Beware the Fisj (15 page)

A man with a microphone bearing the call letters of a Toronto radio station was interviewing Sidney Rampulsky, who stood with a handkerchief to his bloody nose.

“No, I wasn’t injured in the explosion,” Sidney was saying. “I fell down.”

News travels fast. More and more members of the media arrived on the scene in the hope of getting a good story out of what was going on at Macdonald Hall.

“It’s an invasion,” Cathy Burton was telling a crowd of reporters. She smiled for a photographer, her sweetest smile. “Right over there.” She pointed to the flagpole where Mr. Sturgeon and the four policemen were just getting to their feet amid a confused crowd of students.

Not wanting to leave anyone out, Cathy turned to the crowd. “Right there! That’s where the story is! By the flagpole! Over there!”

With Cathy in the lead, the entire swarm of reporters, interviewers, TV cameramen and photographers, as well as curious observers, converged on the flagpole.

Cathy snatched the confused Hamilton’s megaphone and addressed the crowd.
“Here he is!”
she cried, indicating the dishevelled Mr. Sturgeon.
“He holds the answer to the whole thing! Take it away, sir!”

Featherstone was sure he should have been doing something, but he could not imagine what. His training manual had let him down again.

Mr. Sturgeon was in the spotlight. All cameras were focused on him. Reporters stood there, pencils poised, waiting for his remarks.

Bruno Walton pushed his way through the crowd and ran to his Headmaster.

“I confess,” he cried. “It’s all my fault!”

Boots burst onto the scene and ran to his side. “And mine!”

Elmer Drimsdale appeared, stiff-lipped and straight-backed. “No!” he shouted dramatically. “I am responsible!”

Mr. Sturgeon gathered his dignity at last and rose to his full height, facing Kowalski.

“You will remove this ridiculous handcuff at once,” he ordered quietly.

Kowalski looked at Featherstone who, hopelessly confused and uncertain, nodded feebly. The cuffs came off. “You see,” Bruno was explaining to the crowd of media people, “it all started when we found out that Macdonald Hall was going broke.”

“Walton, that will do,” said Mr. Sturgeon quietly.

Bruno turned an impassioned face to his Headmaster. “I don’t think so, sir,” he said earnestly. “Even though it’s too late, I think everybody should know about Macdonald Hall.” He turned back to the reporters amid a barrage of camera flashes. “About how a good school can go under in this day and age, and nobody knows or cares.”

“We care!”
chorused the student body of Macdonald Hall and Miss Scrimmage’s combined.

“We sure do!” exclaimed Bruno. “And we’ve been trying to save our school.” The orator in him fully aroused, Bruno was in high gear. “We tried to get publicity for our cause so that enrolment would go up and the school would be saved, but everything we did turned out wrong. We lost our pop cans, and none of Elmer’s inventions worked properly, so we couldn’t become famous, or set a world record, or be the home of some great invention and get great publicity that would save everything. It just didn’t work out.”

“What a human interest story!” exclaimed one of the reporters. “Go on! Go on!”

“Elmer was trying to invent a new kind of broadcasting,” Bruno continued. “I didn’t know it was beaming that fish to the whole county! I was just playing with it! And you were getting suspicious, sir. So to avoid any trouble we had to bury it — along with Elmer’s other things, like his remote control equipment and his chemistry stuff. We buried all of it in the sand pit that used to be over there, and when Miss Scrimmage shot into it, I guess it blew up. And that’s the whole story.”

“We just couldn’t let Macdonald Hall go down without a fight,” added Boots.

They looked desperately at their Headmaster. He stood strangely still, saying nothing —

“So where do the police come in?” asked one of the reporters.

Featherstone snapped out of his trance. “Ah — yes,” he began. “We were — uh — investigating. Isn’t that right, Hamilton?”

“Yeah,” said Hamilton. “That’s it. Investigating.”

“Oh, I get it,” said the newsman. “You discovered Macdonald Hall’s problem and you were helping them get publicity.”

“Uh — right,” said Featherstone gratefully.

“This is a very fine school,” added Hamilton, “and it shouldn’t be allowed to close down. Today’s police take an active interest in the education of our youth.”

“Hey,” said a photographer, “seeing as we missed the fireworks, let’s get a shot of you two police guys shaking hands with the Headmaster.”

Another photographer walked up to Bruno. “I’d like a shot of you and your two friends with the Headmaster.”

