This Can't Be Happening at Macdonald Hall (11 page)

Bruno looked down at his chest. Three medals gleamed on the front of his best navy blue blazer. He glanced at Elmer standing beside him, then past Elmer at Boots. Even in their moment of glory, Bruno reflected, The Fish had seen to it that he and Boots were separated.

The ceremonies had just ended and the boys were making polite conversation with the officials when their attention was diverted by the arrival of yet another police car. It proceeded up the driveway and halted next to the platform.

Boots poked Bruno. “New York State Police?” he whispered questioningly.

Bruno shrugged. “Who knows?” They stared as two tan-uniformed State Troopers got out of the car, opened the trunk and took out a volleyball net.

“I expect you're wondering about that,” said Mr. Sturgeon's voice behind them. “It was in the morning paper. It seems the net found its way to Buffalo just in time to capture three bank robbers.”

Bruno spun around to face the Headmaster. “You're kidding!” he exclaimed.

Mr. Sturgeon shook his head. “I
never
kid.”

Coach Flynn hurried forward to retrieve his volleyball net. “I don't know how it got to Buffalo,” said one of the officers, “but it sure came in handy. Thanks a lot.” The two officers got back into their patrol car and drove off.

As the crowd began to disperse, Mr. Snow, chairman of the Board of Directors, turned to Mr. Sturgeon. “William,” he said, “everyone has rewarded these fine boys except Macdonald Hall.”

“Quite right, Jim.” The Headmaster turned to his students. “Elmer, what can the school do for you?”

Elmer was in a daze: he had no idea why he had been awarded the three medals which now hung on his jacket. He was merely grateful that no one was about to expel him.

“Ask for a new telescope, Elm,” suggested Bruno in a stage whisper. “Yours got all banged up in the — uh — excitement.”

“What's that? A telescope?” repeated Mr. Snow. “Granted. I will personally take you shopping for it next week. And what about our other two fine young heroes?”

“Well,” said Bruno, trying to word his request with great care. “We're pretty good friends, sir, Melvin and I. We'd like to room together.”

Mr. Snow smiled broadly. “That's certainly not an unreasonable request,” he said. “William, is there any reason why these two boys can't be roommates?”

Mr. Sturgeon sighed, then spoke slowly. “Not a reason in the world, Jim. I believe room 306 is vacant. They can move into it immediately.”

* * *

Boots crammed the last of his possessions into his suitcase. “Well, that's that,” he said.

“Good-bye, Melvin,” sneered George. “I hope you haven't forgotten anything.”

“Good-bye, George,” said Boots. “Uh — about all those mean things I did to you …”

“Yes,” said George expectantly.

“If I had half the chance,” Boots grinned wickedly, “I'd do them all again. And I hope Magneco goes down fifty points!”

“The next time a balloon gets lost, I hope you're aboard,” snapped George.

“And I'll do my best,” promised Boots, “to land on you.” Then he was gone.

* * *

Bruno's departure was slightly warmer. “About all those rotten stunts, Elm,” he said, “it was nothing against
you
, really. I'm sorry if I've made your life miserable.”

“On the contrary,” said Elmer sadly, “I think I'm going to miss you. Here, I have a little gift for you.” Elmer held out a small glass bowl which contained a lively baby goldfish. “His name is Bruno,” he said shyly. “He hatched in the bathtub yesterday. I'd like you to have him.”

“Wow!” said Bruno, and quickly helped himself to some of the aquarium supplies on the table.

“So you
do
like him?” Elmer asked.

“Like him! I'm crazy about him!” Bruno replied. “You're a good friend, Elmer.”

“You're a good friend too,” Elmer said. “It was you, wasn't it, who got me all those medals and a new telescope?”

Bruno shrugged. “Well, look at it this way: since you spotted the balloon, Francisco would have been saved anyway. You're a hero too, Elm.”

With his suitcase in one hand and the fish bowl in the other, Bruno left Dormitory 2. He moved slowly, almost reluctantly, until he caught sight of his old room. The blinds were up and he could see Boots hanging up the old movie posters.

