The Wizzle War (13 page)

“I still say we should have formed a department or subcommittee or something to do this,” said Bruno. “I mean, we shouldn’t be wasting our time. We’re important officials of The Committee.”

“We’re going to do the essays ourselves and stay out of trouble,” said Boots. “You can fool Wizzle, but you can’t fool The Fish.”

“And we did deserve it,” added Elmer. “Mr. Sturgeon is always very fair.”

“Fair to poor,” admitted Bruno grudgingly.

“Huh!” snorted Pete. “If there’s one thing I hate more than doing tests, it’s writing essays. Hey, Boots, how many words have you got? I’ve got eleven.”

“I haven’t counted.”

“How about this?” said Pete. “
A practical joke isn’t funny unless everyone’s laughing. For example, when Mr. Wizzle isn’t laughing, nobody’s laughing.”

“I suggest that you revise that,” said Elmer seriously. “What Mr. Sturgeon wants is a general critique on the morality of practical jokes, not specific examples.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Pete, drawing a line through his last two sentences. “That leaves me with — let’s see — eleven words.”

“Ah,” said Elmer with an elaborate pen stroke. “Finished.”

“Me, too,” said Boots. “I don’t think I’m up to a thousand words, but it’s close enough.”

“Oh,” said Pete brightly. “You mean you don’t really have to have a thousand words?” His face fell. “Yeah, but I’m pretty sure you need more than eleven.”

“Probably,” grinned Boots.

“Come on, Pete,” said Bruno, “just write any old thing down.”

* * *

It was half past eight when the forced march finally ended at the front gate of Miss Scrimmage’s Finishing School for Young Ladies.

“Okay, girls,” sang out Miss Peabody, her step still springy, “well done. Because of today’s good effort, there will be no calisthenics tomorrow. You can sleep until nine.”

There were a few weak, hoarse cheers.

“I’ll get her for this!” rasped Cathy. “My feet are gone! Gone!”

“They’re still there,” confirmed Diane, looking down.

“I can’t feel them!”

“You’re lucky,” said Diane. “I can feel mine and they hurt. All I want to do is get back to our room and sleep.”

“Well, you’re not going to sleep,” said Cathy. “No one is.”

“What?”

“I’ll explain it when we get back to our room.” The two walked into the residence hall, went up the stairs and entered their room.

“Okay,” said Diane, “before I fall asleep I want a full explanation of why I can’t.”

“Tomorrow morning at the crack of dawn,” said Cathy, “in a showing of solidarity against Peabody, we’re all going to run away from school.”

“Are you crazy?”

“Nope,” said Cathy, beginning to undress. “We’ll tell all the girls right after I soak in a hot bath.” She grabbed a towel and disappeared into the bathroom.

“Wait a minute!” cried Diane. “Where are we going to go?”

She could barely hear Cathy’s answer over the sound of running water. “Macdonald Hall.”

* * *

It was 5:30 in the morning when Bruno and Boots were awakened by a tapping at their window. The two boys got up and looked out to see Cathy and Diane crouched there.

“Go away!” Boots hissed nervously. “We’re in enough trouble!”

“Come on in,” invited Bruno. He helped the two girls into the room. “What’s up?”

Cathy batted her eyes innocently. “We are two poor waifs who ask only for a place to rest our weary bones.”

“What are you babbling about?” asked Boots, slightly hysterical.

“We’ve run away from school,” said Diane.

“What? Both of you?”

“No,” said Cathy. “All of us.”

“Who else is there?” asked Bruno.

“Everybody,” said Cathy. “They’re waiting in the woods.”

Boots went white. “You mean there are three hundred girls hiding in our woods?”

“Yeah,” said Cathy. “We need someplace to hide out until we’ve decided where to go.” She smiled. “And I wouldn’t mind something to eat.”

“We can’t do it!” squeaked Boots. “We have no room for three hundred extra people!”

Cathy’s face fell. “Well, we really have nowhere else to go —” she began pitifully.

“Have no fear,” said Bruno. “The Committee is here.”

“Oh, no, Bruno!” moaned Boots. “Not The Committee! If The Fish —”

“What’s The Committee?” asked Diane.

“Only the most sophisticated, well-organized operation in existence,” boasted Bruno. “I’ll wake up some of the major department heads and we’ll form an Emergency Housing Task Force. We’ll have all the girls sheltered in no time.” He grinned at Cathy. “And we should be able to coax Wilbur Hackenschleimer into raiding the kitchen. He doesn’t take much convincing.”

