This Can't Be Happening at Macdonald Hall (7 page)

“Mmm-hmm,” said Bruno. Unbelievably, Elmer had never missed him, nor had he noticed the commotion on the two campuses. He had been glued to his telescope all this time — gazing and drawing and theorizing.

“Elmer, old buddy, you're one in a million,” marvelled Bruno.

Elmer took this as a compliment. “Thank you, Bruno,” he said,

* * *

The battlefield was deserted. A light breeze whispered through the evergreens on both campuses. In front of Miss Scrimmage's, soft moonlight illuminated tattered bushes and trampled flower beds — and a sign which read:
Miss Scrimmage's Fishing School for Young Ladies
.

At precisely 9:00 on Sunday morning a knock sounded at the door of room 201. Bruno was still in bed, but Elmer was awake and dressed, taking care of the new algae eater in his fish tank. He dried his hands and opened the door.

There stood the school messenger, one of the freshmen. “Boy, Drimsdale,” he said, “are you ever in trouble!” He handed Elmer a note which ordered him to present himself at the Headmaster's office in one hour's time.

Elmer collapsed in a heap on his bed. “I knew it,” he moaned. “Someone must have seen my telescope at the window last night and reported that I was up after lights-out. My telescope will probably be confiscated — I may even be punished! I've never been punished in my whole life!” In agony, he hugged his pillow — and his hand closed on a pair of silk panties. Elmer screamed so loudly that Bruno bounded out of bed in alarm.

“What are
these
?” cried Elmer, waving the panties in Bruno's face.

“If you don't know,” Bruno replied, “then I can't help you. I can only assure you that they're
not
mine.”

“But where did they come from?” Elmer shrieked. “How did they get here?”

Bruno pretended to think about it for a moment. Then he stared at his roommate in horror. “Elmer!
You?
”

“What do you mean,
me
?”

“The panty raid at Miss Scrimmage's last night,” said Bruno. “It was you! I wouldn't have believed it — I thought you said girls were so icky.”

“What panty raid? I'm innocent!” Elmer screamed. “Am I going to get blamed for something I don't even know about?”

“Into each life some rain must fall,” said Bruno philosophically. “Whatever you sow, you must reap.”

* * *

The messenger had continued to Dormitory 1. Boots took the note from him and woke George. “Note for you, George. From Mr. Sturgeon's office.”

George yawned sleepily. “Oh, that must be about my allowance from Papa.” He accented the second syllable. “He always sends it by special messenger. I can hardly wait to see if I got the raise I asked for.”

Boots smiled. “Maybe you'll get even more than you asked for,” he said.

When George reached the office the door was open; so he knocked, then went right in. As he entered the room, he was surprised to see Elmer Drimsdale seated meekly on the bench. George walked towards the visitor's chair, but Mr. Sturgeon motioned to him to sit beside Elmer. George was puzzled. Mr. Sturgeon opened his top desk drawer and pulled out a plastic bag. From it he took out one rodent skull, one Toronto Horticultural Society membership card and a labelled test tube. He made a second pile with a money clip, a cell phone and a pen and pencil set, all clearly monogrammed.

“I believe these belong to you,” the Headmaster said grimly.

“Y-yes sir,” George stammered, now thoroughly confused. Elmer was speechless.

“These items were gathered at Miss Scrimmage's last night after a disgraceful episode during which some articles of — er — underwear were stolen.” George began to sweat. “The discovery of these items,” Mr. Sturgeon continued, “has led everyone to conclude that you two were the raiders. Unfortunately I have no alternative but to agree.” He smiled grimly. “You were even identified by name by several of the young ladies.”

George began to sweat even more. He reached for his handkerchief to wipe his forehead — and pulled out a pair of pink panties. “Yipes!” he cried.

“That will do,” said Mr. Sturgeon. “I rather think that that strange substitute for a pocket handkerchief completes the case against you.”

“But, sir,” pleaded George, “I have no idea how that got into my pocket!”

Mr. Sturgeon's smile changed. “Then I imagine your thinking is a little slow, Wexford-Smyth. I'm quite certain that
I
know how it got there.”