“Home, sweet home,” he sighed.

Be sure to read the next hilarious Macdonald Hall adventure:

“Come on, Boots! Swim!” shouted Bruno Walton. His usually overpowering voice was drowned out by the competing roars of the Macdonald Hall rooting section and their York Academy rivals on the other side of the pool.

In lane number 3, Boots O'Neal, Macdonald Hall's star swimmer, churned his arms in a steady, powerful crawl. His pace was good, but not good enough. Dimly he could see at least two figures ahead of him.

As he bobbed up and down at the end of the race, the loudspeaker blared:
First place, York Academy. Second, York Academy. Third, York Academy. Fourth, fifth and sixth, Macdonald Hall. The winners of the meet, victorious in all events, York Academy!

Wild cheering erupted from the host benches, accompanied by good-natured, though half-hearted, applause from the boys of Macdonald Hall.

As Boots heaved himself out of the pool, Bruno threw him a towel. “Nice try.”

Boots nodded breathlessly. “Those turkeys can swim!” he panted.

“Why not?” Bruno shrugged indifferently. “They have their own pool. Our team gets an hour a week at the Y.”

Boots shook his head dejectedly. “It really gets to you,” he said. “Only two weeks at school and already they're one up on us. I sure wish we had a pool.”

Silence fell as the boys from both schools watched Mr. Hartley, Headmaster of York Academy, and Mr. Sturgeon, Headmaster of Macdonald Hall, present a large gleaming trophy to the smirking captain of the winning team. Boots and the rest of his team lined up for the traditional handshake, but led by their captain, the winners disdainfully turned their backs and walked out. Their jubilant supporters followed.

“Boy!” exclaimed Sidney Rampulsky, withdrawing his outstretched hand to flip the wet hair back from his forehead. “I never saw anything like that before!”

“Gracious winners, aren't they?” someone commented.

“Jerks!”

“Such class!”

“They've been swimming too long! They must have water on the brain!”

“Turkeys!” snarled Bruno. “Someone's going to have to teach them some manners!”

“I don't mind losing,” said Pete Anderson mildly, “but that was pretty rotten. I'd like to fix them for that.”

There were murmurs of agreement throughout the Macdonald Hall crowd.

“Fortunately,” announced Bruno with a diabolical grin, “I happen to have the very thing. Wilbur, you're strong. Go get the crate I hid under the back seat on our bus. The one marked
Fizz-All Upset Stomach Remedy
.”

Boots stared at him in horror. “Fizz-All! I thought you were kidding! Did you really bring that stuff?”

“Of course,” replied Bruno. “I believe in being prepared for any emergency. We'll mix them a cocktail they'll never forget!”

As the bus pulled out of the parking lot a half-hour later, twenty pounds of Fizz-All crystals were turning the York Academy pool into a white, boiling torrent. There was great jubilation on the bus, and much song and laughter.

Mr. Sturgeon turned to his athletic director, Alex Flynn. “I'm very proud of our boys,” he said. “They suffered an honourable defeat and were treated rudely, but they're not letting it upset them.”

As the bus turned off Highway 48 onto the tree-lined driveway of Macdonald Hall, students swarmed out to meet it. Across the road, a delegation of girls from the famous Miss Scrimmage's Finishing School for Young Ladies waved and shrieked to welcome the boys' swim team home. The travellers rattled off the bus in great good humour.

“Well?” asked Mark Davies, editor of the school newspaper. “How did we make out this time?”

“Oh,” laughed Bruno airily, “it was a fizzle.”

* * *

“My boys did
what
?” Mr. Sturgeon exclaimed into the telephone.

The call had been waiting for him when he entered his office. “Mr. Hartley of York Academy, sir,” his secretary had told him. “He seems very upset.”

