He turned to Lindy. "Tell me what you see in the hedgerow there, Lindy. Do you see anything beyond that opening in the branches? Can you see how the shadow on the grass makes it look as though there's a path in there and that it might lead somewhere exciting?"
Lindy looked at the hedge carefully and concentrated hard. The light and shade played strange tricks on her eyes. There was a shimmering quality to the afternoon, and her head felt a little fuzzy. It seemed to her as though the hedge began to move, to twist into a different shape, like a tunnel. She leaned forward, mesmerized. For one second she was convinced that if she could just go through the tunnel she would come out into a new and unknown land. She was so excited that she looked up at the professor to tell him about it, and as she did so the spell was broken.
"What is it, Lindy?" The professor watched her keenly.
Lindy turned to look at the hedge once again. She frowned because the illusion wasn't there anymore.
All she could see was the green hedge in a perfectly plain winter garden.
"That's funny," she said, "I thought that . . ." She stopped, aware that the boys were staring at her. "Well—it's not important. I guess I let my imagination run away with me for a moment."
Professor Savant looked at her thoughtfully. Then he turned and walked onto the lawn.
"Come and look over here," he called. "I want to show you something." The children followed him. He moved to the small clump of chrysanthemums that Lindy had pointed out earlier. He picked a beautiful white one on a thick green stem. "Look at this. See how sturdy it is. A flower that blooms this close to winter has to be strong." He handed it to Lindy.
Ben shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I think flowers are a bit sissy for a boy."
The professor moved to Sneezewort and picked him up. "Let's go inside and I'll show you something that just might change your mind, young man. Have you started science in school yet?"
"We began last semester, sir."
"Good. Bring that flower with you, Lindy," he commanded, and walked briskly into the warm house.
The children followed him as he climbed the three flights of stairs to the small white door.
"I'll have you know," he said as he unlocked it, "that I allow very few people in here. Very few, indeed." He stepped aside to let them through.
They gasped when they saw the room. Ben felt as if he had stepped into a small paradise.
"Look at that telescope," he said.
"What are all those lights?" Tom asked.
"That's a model of a problem I've been working on." The professor moved over to it. "It's made of special fiber-optic glass which allows the light to shine through in such an interesting way. It's good, isn't it?"
"It sure is." Tom sounded almost reverent.
The professor took the cover off a large microscope. "This is what I wanted to show you, Ben. This is called a binocular microscope because you look through it with both eyes. Give me that flower, Lindy."
She handed him the chrysanthemum. The professor carefully removed a single white petal and placed it under the lens.
"Look in here now," he said. "This should make flowers a little more interesting."
The children took turns and each saw something that resembled an aerial photograph of a river with many streams feeding into it, a latticework of tiny interconnecting tubes.
"Those veins, or tubes, carry energy to the cells in the petal," the professor explained. "See what happens if I put a drop of ink onto the stem of the petal? See how the blue circulates through every little vein? That's just how blood circulates through your bodies."
Lindy made a face. "I don't like blood. It's gross."
'Well, that's a silly remark. Blood carries nutrition and energy and food to every part of your body. So instead of saying 'gross' you should be saying 'How wonderful.' "
The professor turned to the boys. "I want to make a point and I want you to learn it well," he said. "I know there are times when things seem rather boring to you or not worth your interest. Like this flower today. Once you noticed its color and the fact that it was growing, you dismissed it; it was 'sissy.' A magnificent creation like a flower is definitely not `sissy.' When I showed you the flower under the microscope, you learned that there was a whole new dimension to it."
"What's a dimension?" Lindy asked.
"In this case it means going one step beyond what you already see or know. Finding another world, one that has been there all along, just waiting for you to discover it."
"Like Whangdoodleland," she said. "Is that a dimension?"
"In a way, yes," said the professor. "My point is this: I don't want you ever again to take something at face value—to take things for granted. Let your curiosity run away with you. Know that beyond every ordinary explanation there is a deeper and more exciting discovery to be made."