“I found some things like that under my pillow,” Elmer gasped.

“I'm not surprised to hear that,” said Mr. Sturgeon. “It seems that you two boys have been very nicely framed.”

For the first time since he had received the summons Elmer felt a surge of hope. He still had very little idea of what he had been framed
for
, but so long as he wasn't going to be punished, his world looked as if it would keep on turning.

“Melvin!” George exclaimed. “It was Melvin, wasn't it, sir? And that uncouth friend of his, Bruno Walton?”

“Bruno,” echoed Elmer sadly. “I've had enough of Bruno to last me a lifetime!”

“Is Walton harassing you?” asked Mr. Sturgeon.

Elmer shook his head. “Oh no, sir. It's just that he's so — unrestrained. And I'm so — I guess I seem dull to him, sir. I don't think he likes me.”

“Melvin is certainly harassing me, sir,” George broke in. “He should be punished, if you ask me.”

“I fail to recall asking you,” said Mr. Sturgeon, giving George his infamous grey look. Then he leaned back in his chair. “Boys, I would like to try an experiment. This is what I want you to do.”

* * *

Elmer Drimsdale, head down and feet dragging, returned to his room and flopped down on his bed.

“What's the matter, Elm?” asked Bruno, bursting with curiosity. “Aren't you going to crack the old books?”

“Books?” sobbed Elmer. “What's the point? I've been expelled!”

Bruno's normally ruddy face turned chalk-white. “
What?
They can't do this to you! You're innocent! You didn't do anything!”

“I know that,” said Elmer, “but Mr. Sturgeon didn't believe me. He expelled me. My mother is going to kill me!”

“But you were scanning the skies!” Bruno howled. “The crab nebula, remember?”

Elmer didn't answer. He took his suitcase from the closet, opened his dresser drawers and began to pack. Bruno stalked up and down the room like a madman.

“You don't have to pretend you're upset just to make me feel better,” said Elmer sadly. “I know you hate me and will be glad to be rid of me.”

“What do you mean
hate
you?” Bruno cried. “I'm
crazy
about you! I love your ants! I love your goldfish and your plants! I'm absolutely
wild
about your experiments! I'm a Drimsdologist! My world is the Elmer Drimsdale world!” On that note, he ran wildly out of the room.

* * *

“I have been expelled, Melvin,” George announced bitterly. “I leave immediately.”

“Expelled?” Boots echoed. “Leave? Why?”

“Elmer Drimsdale and I are being blamed for whatever happened at Miss Scrimmage's last night,” said George. He began to pack his medicines into a large leather chest marked
Health Care
. “We've both been expelled and —” He turned around to find he was talking to an empty room.

Boots tore across the campus towards the Faculty Building. He didn't know what he was going to say to Mr. Sturgeon; he only knew he could not allow George to be expelled for something he hadn't done. He ran blindly, his mind in a turmoil. Just at the foot of the cement walk he collided heavily with another running figure.

“Bruno, we can't let it happen!”

“You too, eh?” Bruno replied. “What are we going to do?”

“What
can
we do?” asked Boots. “Besides confess, that is.”

“Confess nothing!” countered Bruno. “If The Fish is ready to expel Elmer and George, he'll be ready to
hang
us! Listen — we don't have to say
we
did it; we just have to say that Elmer and George
didn't
. We're their roommates, after all. What better alibi could they have?”

“He'll never believe us,” Boots said dejectedly. “it was the stupidest thing we've ever done.”

“Well, it was
your
idea,” muttered Bruno. “C'mon.”

The oak doors had never been heavier. The echoes of their footsteps on the marble floor sounded like a death march in some great tomb. The desks in the outer office had never seemed so high, nor the white walls so desolate.

The office was deserted, but Mr. Sturgeon's door was open a crack. Boots knocked lightly. “It's Melvin O'Neal, sir. Bruno and I would like to talk to you.”

A muffled sound escaped from the inner office. It sounded very much like a chuckle, and the words, “Right on time.” Then the Headmaster called out, “Come on in, boys.”

