office telephone and dialled the number of Systems Supply Ltd., the office outlet he dealt with.
“This is Walter C. Wizzle at Macdonald Hall … Not Wuzzle, Wizzle … Listen, where is my ink-jet paper? … Yes, I know the order has been completed. You sent me toilet paper … What do you mean, you don’t handle toilet paper? You handled ten boxes in my direction … Yes, while you’re looking into it, get me a rush order for another ten boxes. And make sure it’s ink-jet paper this time, will you? I have a great deal of reports to print … Yes, I guess noon will be soon enough. Thank you.”
Standing outside the door, Larry Wilson, office messenger and committee member, smiled to himself. Operation Shut-Up had sidelined Mr. Wizzle at least until noon. And now that they knew a truck was coming …
At 12:05 the truck from Systems Supply Ltd. pulled up in front of the Faculty Building. Chris Talbot rushed out to meet it.
“Hi,” he said. “Ink-jet paper? Great. Just drop it off at that building there — yeah, the sign says Dormitory 3. They’re waiting for you.”
The truck moved along to Dormitory 3 and delivered Mr. Wizzle’s printer paper into the eager hands of Bruno, Boots and Wilbur. With a flourish Bruno signed the delivery ticket and the driver left.
“You didn’t sign Mr. Wizzle’s name, did you?” asked Boots nervously as the three boys began to stack the paper up against the wall of room 306, along with the paper they had taken earlier from the stock room.
“Of course not,” said Bruno. “I signed
G. Gavin Gunhold
.He’s the shipper-receiver around here.”
“That’s the last of them,” said Wilbur. “Let’s go eat lunch.”
At two o’clock Walter C. Wizzle was on the phone again. “Hello, This is Wizzle again … No, not Wuzzle, Wizzle! … I’m calling about those ten boxes of computer paper you promised would be here by noon. Where are they? … You can’t have a signed delivery slip, because I never got the delivery … G. Gavin Gunhold? There is no G. Gavin Gunhold here! You delivered my paper to the wrong place! … All right, look into it. But in the meantime ship me ten more boxes as soon as possible … All right, four o’clock is fine.”
Okay, thought Larry Wilson outside the door, four o’clock is fine.
The Systems Supply Ltd. truck came driving up the highway just after 4 PM. It was about a kilometre from the school when Mark Davies stepped out into its path, waving frantically. The truck pulled over onto the soft shoulder and the driver got out.
“Excuse me, sir,” said Mark, “but have you got a monkey wrench I can borrow? There’s something wrong with my bicycle.” Actually, it was Coach Flynn’s bicycle, and Bruno and Boots had taken off the front wheel.
“Sure thing. I’ve got a whole tool box. Maybe I can give you a hand.”
As he laboured with Mark over the dismantled bike, he failed to see Bruno, Boots and a Committee Task Force removing ten cartons from the back of the truck and replacing them with ten of their own. By the time Flynn’s wheel was back on, the switch was complete and everyone was hidden away.
Mr. Wizzle eagerly opened up one of the cartons that had justarrived.
“Toilet paper! They did it again!” In a rage, he rushed to the telephone. “Hello, this is Wizzle … No, not Wuzzle, Wizzle! … I just received my order and you gave me toilet paper again! … Yes, I know you don’t sell it, but that’s what you sent me! Have you people gone crazy? … Well, I want some of the right paper now. I will personally drive over there and pick it up … What do you mean you’re all out of ink-jet paper? … Yes, I know some guy ordered twenty boxes just today! But I never got a single sheet of it! … All right, all right, all right! I’ll call back tomorrow. Do what you can for me, will you? Good-bye.” He hung up emphatically. Now that was just peachy! No paper!
* * *
“The parade was just the
“This is Walter C. Wizzle at Macdonald Hall … Not Wuzzle, Wizzle … Listen, where is my ink-jet paper? … Yes, I know the order has been completed. You sent me toilet paper … What do you mean, you don’t handle toilet paper? You handled ten boxes in my direction … Yes, while you’re looking into it, get me a rush order for another ten boxes. And make sure it’s ink-jet paper this time, will you? I have a great deal of reports to print … Yes, I guess noon will be soon enough. Thank you.”
Standing outside the door, Larry Wilson, office messenger and committee member, smiled to himself. Operation Shut-Up had sidelined Mr. Wizzle at least until noon. And now that they knew a truck was coming …
At 12:05 the truck from Systems Supply Ltd. pulled up in front of the Faculty Building. Chris Talbot rushed out to meet it.
“Hi,” he said. “Ink-jet paper? Great. Just drop it off at that building there — yeah, the sign says Dormitory 3. They’re waiting for you.”
The truck moved along to Dormitory 3 and delivered Mr. Wizzle’s printer paper into the eager hands of Bruno, Boots and Wilbur. With a flourish Bruno signed the delivery ticket and the driver left.
“You didn’t sign Mr. Wizzle’s name, did you?” asked Boots nervously as the three boys began to stack the paper up against the wall of room 306, along with the paper they had taken earlier from the stock room.
“Of course not,” said Bruno. “I signed
G. Gavin Gunhold
.He’s the shipper-receiver around here.”
“That’s the last of them,” said Wilbur. “Let’s go eat lunch.”
At two o’clock Walter C. Wizzle was on the phone again. “Hello, This is Wizzle again … No, not Wuzzle, Wizzle! … I’m calling about those ten boxes of computer paper you promised would be here by noon. Where are they? … You can’t have a signed delivery slip, because I never got the delivery … G. Gavin Gunhold? There is no G. Gavin Gunhold here! You delivered my paper to the wrong place! … All right, look into it. But in the meantime ship me ten more boxes as soon as possible … All right, four o’clock is fine.”
Okay, thought Larry Wilson outside the door, four o’clock is fine.
The Systems Supply Ltd. truck came driving up the highway just after 4 PM. It was about a kilometre from the school when Mark Davies stepped out into its path, waving frantically. The truck pulled over onto the soft shoulder and the driver got out.
“Excuse me, sir,” said Mark, “but have you got a monkey wrench I can borrow? There’s something wrong with my bicycle.” Actually, it was Coach Flynn’s bicycle, and Bruno and Boots had taken off the front wheel.
“Sure thing. I’ve got a whole tool box. Maybe I can give you a hand.”
As he laboured with Mark over the dismantled bike, he failed to see Bruno, Boots and a Committee Task Force removing ten cartons from the back of the truck and replacing them with ten of their own. By the time Flynn’s wheel was back on, the switch was complete and everyone was hidden away.
Mr. Wizzle eagerly opened up one of the cartons that had justarrived.
“Toilet paper! They did it again!” In a rage, he rushed to the telephone. “Hello, this is Wizzle … No, not Wuzzle, Wizzle! … I just received my order and you gave me toilet paper again! … Yes, I know you don’t sell it, but that’s what you sent me! Have you people gone crazy? … Well, I want some of the right paper now. I will personally drive over there and pick it up … What do you mean you’re all out of ink-jet paper? … Yes, I know some guy ordered twenty boxes just today! But I never got a single sheet of it! … All right, all right, all right! I’ll call back tomorrow. Do what you can for me, will you? Good-bye.” He hung up emphatically. Now that was just peachy! No paper!
* * *
“The parade was just the
Similar Books