There was a knock on the door and Mrs. Primrose entered. "Tea is ready, sir."
"Fine," said the professor. "Then that will end our lesson for today. Tomorrow we are going to go on a picnic, so bring your bicycles. Also, you should dress in weatherproof clothes because it is going to rain."
"How on earth do you know that?" Tom asked. The professor rumpled the boy's hair.
"I'm a scientist, Thomas, and I also heard the weather forecast on the radio."
They all laughed and clattered downstairs to tea.
That evening the children were elated. Lindy, especially, was keyed up. Her powers of concentration had been put to good use that afternoon. By dinnertime she was so excited she was almost unable to eat.
Mrs. Potter tried not to show her concern. "Lindy dear, don't just stare at your plate. Eat your stew and dumplings."
"It's not stew and they're not dumplings," Lindy answered. "It's a brown land with mountains and the dumplings are sponges—white sponges that will suck you up if you go too near them."
"What's this? What are you talking about?" Mr. Potter gave his daughter a keen glance.
"No, not sponges." Lindy changed her mind. "They're giant boulders and I wish I were small enough to climb one."
Mrs. Potter said, "I think this afternoon has been a little too much for you. You're being very silly."
"It's not silly, Mom." Tom came to Lindy's defense. "Look at the peas on my plate. Don't they look like tiny green stones? Like when you're at the seaside and the beach is all pebbles?"
"They just look like peas to me," replied Mrs. Potter. "I think you all need an early night."
As Lindy was preparing for bed, Tom knocked on the door of her room.
"Lindy? Can I come in?"
"What do you want, Tom?"
"Here's the quarter that I owe you." He put it on her bedside table.
Lindy examined the twenty-five-cent piece.
"Thanks. But you don't really need to give this to me. Do you want it back?"
Tom was surprised and he thought about it for a moment. "No," he said. "You won it fairly and besides, if you hadn't gone up to Stone House, we'd never have met the professor."
She smiled at him. "Tell you what, I won't ever spend it. I'll just keep it to remind me of Halloween. It'll be my lucky piece from now on."
In a rare show of affection for his sister, Tom patted her on the shoulder. "Okay. Okay. Well, good night."
"Good night, Tom."
Lindy slowly removed her slippers and bathrobe. She pulled her curtains and brushed her teeth and then climbed into her comfortable brass bed. She lay back against the pillows and thought about the afternoon and how wonderful it had been. She thought about the professor and Sneezewort and the incredible microscope.
Soon, she began to drift into sleep. Through half-closed eyes she gazed at the curtains pulled across her windows. They were pretty curtains, printed with flowers of the countryside: red and orange poppies, white and yellow daisies, blue cornflowers. Lindy thought, as she often did, how nice it would be to walk in a field filled with flowers like that. The curtains moved very slightly. She stretched ou
t a hand to touch the flowers, which seemed almost within her grasp.
When Mrs. Potter came upstairs to say good night to her daughter she found her already asleep, smiling peacefully, and with one hand open on the coverlet.
SIX
It was raining hard when the children woke the following morning.
Ben was sure they would not be going on a picnic in such weather. He predicted that the professor would cancel the whole thing.
The professor phoned at midday, but only to confirm with Mrs. Potter that it was all right for the children to meet him at two thirty that afternoon.
By two o'clock Lindy, Ben and Tom looked as if they could attempt an expedition to the North Pole. They wore heavy sweaters and trousers tucked into thick rubber boots. Lindy had on a cape that she often wore when she walked to school. It was a very sensible covering because she could keep her hands dry inside, and her books too. She wore a large sou'wester that came down so low on her head that only her nose and chin were visible beneath it.
Tom wore a duffel coat with the hood pulled up and a scarf, and Ben had on an old raincoat and an oilskin hat that his father used when he went fishing.
Professor Savant was waiting for them on the porch when they arrived. He was wearing a most extraordinary outfit—long waterproof pants and a transparent plastic coat tied at the waist, which gave a balloonlike effect to the upper half of his body. He wore a peaked cap and sturdy, heavy brogues covered by plastic overshoes.
