“As a matter of fact, sir, we just so happen to have two hundred dollars coming to us from an outside source.” From his shirt pocket he produced a lottery ticket and a crumpled newspaper clipping. “We matched the last four digits.”
Mr. Sturgeon’s eyes glared with cold disapproval. “You are well aware of my feelings concerning gambling,” he said. “I fail to recall giving my consent for the purchase of a lottery ticket. May I ask how you came by the ticket?”
“One of the girls from Miss Scrimmage’s bought it for us when they went into town,” Bruno confessed.
“And no doubt she sent it to you here by mail,” Mr. Sturgeon added sarcastically. “Let me see the ticket.” He examined it carefully. It was made out in the name of Donald McHall at the school’s address, and was indeed a two-hundred-dollar winner. “Why Donald McHall?” he asked finally.
“Well, Cathy — uh — the girl just put it down that way,” Bruno explained. “You know, Macdonald Hall — Donald McHall …”
“Yes, yes, I understand.” The Headmaster sighed. “Since the money belongs to the pool fund, I shall collect it this afternoon when I am in town.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Boots.
“Sir,” said Bruno, “I have an idea about how we can raise money from other sources. It’s fruit harvest time, and we could set up a rent-a-student service for the farmers around here. We could take a couple of weeks off school and —”
“That will do,” interrupted Mr. Sturgeon. “Your parents did not register you at Macdonald Hall to turn you into farm labourers.”
“Yes, sir,” chorused Bruno and Boots.
* * *
A dejected Bruno Walton sat on the small hill on Macdonald Hall’s front lawn and stared absently at the cars going by. There was no way, no way at all, that the school could have a pool now.
A figure approached and sat down beside him. “Bruno,” said Boots, “you’ve been sitting here for over an hour. There’s just no way. We gave it a try and it can’t be done. Maybe it’ll all work out.”
“And maybe it won’t!” Bruno growled. “And that’ll leave a lot of good Macdonald Hall students sitting in York Academy or some other rotten place. It’ll break up a lot of pretty good friendships too — like ours, for instance.”
“That’s what gets me!” Boots exclaimed. “Our school is better than York Academy, even without a pool.”
Bruno nodded. “It is, you know,” he agreed. “That’s why I just can’t stand to think of those turkeys lording it over us —” He stopped dead and sat up straight. “Our school is better than theirs. Boots,” he said with sudden new life, “look at all the cars that pass by here. Those people get to look at our beautiful school — for free!”
Boots laughed. “What are you going to do? Set up a tollbooth and charge them for the privilege?”
“As a matter of fact, that’s a wonderful idea!”
“Bruno, are you
crazy
?” Boots cried. “The Fish would never give permission for that!”
“We don’t have to ask him,” Bruno replied earnestly. “He’s already told us to go out and make money from other sources. The passing public is another source.”
Boots held his head. “Bruno, this time we’re going too far! If we got caught at this, we’d be lucky if York Academy would even have us!”
Bruno ignored him. “Come on!” he said excitedly. “We’re going to see Wilbur!”
They dashed across the campus in the direction of Dormitory 1, raced inside and knocked on Wilbur’s door. The big boy had been doing his homework.
“Wilbur, we need your help,” said Bruno, getting right to the point. “We need you to borrow two sawhorses out of the wood shop without telling Mr. Lautrec.”
“Why can’t I tell Mr. Lautrec?”
“Because,” explained Bruno, “he’ll want to know what you’re going to use them for and I don’t want to tell him.”
Wilbur, who was not very adventurous, turned pale. “But what if I get
Mr. Sturgeon’s eyes glared with cold disapproval. “You are well aware of my feelings concerning gambling,” he said. “I fail to recall giving my consent for the purchase of a lottery ticket. May I ask how you came by the ticket?”
“One of the girls from Miss Scrimmage’s bought it for us when they went into town,” Bruno confessed.
“And no doubt she sent it to you here by mail,” Mr. Sturgeon added sarcastically. “Let me see the ticket.” He examined it carefully. It was made out in the name of Donald McHall at the school’s address, and was indeed a two-hundred-dollar winner. “Why Donald McHall?” he asked finally.
“Well, Cathy — uh — the girl just put it down that way,” Bruno explained. “You know, Macdonald Hall — Donald McHall …”
“Yes, yes, I understand.” The Headmaster sighed. “Since the money belongs to the pool fund, I shall collect it this afternoon when I am in town.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Boots.
“Sir,” said Bruno, “I have an idea about how we can raise money from other sources. It’s fruit harvest time, and we could set up a rent-a-student service for the farmers around here. We could take a couple of weeks off school and —”
“That will do,” interrupted Mr. Sturgeon. “Your parents did not register you at Macdonald Hall to turn you into farm labourers.”
“Yes, sir,” chorused Bruno and Boots.
* * *
A dejected Bruno Walton sat on the small hill on Macdonald Hall’s front lawn and stared absently at the cars going by. There was no way, no way at all, that the school could have a pool now.
A figure approached and sat down beside him. “Bruno,” said Boots, “you’ve been sitting here for over an hour. There’s just no way. We gave it a try and it can’t be done. Maybe it’ll all work out.”
“And maybe it won’t!” Bruno growled. “And that’ll leave a lot of good Macdonald Hall students sitting in York Academy or some other rotten place. It’ll break up a lot of pretty good friendships too — like ours, for instance.”
“That’s what gets me!” Boots exclaimed. “Our school is better than York Academy, even without a pool.”
Bruno nodded. “It is, you know,” he agreed. “That’s why I just can’t stand to think of those turkeys lording it over us —” He stopped dead and sat up straight. “Our school is better than theirs. Boots,” he said with sudden new life, “look at all the cars that pass by here. Those people get to look at our beautiful school — for free!”
Boots laughed. “What are you going to do? Set up a tollbooth and charge them for the privilege?”
“As a matter of fact, that’s a wonderful idea!”
“Bruno, are you
crazy
?” Boots cried. “The Fish would never give permission for that!”
“We don’t have to ask him,” Bruno replied earnestly. “He’s already told us to go out and make money from other sources. The passing public is another source.”
Boots held his head. “Bruno, this time we’re going too far! If we got caught at this, we’d be lucky if York Academy would even have us!”
Bruno ignored him. “Come on!” he said excitedly. “We’re going to see Wilbur!”
They dashed across the campus in the direction of Dormitory 1, raced inside and knocked on Wilbur’s door. The big boy had been doing his homework.
“Wilbur, we need your help,” said Bruno, getting right to the point. “We need you to borrow two sawhorses out of the wood shop without telling Mr. Lautrec.”
“Why can’t I tell Mr. Lautrec?”
“Because,” explained Bruno, “he’ll want to know what you’re going to use them for and I don’t want to tell him.”
Wilbur, who was not very adventurous, turned pale. “But what if I get
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