finally.

  "I think that's very nice." Mrs. Potter seemed quite pleased. "Then it's fine with us, Lindy, if that's what you'd like. Now, I suggest that we all sit by the fire for the last half hour before bedtime. Will one of you get the Sunday paper for your father?"

  Ben ran to fetch it.

  The Sunday evening get-together had become a habit all of the Potters enjoyed. The children talked about any problems that may have arisen at school. Holiday plans were discussed and everyone was encouraged to exchange ideas.

  The children arranged themselves comfortably. Mrs. Potter took up her knitting and Mr. Potter lit his pipe, settled back in his favorite chair and opened the Bramblewood Sunday Courier.

  "My word, Freda, look at this."

  "What, dear?"

  "Professor Savant has been awarded the Nobel Prize."

  "How nice."

  "Who's Professor Savant?" Tom wanted to know. "Head of the Biology Research Department at the University," Mr. Potter explained.

  "What did he get the Nobel Prize for?" Ben asked.

  "According to this, for his work in genetics," said Mr. Potter.

  "I don't even know what the Nobel Prize is." Lindy sounded bewildered.

  Mr. Potter looked over his glasses at his eldest son.

  "Can you tell her, Ben?"

  Ben thought for a moment. "I think," he said slowly, "that it's a prize given every year to people who have done something really great—like in chemistry, or in writing, or in medicine. Something like that."

  "Very good," said Mr. Potter. "It's also given for achievement in physics and physiology. And, very importantly, for the promotion of peace."

  Mrs. Potter interrupted her husband. "I really think you should write to the professor, dear. Just a small letter of congratulations. It's really so wonderful for the University. Which reminds me . . ." She turned to the children. "Would you all start thinking about doing a card or a letter to Grandma? You know, she's not been at all well. It would mean so much to her to hear from you all. Lindy, perhaps you could make one of your special cards?"