“We’ll never get away with this, Bruno!” said Boots.

“When a friend asks for help,” lectured Bruno, “you can put yourself out a little. Come on. Let’s go wake up Wilbur to give the signal.”

Mr. Sturgeon had made it his habit to sleep in on Sunday mornings, but that morning he was awakened shortly after nine by a distressing noise. He got up, donned his red silk bathrobe and his bedroom slippers and peered out the window.

An appalling sight met his eyes. There in the open area in front of the dormitories stood Gloria Peabody, ramrod straight, barking orders at the top of her lungs. He stared. Girls seemed to be coming out of his dormitories! Dozens of them! No, hundreds! Miss Scrimmage was also on the scene, running around shrieking and wringing her hands. Wizzle was there too, standing beside Miss Peabody. He seemed to be talking to her, but he was also shouting in the direction of the dormitories.

The Headmaster ran down the stairs and burst out of his front door. He sped across the campus toward the ruckus.

Miss Peabody’s voice was deafening. “All right, get out of there! On the double!”

“Oh, girls, girls! Please come out!” shrilled Miss Scrimmage. “Oh,
please
!”

Some more girls came wandering out through the dormitory doors.

“Come on! Hurry it up! Get back to school!
Move!
”

“Boys,” called Mr. Wizzle, “you will do nothing to interfere
with the evacuation! Assist the girls out of the dormitories!”

“Back to school!” Miss Peabody barked at another group. “You’re confined to quarters!”

“Don’t forget to eat a good breakfast first!” added Miss Scrimmage.

“Wizzle, what is going on here?” demanded Mr. Sturgeon.

Miss Scrimmage rushed up to the Headmaster. “Your terrible boys kidnapped my poor defenceless girls!”

“Well, we’re really sorry, Miss Scrimmage,” began Mr. Wizzle, “and —”

“Don’t apologize, Wizzle,” said Mr. Sturgeon coldly. “Miss Scrimmage’s girls are quite capable of taking care of themselves. If they are in our dormitories, rest assured that that is where they choose to be.”

“Come on! Move it!” shouted Miss Peabody as more girls trickled out.

In room 306 Boots noted how Diane cringed each time Miss Peabody’s voice rang out. The four had spent the past few hours filling each other in on recent happenings at the two schools.

“You’re a great storyteller, Cathy,” Bruno approved. “I especially liked the part where you all gave it to Wizzle in the war games.”

“And you’re an organizational genius, Bruno,” said Cathy sincerely. “The Committee is a work of art.”

“Hurry it up, girls!” came Miss Peabody’s voice.

“Boys,” called Mr. Wizzle, “help the girls outside. Miss Peabody is waiting.”

“Waiting to pounce,” added Diane fearfully.

Cathy sneaked a look out the window at Mr. Wizzle and Miss Peabody, side by side, shouting orders. “Look at those two!” she snorted in disgust. “They’re made for each other! They should get married! Why ruin two schools?”

Bruno’s eyes bulged. “That’s it!”

“That’s what?” asked Boots suspiciously.

“That’s how we’re going to get rid of Wizzle and Peabody! We’ll marry them off! Then they’ll go off into the sunset and leave us alone!”

Cathy broke into a wide grin. “Bruno, you’re a genius!”

“It was your idea,” said Bruno generously.

“That’s right! In that case,
I’m
a genius!”

Outside, Mr. Wizzle turned to Miss Peabody. “I think that’s all of them,” he said.

“All except Burton and Grant,” said Miss Peabody. “Where are they?”

“Follow me,” said Mr. Sturgeon wearily. He walked to Dormitory 3 and tapped on a window. “Walton,” he said with mock politeness, “would you be so kind as to send Miss Burton and Miss Grant out immediately?”

Bruno’s face appeared at the window. “Yes, sir.”

Cathy appeared beside him. “Hi, Mr. Sturgeon. Long time no see.” She spied Miss Peabody and ducked down again.

“Burton, get out here! And bring Grant with you!”

“Walton, O’Neal,” said Mr. Wizzle sternly, “you’ve been harbouring them in your room! Ten demerits!”

Cathy and Diane scrambled over the window ledge, and Miss Peabody began running them home.

“That was really stupid, Burton! Really stupid!”

“But Miss Peabody,” Cathy protested, “how could you possibly know that I’m responsible?”

“I’ve got a gut feeling about you, Burton. The whole school’s going to run a lot of laps because of this.”

Cathy was too happy to worry about laps. She was already planning the wedding.