He greeted the children with his customary enthusiasm. "Hallo there!" he yelled. "Isn't this just a marvelous day? I love the rain, don't you?"
"How are we going to have a picnic?" asked Tom. "You'll see. You'll see."
The professor disappeared behind the house, and a moment later reappeared pushing the oldest bicycle the children had ever seen. The handlebars were bent, spokes were missing, the seat was tilted at a ridiculous angle and the whole contraption made a terrible squeaking sound.
"I haven't ridden one of these things for quite a while," said the professor. "Now, let me see." He attempted to swing a leg over the saddle. "Ha-ha.
This is going to be tricky." He tried again, this time successfully enough, at least to get his feet on the pedals. With fierce concentration he began to wobble around the drive.
"Just getting warmed up," he announced with a grin, at which point his trousers caught in the chain and he came to a shuddering stop. "Oh, fiddlesticks."
The children giggled.
"Mrs. Primrose," he yelled, "I need bicycle clips!" He yanked the bike into an upright position. "Bicycle clips, sir? You don't have any."
"Bother. What am I going to do?"
"Tuck your trousers in your socks," Tom suggested.
"Good idea. But my socks are too short, my underwear's too long and it would all get wet in the rain."
The professor illustrated this by hitching up his trousers. The children had a glimpse of white long johns on his skinny legs and a pair of startling red socks.
"I do have these, sir, if you wouldn't mind wearing them." Mrs. Primrose put a hand in her apron pocket and shyly produced a pair of lavender garters.
The professor raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. "Well," he said, "I haven't seen a pair of those in a long time. They'll do splendidly, Mrs. Primrose." He folded his trousers and put the garters over them. "I think they look very fetching." He hopped about in the rain to show them off.
Mrs. Primrose pointed to his bicycle. "I do wish you wouldn't ride that thing, sir. It's lethal, really it is."
"Nonsense, woman. I shall be perfectly all right. Well, come along, Potters. The afternoon will be over before we get started."
He climbed on the bicycle and began to wobble his way down the drive. The children hurriedly pedaled after him, calling goodbye to an anxious-looking Mrs. Primrose.
It soon became apparent that not only was the professor's bike dangerous to ride, but the professor was a definite road hazard. He had a strong tendency to aim his bike at an object—a tree, a car, a pedestrian—and only at the last second would he swerve to avoid it. He turned corners sharply without so much as a hand signal and the children were never certain what he would do next. They discovered that it was easier and safer if they rode a few yards behind. The professor seemed to need most of the road for himself.
Lindy was rather concerned. "Are you going to be all right?" she called.
"Yes, Lindy. No cause for alarm. I'll get the hang of this thing in a while."
They pedaled slowly through the outskirts of the town. The children liked the feel of the raindrops on their faces. Their bicycle tires made a pleasant hissing sound on the wet road and sent up small fountains of spray.
The professor led them into a delightful country area. Busy streets gave way to empty lanes where the wet trees dripped noisily onto the thick carpet of fallen leaves. The ride obviously began to have a soothing effect on the professor, for he soon became less erratic and the children were able to pull abreast of him.
The professor began to sing "She'll Be Comin' Round the Mountain." He had a terrible voice, but his enthusiasm was contagious. The children joined in.
"You're not singing nearly loud enough," cried the professor. "I can't hear you at all."
The children sang at the tops of their voices. Fortunately there was no traffic about, because now they were all bicycling in a haphazard way and laughing so much that half the time they weren't looking where they were going.
The professor suddenly swung his bike off the road and onto a small track.
"Where is this?" asked Tom as they bumped and jogged their way along.
"This is where we have our picnic," replied the professor. He turned into an open field and braked to a halt in front of a dilapidated stone building.
"What a funny house," said Lindy. "Who owns this place?"
"I do." The professor removed a picnic basket from his bicycle and led the way through the tall wet grass to a large door at the front of the building.