On their way in, Bruno and Boots exchanged puzzled looks. What was going on?

Mr. Sturgeon did not speak until the two were seated uncomfortably on the hard wooden bench. Finally he said, “Why are you two boys together?”

“Uh — we aren't exactly together, sir,” said Bruno. “We just ran into each other on the way over here.”

“Very well. Now, what brings you here?”

“Sir,” Bruno began, “you can't expel Elmer Drimsdale.”

“And George,” added Boots fervently. “You can't expel him either … sir.”

“How odd,” said Mr. Sturgeon. “I was under the impression that
I
was Headmaster of this institution. I believe I have the power to expel
any
student who misbehaves as grossly as the two boys you just mentioned,”

“But Elmer was in his room all the time,” Bruno protested. “He couldn't have been at Miss Scrimmage's.”

“George too,” said Boots. “He came home from the dance and never left our room until the fire alarm went off.”

Mr. Sturgeon smiled icily. “So,” he said, “instead of being able to complain that Drimsdale and Wexford-Smyth are unsuitable roommates, you are obliged to come here to defend them.”

He knows, thought Boots miserably. He knows everything.

“Contrary to popular belief,” the Headmaster went on, “I am not as stupid as some of you think. I was a boy once myself, you know, and I understand all the little tricks.” His voice continued, colder than ever. “What you tried to do to your roommates was thoughtless and cruel. They are, of course, in the clear; I never for one moment believed they were guilty. It was I who suggested that they pretend to be expelled — just to see what kind of boys you two really are.”

Bruno and Boots sat in stunned silence.

“Had you not come to me to prevent their expulsion, I would have immediately sent you both packing.” He paused to let his words sink in. The silence was deafening. “However, the fact that you have done the right thing does not mean you will get off scot-free. Miss Scrimmage's flower beds and bushes have been badly trampled. You two will therefore report to the gardener's shed every morning at sunrise and work to repair the damage. Any new supplies which may be required will be purchased from your pocket money. This means, Walton,” he added, “that you will join O'Neal for dishwashing duty, since your allowance has already been used up to pay the exterminators. You know the rates, I believe.”

“Yes, sir,” said Bruno.

“As for you, O'Neal, your privileges are suspended for the remainder of the year. Walton, at the rate you're going, yours just might be restored to you by the time you reach the age of forty-three. You may go.”

Both boys stood up. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Mr. Sturgeon actually smiled at them. “I am glad to see that instead of complaining about your punishment you appreciate what was
not
done to you. Please go to your rooms — and separately. Good day.”

Bruno and Boots left the office and headed back towards their dormitories.

Moments after the boys had left, Mr. Sturgeon's telephone buzzed. He grimaced. “
That's
right on schedule too.”

He lifted the receiver to his ear. “Hello … Yes, Miss Scrimmage. I was just about to call you … I'm sending two of my boys over to repair the damage. They'll be working from sunrise every morning … Yes, Miss Scrimmage, we intend to cover all losses … Miss Scrimmage, with all due respect, I must ask you not to refer to
my boys
as hoodlums when
your girls
were responsible for the riot … Oh yes, they were. My boys could not possibly have achieved that result without inside help from those female barbarians of yours … I've told you, your flowers and bushes
will
be replaced. My boys merely thought they were rescuing your girls from a fire … What
about
your sign? May I remind you that it was no one from Macdonald Hall who shot a hole through it … Well, perhaps you should
teach
them fishing. They certainly aren't learning manners! And furthermore, Miss Scrimmage … Miss Scrimmage? …”

As Mr. Sturgeon replaced the receiver, a picture flashed through his mind: boys milling and shouting, girls running and screaming, and on the balcony, Miss Scrimmage with her shotgun. He put his head down on the desk and laughed until the green blotter was soaked with tears.

At daybreak Bruno and Boots were trudging along Miss Scrimmage's driveway. In the grey dawn they could barely make out the ruined hedges and flower beds.

“If there was any justice,” mumbled Bruno as he pushed the wheelbarrow, “I would be riding in this thing and
you
would be pushing, because this is all your fault.”