something,” replied Bruno confidently.
They lapsed into studious silence for five minutes. Music from across the road wafted in through the open window.
“Pretty good,” murmured Boots absently.
“What?” asked Bruno.
“Scrimmage’s band. They’re pretty good, don’t you think?”
“Mmmm,” nodded Bruno, his head buried in a math book.
“They’re a little loud,” commented Elmer. “After all, we do have to work here.”
Bruno’s head snapped to attention. “What? What?
What?
Say that again?”
“I said they’re pretty good,” said Boots.
“But a little loud,” added Elmer.
Bruno’s face took on a thoughtful expression. “But what if they were very bad? And
very
loud? Who would want to live across the street from that? Who would even want to
build
here?”
“Bruno, what are you saying?” asked Boots suspiciously.
With a joyful laugh Bruno tossed his math book into a pile of laundry. “I’m saying that by Saturday, with our help, of course, Miss Scrimmage’s band is going to get a lot bigger, a lot louder and a lot worse! That developer is going to head for the hills when he sees — and hears — what’s across the road from his condo building-to-be! Or not-to-be!”
“That is the question,” muttered Boots. “And the answer is trouble. Bruno, we’ll get expelled!”
“Nobody will see us,” returned Bruno. “The Board meeting, remember?”
“What about Miss Scrimmage?” ventured Elmer timidly.
“Don’t worry about her,” scoffed Bruno. “By the time she figures out what’s going on, the developer will be long gone.”
“We’ll have to set it up with the girls,” said Boots. “Don’t tell me we’re going to Scrimmage’s again tonight!”
“Are you kidding?” demanded Bruno. “That place is a death trap! Now, let’s see, where can we get a telephone?”
“Are you crazy?” cried Boots. “Scrimmage wouldn’t let Cathy talk to you!”
“Yes, she will,” grinned Bruno. “Now, about that telephone …”
* * *
Larry Wilson, his messenger duties over for the day, tiptoed into the empty office of the English Department and shut the heavy oak door softly behind him. He opened the window, picked up the telephone from the desk and lowered it down to a pair of waiting hands outside in the bushes.
“Hurry!” he whispered.
Bruno dialled Miss Scrimmage’s number.
“You’ll never pull it off!” whispered Boots from beside him.
“Watch me.” Bruno cleared his throat and in his very deepest voice said, “Good afternoon. This is Mr. Burton. I would like to speak with my daughter Catherine, please. It’s very important.” There was a long pause, then, “No, it’s not Dad, Cathy, it’s me — Bruno. Now listen carefully. We need your help …”
Briefly he explained the situation with the land developer. “We don’t want him killed, you understand — just scared off. All you have to do is get the girls out on the lawn for band practice on Saturday at 1:45. Leave plenty of room, and don’t be surprised if your band gets a lot bigger … No, don’t worry about being good. Just be loud.” He laughed. “Yes, I’ll give your love to Mom, John and Susie. See you Saturday. ’Bye.”
He passed the phone back through the window, whispering his thanks. Then he and Boots scampered off towards Dormitory 2.
* * *
“Eat your breakfast, dear. You don’t want to be late for your Board meeting,” said Mrs. Sturgeon early Saturday morning.
“I’m not very hungry,” confessed the Headmaster glumly. “I don’t like the idea of being in town while some real estate developer decides the fate of my school.”
“I don’t blame you,” she agreed. “It was pretty shabby of them to make the appointment for today.”
“It was not only shabby, it was probably deliberate. The Chairman doesn’t want me here in case I might say something discouraging to the man.” He chuckled without mirth. “I should invite Miss Scrimmage to come over and
They lapsed into studious silence for five minutes. Music from across the road wafted in through the open window.
“Pretty good,” murmured Boots absently.
“What?” asked Bruno.
“Scrimmage’s band. They’re pretty good, don’t you think?”
“Mmmm,” nodded Bruno, his head buried in a math book.
“They’re a little loud,” commented Elmer. “After all, we do have to work here.”
Bruno’s head snapped to attention. “What? What?
What?
Say that again?”
“I said they’re pretty good,” said Boots.
“But a little loud,” added Elmer.
Bruno’s face took on a thoughtful expression. “But what if they were very bad? And
very
loud? Who would want to live across the street from that? Who would even want to
build
here?”
“Bruno, what are you saying?” asked Boots suspiciously.
With a joyful laugh Bruno tossed his math book into a pile of laundry. “I’m saying that by Saturday, with our help, of course, Miss Scrimmage’s band is going to get a lot bigger, a lot louder and a lot worse! That developer is going to head for the hills when he sees — and hears — what’s across the road from his condo building-to-be! Or not-to-be!”
“That is the question,” muttered Boots. “And the answer is trouble. Bruno, we’ll get expelled!”
“Nobody will see us,” returned Bruno. “The Board meeting, remember?”
“What about Miss Scrimmage?” ventured Elmer timidly.
“Don’t worry about her,” scoffed Bruno. “By the time she figures out what’s going on, the developer will be long gone.”
“We’ll have to set it up with the girls,” said Boots. “Don’t tell me we’re going to Scrimmage’s again tonight!”
“Are you kidding?” demanded Bruno. “That place is a death trap! Now, let’s see, where can we get a telephone?”
“Are you crazy?” cried Boots. “Scrimmage wouldn’t let Cathy talk to you!”
“Yes, she will,” grinned Bruno. “Now, about that telephone …”
* * *
Larry Wilson, his messenger duties over for the day, tiptoed into the empty office of the English Department and shut the heavy oak door softly behind him. He opened the window, picked up the telephone from the desk and lowered it down to a pair of waiting hands outside in the bushes.
“Hurry!” he whispered.
Bruno dialled Miss Scrimmage’s number.
“You’ll never pull it off!” whispered Boots from beside him.
“Watch me.” Bruno cleared his throat and in his very deepest voice said, “Good afternoon. This is Mr. Burton. I would like to speak with my daughter Catherine, please. It’s very important.” There was a long pause, then, “No, it’s not Dad, Cathy, it’s me — Bruno. Now listen carefully. We need your help …”
Briefly he explained the situation with the land developer. “We don’t want him killed, you understand — just scared off. All you have to do is get the girls out on the lawn for band practice on Saturday at 1:45. Leave plenty of room, and don’t be surprised if your band gets a lot bigger … No, don’t worry about being good. Just be loud.” He laughed. “Yes, I’ll give your love to Mom, John and Susie. See you Saturday. ’Bye.”
He passed the phone back through the window, whispering his thanks. Then he and Boots scampered off towards Dormitory 2.
* * *
“Eat your breakfast, dear. You don’t want to be late for your Board meeting,” said Mrs. Sturgeon early Saturday morning.
“I’m not very hungry,” confessed the Headmaster glumly. “I don’t like the idea of being in town while some real estate developer decides the fate of my school.”
“I don’t blame you,” she agreed. “It was pretty shabby of them to make the appointment for today.”
“It was not only shabby, it was probably deliberate. The Chairman doesn’t want me here in case I might say something discouraging to the man.” He chuckled without mirth. “I should invite Miss Scrimmage to come over and
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