“But why,” asked someone, “did this Miss Scrimmage shoot bullets into the sand pit?”

“Oh, that was an accident,” put in Cathy. “Miss Scrimmage never shoots anything on purpose.”

Cameras clicked, pencils scribbled, videotapes rolled. It was two hours before Mr. Sturgeon finally called a halt to the impromptu press conference, cleared the campus and sent his boys to bed.

“We’re doomed!” muttered Boots mournfully as he, Bruno and Elmer walked across the campus towards the Faculty Building. Classes had been cancelled for the day because of the state of the campus, but Mr. Sturgeon had sent for the three boys right after lunch.

“I don’t care,” said Bruno. “Macdonald Hall is gone, but at least we sent it out in a blaze of glory.” He reached down and picked up a partially burned salmon poster. “Here, Elmer.”

“Thank you,” said Elmer feebly, almost paralyzed with fear. “Do you think we’ll be expelled?”

“You can’t be expelled from a school that doesn’t exist,” observed Bruno gloomily. “We’ll just go before everybody else, that’s all.”

“Still,” sighed Boots, “my folks’ll kill me!”

“If I had to be expelled,” said Bruno, “this is the way I’d want it to happen — defending the Hall, whether The Fish appreciates it or not.”

They entered the building and marched like martyrs to the Headmaster’s office. Mr. Sturgeon himself ushered them inside and seated them, to their surprise, in the visitors’ chairs rather than on the hard bench. They waited.

Mr. Sturgeon indicated a stack of newspapers on his desk. “You boys made quite an impression last night.” He began to read headlines: “
Loyal Students Fight to Save Financially Troubled School; Save Our School, Cry Macdonald Hall Boys; Fight to Save School Ends in Brilliant Explosion; Police Assist Battle to Keep School Solvent
. The list is endless. You were on network and local television last night and this morning, and on several radio stations. Two major magazines want to do articles on Macdonald Hall, and the
Science Gazette
would like to interview you, Drimsdale. Offhand I would say your efforts to get publicity were not entirely unsuccessful.”

The three boys stared in silence.

“Listen to this editorial from the
Toronto Star
,” the Headmaster went on. “
What kind of school spirit is it that inspired the boys of Macdonald Hall to try just about anything to save their school from bankruptcy? Only a rare institution and staff could bring out such loyalty and devotion. That is why today we take our hats off to the students of Macdonald Hall for their valiant and untiring efforts to keep their school operating …
The rest goes on to explain in detail the events of last night, with which I’m sure you are very familiar.”

“Yes, sir,” said Bruno meekly.

“I have some rather good news for all of us,” Mr. Sturgeon went on. He permitted himself a small smile. “This morning alone we have had hundreds of telephone inquiries from parents all over the country. Already over forty new boys have been signed up for next year. We expect many more.”

“Hot gazoobies!” blurted Bruno, jumping to his feet He sat down quickly. “I mean — uh — that’s very nice.”

Mr. Sturgeon beamed. “Very nice indeed,” he agreed. “We are planning to reopen Dormitory 3, and perhaps even build a Dormitory 4. I would like to congratulate you for your efforts.”

“I’m not going to be expelled then, sir?” asked Elmer hopefully.

“Hardly,” said Mr. Sturgeon. “I would venture a guess that you may even become famous. The
Science Gazette
is extremely interested in your PIT technology and how you consistently overpowered the CHUT transmitter.”

Elmer blushed. “It wasn’t supposed to do that.”

“And while we’re on the subject, boys,” said the Headmaster, “there are a few things I would really like clarification on.” He cleared his throat carefully. “Recently I have received a series of complaints and accusations from Miss Scrimmage concerning various — uh — alleged activities. For instance, does anyone know if Miss Scrimmage was actually, as she phrased it, ‘beaten up’?”

“That would have to be when Sidney Rampulsky fell on her,” offered Bruno thoughtfully.

“Of course it was an accident, sir,” added Boots quickly.

Mr. Sturgeon nodded slowly. “With him it always is. And I suppose you have an explanation for a phantom shoe that Miss Scrimmage found after an alleged raid?”

Boots hung his head. “Yes, sir. That was mine.”

“I see,” said the Headmaster. “What about Miss Scrimmage’s story of a member of the Macdonald Hall staff running around her school in his underclothes?”

“Oh, that was just Coach Flynn, sir,” said Bruno. “But it was his gym shorts, not his underwear. He doesn’t know anything about it, though. He was drunk at the time.”

