number six. “That’s the best we’ve ever done!”
Elmer produced a twenty-dollar bill. “The Cool Cola Company sent me this,” he said proudly. “It’s a special consolation prize. They said my jingle was the most unusual one in the history of the company.”
“Here’s Sidney’s five dollars,” Boots put in, dropping a bill into the bucket. “It seems he coloured in the magic peanut in the ad for Ace Nuts.”
Elmer looked thoughtful. “We now have $8,001.58, which is sixteen point —”
“All right, Elmer,” Bruno cut in. “We know we’re still short. But wasn’t it a great day?”
“It sure was,” said Boots. “Especially when Miss Scrimmage got hit by a wet sponge and The Fish couldn’t even blame it on us.”
“I wonder,” mused Bruno, “if we couldn’t start building the pool now. We could give the builder our $8,001.58 as a down payment and pay off the rest later.”
“Much later,” said Boots. “About two hundred years later.”
“Before a mortgage company would consider your application,” said Elmer, “you would need to show a steady source of income. Presently, you are too much of a risk.”
“Oh well, grab a couple of buckets, you guys,” ordered Bruno, not in the least discouraged. “Let’s get this money to The Fish for banking.” He grinned at Boots. “You’ve got a letter to write.”
“Oh no!” moaned Boots. “Not another one!”
“Your parents haven’t heard yet about that fabulous history class you attended recently,” Bruno told him. “And if they don’t hear about it, it could mean the turkey farm.”
“Let’s hurry,” Boots agreed.
There was a loud crash at the door.
“They’re here! They’re here! They’re here! I won!”
someone cried. Bruno, Boots, and Elmer rushed out of the room to see what was going on. They were nearly trampled in a stampede.
“I won!” cried the voice again. “They’re here with my refrigerator!”
Bruno’s eyes met Boots’s. “Let’s go!”
They dashed out of the dormitory, leaving a confused Elmer Drimsdale in charge of the money buckets.
Chapter 11
Lucky Donald McHall
“We’re well over the eight thousand mark, sir,” said Bruno.
“I have seen the figures in your bank statement,” said Mr. Sturgeon. “A dollar and fifty-eight cents over, isn’t it?”
“Nine hundred and one dollars and fifty-eight cents,” Bruno said happily. “Mr. and Mrs. Stratton are buying Rob Adams’s refrigerator. And there’s plenty more where that came from.”
Mr. Sturgeon leaned back. “The — uh — plenty more is what I have been wanting to discuss with you. Sit down, boys — no, not on the bench. The chairs will do.” He paused to collect his thoughts. “So far you have been extremely successful with your fund-raising. However, you must face the fact that most of the money is coming from the same pockets — those of our own students and staff. In the past week I have been receiving telephone calls and letters from many of the parents complaining that their sons are repeatedly sending home for more money. It simply will not do.”
“But, sir,” argued Bruno, “a lot of the money from the rummage sale came from outside the school. And there’s the contest prizes. And then there’s Miss Scrimmage’s.”
“Yes,” replied the Headmaster, “but the bulk of what you have came from the Macdonald Hall students. As for the contests, luck is a very fickle thing. You have been lucky, but you cannot seriously expect any more revenue from contests. The point that I am making is not open to argument, Walton. It is this: our own resources have been tapped and tapped again. I cannot allow it to go any further.”
“Does this mean we’re not allowed to raise any more money?” asked Boots anxiously. He saw himself packing for York Academy.
“Not exactly,” said the Headmaster. “But in future, any funds raised will have to come from outside sources.”
Bruno cleared his throat carefully.
Elmer produced a twenty-dollar bill. “The Cool Cola Company sent me this,” he said proudly. “It’s a special consolation prize. They said my jingle was the most unusual one in the history of the company.”
“Here’s Sidney’s five dollars,” Boots put in, dropping a bill into the bucket. “It seems he coloured in the magic peanut in the ad for Ace Nuts.”
Elmer looked thoughtful. “We now have $8,001.58, which is sixteen point —”
“All right, Elmer,” Bruno cut in. “We know we’re still short. But wasn’t it a great day?”
“It sure was,” said Boots. “Especially when Miss Scrimmage got hit by a wet sponge and The Fish couldn’t even blame it on us.”
“I wonder,” mused Bruno, “if we couldn’t start building the pool now. We could give the builder our $8,001.58 as a down payment and pay off the rest later.”
“Much later,” said Boots. “About two hundred years later.”
“Before a mortgage company would consider your application,” said Elmer, “you would need to show a steady source of income. Presently, you are too much of a risk.”
“Oh well, grab a couple of buckets, you guys,” ordered Bruno, not in the least discouraged. “Let’s get this money to The Fish for banking.” He grinned at Boots. “You’ve got a letter to write.”
“Oh no!” moaned Boots. “Not another one!”
“Your parents haven’t heard yet about that fabulous history class you attended recently,” Bruno told him. “And if they don’t hear about it, it could mean the turkey farm.”
“Let’s hurry,” Boots agreed.
There was a loud crash at the door.
“They’re here! They’re here! They’re here! I won!”
someone cried. Bruno, Boots, and Elmer rushed out of the room to see what was going on. They were nearly trampled in a stampede.
“I won!” cried the voice again. “They’re here with my refrigerator!”
Bruno’s eyes met Boots’s. “Let’s go!”
They dashed out of the dormitory, leaving a confused Elmer Drimsdale in charge of the money buckets.
Chapter 11
Lucky Donald McHall
“We’re well over the eight thousand mark, sir,” said Bruno.
“I have seen the figures in your bank statement,” said Mr. Sturgeon. “A dollar and fifty-eight cents over, isn’t it?”
“Nine hundred and one dollars and fifty-eight cents,” Bruno said happily. “Mr. and Mrs. Stratton are buying Rob Adams’s refrigerator. And there’s plenty more where that came from.”
Mr. Sturgeon leaned back. “The — uh — plenty more is what I have been wanting to discuss with you. Sit down, boys — no, not on the bench. The chairs will do.” He paused to collect his thoughts. “So far you have been extremely successful with your fund-raising. However, you must face the fact that most of the money is coming from the same pockets — those of our own students and staff. In the past week I have been receiving telephone calls and letters from many of the parents complaining that their sons are repeatedly sending home for more money. It simply will not do.”
“But, sir,” argued Bruno, “a lot of the money from the rummage sale came from outside the school. And there’s the contest prizes. And then there’s Miss Scrimmage’s.”
“Yes,” replied the Headmaster, “but the bulk of what you have came from the Macdonald Hall students. As for the contests, luck is a very fickle thing. You have been lucky, but you cannot seriously expect any more revenue from contests. The point that I am making is not open to argument, Walton. It is this: our own resources have been tapped and tapped again. I cannot allow it to go any further.”
“Does this mean we’re not allowed to raise any more money?” asked Boots anxiously. He saw himself packing for York Academy.
“Not exactly,” said the Headmaster. “But in future, any funds raised will have to come from outside sources.”
Bruno cleared his throat carefully.
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