* * *

Bruno and Boots sat on the bench in Mr. Sturgeon’s office.

“I am not going to ask you to explain the presence of Miss Scrimmage’s students in our dormitories,” began the Headmaster. “I would not force my students to dignify the gross misbehaviour of others with an explanation.” He cleared his throat. “I would like to speak to you on a matter that is of much greater importance. Of late, especially in the aftermath of this morning’s events, I have been hearing something around this campus which has become almost a catch phrase: The Committee.”

Boots turned suddenly white, and even Bruno paled a little.

“Ah,” said the Headmaster. “I see the name is familiar to you. You will forgive me for immediately associating you with this committee, but you must admit that in the past such activity has usually found you at the hub. And said activity generally culminates in a good deal of heartache for all concerned.”

He leaned back in his chair. “Walton, O’Neal — What
is
The Committee?”

Boots was too stricken to speak.

Bruno cleared his throat. “Well, sir, one day a group of us got together and — uh — formed The Committee.”

“I suspected that much. But for what purpose? What is the goal of The Committee?”

“Well,” said Bruno carefully, “we all work together to — uh — see to it that Macdonald Hall remains the wonderful place to go to school that it always was.”

“I see,” said Mr. Sturgeon. “So I suspected. The object of your group is to harass Mr. Wizzle. Am I correct?”

“I guess it sort of looks that way, sir,” Bruno admitted.

The Headmaster nodded. “And The Committee was no doubt behind
The Macdonald Hall Free Press
? And the computer paper shortage? And the sudden burst of student energy during calisthenics? And, of course, our man Gunhold?”

Both boys nodded miserably.

Mr. Sturgeon sighed. “Boys, it is a fact of life that things change in the normal course of events. Sometimes we like the changes; sometimes we do not. But we must accept them and learn to live with them. Do you understand?”

Bruno and Boots nodded again.

“Very well. I assume that you two are very high officials in The Committee. You will go and disband it immediately. There will be no more Committee. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Fine. If there are any more complaints of harassment from Mr. Wizzle and you are found responsible, your punishment will be very severe, and your parents will be notified of your activities. Dismissed.”

Bruno and Boots left the office and crossed the campus, not daring to speak until they were safely inside room 306.

“I don’t understand how The Fish always seems to know
exactly what we’re doing!” exclaimed Boots, still trembling.

“Yeah,” said Bruno. “Hey, we’ve got to get together with our department heads and talk about how we’re going to marry off Wizzle.”

“But Bruno,” protested Boots, “we promised The Fish we’d disband The Committee!”

“Oh, this isn’t The Committee,” explained Bruno reasonably. “We’re working with Scrimmage’s now. It’s kind of a coalition. Yeah, that’s it. It’s The Coalition. You didn’t hear The Fish tell us to disband The Coalition, did you?”

“Well, no,” said Boots, “but it’s the same thing. And we’re not allowed to bug Wizzle.”

“We’re not bugging him,” said Bruno righteously. “We’re arranging for his lifelong happiness. Someday he’ll thank us for it.”

“We’re not going to get away with this, you know, Bruno.”

“Of course we are! We’re The Committee — I mean, The Coalition! Right now let’s get over to The Coalition Lines Department. We’ve got some work for them. And tonight we’ll have to consult with Cathy and Diane to figure out our strategy.”

* * *

It was just after midnight. Bruno and Boots climbed up the drainpipe, and Cathy and Diane helped them into the room.

“Hi,” Cathy greeted them. “Glad you could make it. We’re really excited about joining The Committee.”

“Sorry,” said Boots, “The Committee doesn’t exist anymore.”

“You’ve stopped The Committee?” asked Diane in surprise.

“Sort of,” said Bruno. “Actually, we’ve just changed the name. You can’t join The Committee, but you’ve already joined The Coalition.”

“We have?” asked Diane.

“Sure,” said Bruno. “You have to join. Without you it’s not a coalition — it’s a committee. Anyway, we came over here to have a conference. How do we get Wizzle and Peabody to the altar?”

“We’ve been talking about that,” said Cathy, “and we’ve drawn a blank. Wouldn’t life be simpler if we could just give them a love potion?”

“Forget it,” laughed Boots. “Even Elmer Drimsdale couldn’t concoct a potion like that!”

“What a drag,” said Cathy. “Well, then, we’ll just have to convince Peabody that there is no one more handsome, more debonair, more devastating or more sexy than Wizzle.”