"Ben, put a shoulder to this with me. You too, Tom."
The professor pushed hard against the heavy door and the boys added their weight to his. The door began to move and, after a second push, it swung open. The boys stumbled through a cloud of dust into a long, high room.
"What a great place," Ben declared.
"I'm glad you like it." The professor smiled proudly. "This old barn is all that remains of a farmhouse. I might restore the place one day. In the meantime, it seemed like a good spot to come and have a picnic."
"Look, I've found a horseshoe!" Lindy cried excitedly.
"Well, that's a lucky beginning. Now, we'd better get started on a fire; otherwise it'll be too damp and cold in here. Boys, go to the back of the house. There should be plenty of dry kindling under the trees. Lindy, help me put this cloth down so that we can spread our picnic on it."
It didn't take long to get things organized. Quite soon, everyone was sitting in the middle of the stone floor around a crackling wood fire.
The children were starving. Mrs. Primrose had packed all manners of goodies for them: sausage rolls and peanut butter sandwiches, a sponge cake with jam, and oatmeal cookies and bananas. There were milk and ginger ale to drink.
"This is really terrific," said Tom, his cheeks rosy from the fire and his mouth full of cake.
The professor pushed his plate away and leaned back on one elbow. "Tell me your favorite word, somebody. Better still, tell me the three nicest words you can think of."
"Yellow. Sunshine. Mother-of-pearl," Lindy said quickly.
"Splendid. What about you, Ben?"
"Acetylsalicylic," the boy replied.
'What's that?" asked Tom.
"It's what aspirin is made of, isn't it, Professor?"
"Right, Ben. The chemical name for aspirin is acetylsalicylic acid. That is a good word. It rolls off the tongue nicely."
Tom said, "I've got the best word. Antidisestablishmentarianism."
"Oh, everybody knows that,"
Ben pointed out.
"Does everybody know what it means?" asked the professor. The children were silent. "It's no use using a word unless you know about it. Antidisestablishmentarianism. The word came out of nineteenth-century England. We'll look it up when we get home."
"What's your favorite word?" Lindy asked.
"Good heavens. There are thousands that I like."
"Choose one."
The professor thought for a moment. "Papilionaceous," he said. "From Latin, meaning resembling a butterfly, or shaped like a butterfly. The French word for butterfly is similar. It's papillon."
"Papilionaceous. That's lovely," said Lindy. "Your name is French, isn't it, Professor?" Ben asked suddenly. "Isn't Savant a French name?"
"It is indeed. My father was French. My mother was an American."
"Do you have any children?"
"Yes, Lindy, I have two grown-up daughters. The eldest is married to a dentist in Boston, and the youngest is with the Peace Corps."
"What about your wife?" Ben asked.
"She passed away many years ago." The professor gazed into the fire. "She was very pretty. She loved to travel and to give parties. You might say she was papilionaceous. A very sweet butterfly."
He leaned forward and threw another log into the flames. "Speaking of butterflies, wait until you see the ones they have in Whangdoodleland. You won't believe your eyes."
"What's so special about them?" Tom asked eagerly.
"Well, they're about the size of a robin and brilliantly colored. They're called Flutterbyes."
"Wow. If butterflies are as big as robins, then how big are the birds?" Ben laughed.
"Well, one bird is quite big," replied the professor, "and I can't wait for you to meet her. She's the Whiffle Bird. She's quite wonderful and very, very beautiful. She'll be a good friend to us in Whangdoodleland, for she loves company, although she is shy and easily frightened. Now, we had better continue our lessons, or you'll never get to see her at all. Ben, throw me one of those ginger-ale bottles. This wood smoke is making me thirsty."
Ben took a bottle from the picnic basket and handed it to the professor who proceeded to shake it violently. "Watch out," he said with a grin and unscrewed the cap. A fountain of ginger ale shot into the air. The children screamed with delight.
The Last of the Really Great Whangdoodles Page 4