“Surely, Hartley, you don't believe that … An empty crate of Fizz-All? How peculiar. What did it do to the water? … That bad, was it? … Now see here, Hartley, my boys went straight to the locker room after that disgusting snub, and straight to the bus after that … No, I do
not
think the crate got up and walked. I simply cannot understand how you can accuse my boys of sabotaging your pool. There is absolutely no proof … Is that right? Well, why don't you try drinking some of your pool water. Perhaps it will settle your stomach!”

Angrily he slammed down the receiver and sat for a moment to compose himself. An odd smile crept over his thin face, and he buzzed his secretary on the intercom. “Mrs. Davis, please send for Bruno Walton and Melvin O'Neal immediately.”

* * *

In room 306 of Dormitory 3, Bruno Walton and Boots O'Neal lazed at their desks, picking at their homework. “So you came in fourth,” Bruno was saying. “So what?”

“It's not that,” Boots muttered miserably.

“You're afraid we'll get into trouble for fizzing up their stupid pool?”

“No, that's not it either,” protested Boots.

“Then what is it? You've been sulking ever since we got back to the Hall.”

“It's nothing — maybe.”

“Will you spit it out?” Bruno demanded.

“Well, you know my dad,” began Boots slowly. “He's a super athlete. He was even an Olympic swimmer once. Well, he thinks the athletic program at Macdonald Hall isn't good enough. Lately he's been thinking about sending me to York Academy.”

Bruno emitted a startled howl of protest. “
What?
But — but you can't! You'd be a turkey! A York turkey! You just can't!”

“I may have to,” said Boots, “if that's what my folks decide. They know the Hall is the best academic school, but they say there's more to a guy's education than just books.”

“But — but you'd play against me on the hockey team!” protested Bruno. “And you'd have to live over there! My new roommate would probably snore!”

“Well, maybe it won't happen,” Boots offered hopefully.

“You can bet your track shorts it won't happen,” Bruno snapped, “because we're going to get a pool for Macdonald Hall!”

“We?” shrieked Boots. “As in you and me?”

“And a lot of other guys.”

“How? The Fish said the budget —”

“Don't bother me with details. We're getting a pool and that's that.”

They were interrupted by a knock at the door. Boots opened it and took a note from the office messenger. It read:
Bruno Walton and Melvin O'Neal are to present themselves at Mr. Sturgeon's office immediately
.

“That didn't take long,” Boots commented glumly.

Bruno nodded. “The turkeys must be up to their ears in foam by now. I wonder how The Fish knew it was us.”

“Lucky guess?” Boots grinned, but his expression held a certain dread. “I wonder how mad he is,” he added as they walked down the marble corridor which led to the Headmaster's office.

Bruno smiled confidently. “Not half as mad as Mr. Heartless and his turkeys,” he said. “Besides, I wanted to see The Fish anyway. There's a little matter of something lacking around here.”

Boots groaned softly. “Bruno, while he's bawling us out is no time to start asking for favours.”

“Just leave everything to me,” Bruno assured him.

Mrs. Davis, smiling sympathetically, opened the heavy oak door lettered HEADMASTER and ushered them inside. Automatically they seated themselves on the hard wooden bench that was reserved for boys who had been called to the office under a cloud.

Mr. Sturgeon was not nicknamed “The Fish” merely because of his name. The coldness of his grey eyes was exaggerated by his steel-rimmed glasses, giving him an unblinking, fishy stare. He now turned this look upon Bruno and Boots.

“I don't suppose I need tell you what happened at York Academy immediately after we left,” he said.

Bruno shifted uncomfortably. “I guess we already know, sir,” he replied.

“That was extremely poor sportsmanship,” the Headmaster went on. “Surely the students of Macdonald Hall know how to lose graciously.”

“I guess, sir, when they refused to shake hands with our team we lost control of ourselves,” Bruno admitted.

“And you just happened to have a crate of Fizz-All with you,” Mr. Sturgeon remarked acidly. “No doubt all swim teams carry mass quantities of stomach remedy with them.” His eyes grew even colder. “You boys took the Fizz-All for the specific purpose of damaging the York swimming pool, didn't you?”