“Right,” grinned Bruno. “And we’ll convince Wizzle that there’s no one more beautiful, more graceful, more charming or more desirable than Peabody.” He made a face. “How are we going to do that?”

“Little gifts, big hints,” said Cathy. “Just remember to be subtle. I’m sure you two Romeos will be able to figure it out. After all, you’re The Committee.”

“The Coalition,” Bruno corrected.

“Yeah, well anyway, Peabody was out this afternoon and that gave us a chance to raid the kitchen, so we’ve got some food. Care for a sandwich? We’ve got lots of leftover turkey.”

They were in high spirits and discussed the wedding plans as they ate.

“I assure you that Peabody will be the joy of Wizzle’s life in no time at all,” promised Bruno as he and Boots climbed out over the sill. “Same here,” said Cathy.

The two boys climbed down the drainpipe and jumped to the ground.

“Freeze!”
came an earsplitting voice. Miss Peabody bounded onto the scene and was upon them in seconds. She grabbed them by their shirt collars and lifted them from the ground. “Aha! The troublemakers from Macdonald Hall! I’m going to make you sorry you showed up here tonight!” She turned her face upward. “Burton, Grant, is that you?”

“Yes,” came Diane’s small voice from above.

“No,” Cathy called down. “We don’t know who those two guys are. You woke us up, Miss Peabody.”

“Balloonjuice!”
bellowed the Assistant Headmistress. “Get your track shoes on and get down here! The four of you are going to run laps!”

“Laps?” echoed Bruno.

“Yes, laps. We’re going to show you pampered babies from Macdonald Hall how discipline is enforced.”

“But it’s dark,” protested Bruno.

“Don’t worry. Burton knows the track.” She looked up at the window. “Come on! Move it!”

Cathy and Diane disappeared for a while and then came out the front door to stand beside Bruno and Boots.

“Miss Peabody,” said Cathy plaintively, “we ran laps all afternoon.”

“And you’re going to run laps all night! All right, you four
, move
!”

* * *

Mr. Sturgeon and his wife were driving home from the city late that night after spending the evening with Mrs. Sturgeon’s sister and her family.

“Mildred,” grumbled the Headmaster, “the next time we go visiting your relatives remind me to take my earplugs. Your brother-in-law didn’t shut up from the time we arrived until we left. Who cares about the ins and outs of the plumbing business?”

“I thought you did, dear. You listened raptly.”

“I was asleep, Mildred. And the children and grandchildren are worse. You know I cannot bear being called Uncle Willie.”

As he approached the driveway to Macdonald Hall, his headlights illuminated a number of figures on Miss Scrimmage’s athletic field.

“William, what on earth — It’s one o’clock in the morning!” Mrs. Sturgeon squinted in the darkness. “Four children — and two of them are boys!”

Mr. Sturgeon hit the brakes and the car screeched to a halt. He leapt out and hit the road running. Sailing over the orchard fence as if it did not exist, he ran onto the athletic field.

“Walton — O’Neal — come here this instant!”

Bruno and Boots ran over, panting. Miss Peabody stormed after them and they scrambled quickly to stand behind their headmaster.

“Sturgeon, this is my campus and I’m the boss here! No one interferes with my punishments!”

“Indeed,” said Mr. Sturgeon icily. “These two are my
students and no one punishes them but me.”

“They were on my territory after hours,” said Miss Peabody. “I’m seeing to it that they won’t return. Come on, you two. Back to the track.”

“Do not move a muscle,” commanded Mr. Sturgeon.

“Miss Peabody, can we stop running now?” came Cathy’s voice.

“No! Keep going!”

“Come along, boys,” said Mr. Sturgeon coldly. “We’re leaving.”

Miss Peabody moved to block their way.

“Young woman, kindly remove yourself from my path.”

“You have no right to come over and undermine my authority on my own ground!” said Miss Peabody angrily.

Mr. Sturgeon’s face flamed red. “If you do not move out of my way, you will regret it, madam.”

Miss Peabody grinned. “What are you going to do — sic your sissy Board of Directors on me?”

Mr. Sturgeon glared at her menacingly. “Suffice it to say, madam, that you are not the only person in this world who knows jiu-jitsu. Now stand aside.” Mr. Sturgeon led the boys around her and headed for the highway.

* * *

“Gee, Mr. Sturgeon,” said Bruno admiringly, “I didn’t know you knew jiu-jitsu.”

“Shhh, Walton. Keep walking.”

When they reached the highway, the Headmaster turned to the boys. “Be in my office tomorrow morning at eight. We’ll
have this out once and for all.”