“I beg your pardon?” snapped Mr. Sturgeon stiffly.

“You see,” explained Boots, “we put Elmer’s cold cure in his Muscle-Ade and he drank it, and it made him — well …”

“Intoxicated,” supplied Elmer. “My cold remedy reacts badly to the citric acid in those high-energy drinks.”

“So when the coach drank it,” added Bruno, “he got sort of drunk and went over to Scrimmage’s and carried on. But it wasn’t his fault.”

“He didn’t even know about it.”

“Perhaps it’s just as well,” said Mr. Sturgeon with a queer smile.

“Is there anything else you’d like to know about, sir?” asked Bruno.

“Just one more thing comes to mind,” said the Headmaster. “Would there be anything in Drimsdale’s equipment that Miss Scrimmage might misconstrue as a red and green flying bomb?”

Elmer choked and had to be pounded heartily on the back by his two roommates.

“It was the M.H. Flying — uh — remote control device, sir,” stammered Bruno.

“Ah, yes,” said Mr. Sturgeon. “That would be the flying
fish
, the one that flew away.”

“Yes, sir.”

“That will be all,” said Mr. Sturgeon. “You are dismissed. However, may I suggest that the next time you embark on a crusade such as this you inform me and obtain permission for your activities. Good day.”

* * *

The entire population of Macdonald Hall was assembled on the front lawn by the highway.

“Okay!” shouted Bruno. “The girls have to hear us, so be sure and yell loud! All together, now — one, two, three …”

A great chant rose from their throats,
“Macdonald Hall is saved! Macdonald Hall is saved!”

A stream of girls erupted from Miss Scrimmage’s Finishing School for Young Ladies. Led by Cathy Burton and chased by their teachers, they stampeded across the lawn, lined up across the road from the boys and joined in the chant.

“MACDONALD HALL IS SAVED! MACDONALD HALL IS SAVED!”

* * *

Saturday dawned warm and sunny, and Macdonald Hall’s boys were all sleeping in. Friday night there had been a big victory party that had lasted far into the night and the students were exhausted from their celebrating.

A large poster bearing the message
We Saved Macdonald Hall
was draped across Bruno Walton’s head as the three inhabitants of room 201 began to stir.

“It’s the middle of the night,” yawned Bruno.

“No,” said Boots. “Actually, there’s a poster covering your face.”

“Oooh,” moaned Elmer. “I have a headache!”

“That was a decent party,” said Bruno, peeling the poster off and dropping it onto the floor. “Too bad the girls couldn’t be there. That Miss Scrimmage sure carries a grudge. Just because the police confiscated her shotgun, she’s mad at us.”

Boots eased himself out of bed and walked over to the window for a breath of air. He looked, then stared, outside. “Bruno — Bruno, I think you’d better see this.”

“See what?” asked Bruno groggily.

“Come and see,” Boots insisted.

Bruno staggered over to the window, looked out and let out a bellow of rage. There, prominent on Miss Scrimmage’s front lawn, gleamed the world’s largest tin-can pyramid, more than five metres tall. Parked in front of the wrought-iron gates of the school was the CHUT-TV mobile unit, and directly behind it a large, bright blue van bearing the words
Rankin Book of World Records
.

“
My
pyramid!” shrieked Bruno in hysterics. “She stole
my
pyramid! I’ll
kill
her!” Before Boots could stop him, he had scrambled out the window and was running across the campus in his pyjamas.

Boots leaped out and ran barefoot across the grass in hot pursuit. Elmer, confused and astonished, followed.

Bruno ran to the edge of the highway, but was prevented from crossing by Boots and Elmer, who flanked him, each holding onto an arm for dear life.

“Cathy! Cathy! That’s
my
pyramid!
Mine!
You’ll
pay
for this!”

Cathy waved in a friendly manner, but said nothing.

“I’ll call the police!” Bruno threatened darkly. “I’ll call the army! I’ll call
Mr. Sturgeon
!”

Boots and Elmer began hauling him back towards Dormitory 2.

“I’ll have your
head
for this!” shouted Bruno, his heels dragging. “I’ll file a complaint! I’ll write my Member of Parliament! … the Prime Minister! … the Queen! …”

Cathy watched as Boots and Elmer hauled him out of sight, until his voice was just a faint echo. “He seems upset about something,” she commented mildly.