Beware the Fisj (9 page)

Boots ran up and joined Bruno behind Mr. Sturgeon.

“Now,” cried Miss Scrimmage triumphantly, “proof at last! Your boys robbed our school!”

“Miss Scrimmage …” began Cathy uneasily.

The Headmistress pointed to Dormitory 3. “There is where they stashed the loot! Just have a look inside!”

“I believe I will,” responded a grim-faced Mr. Sturgeon in a controlled voice. The crowd parted to let him through. He walked around the corner of the building to the front door and looked inside. His jaw dropped in amazement. About fifty of his students were inside, wallowing in a sea of shiny pop cans. The scene resembled a battle in a bad science-fiction movie.

Miss Scrimmage caught up to him. “You see? They stole my girls’ souvenirs from —” She stopped in mid-sentence to stare at the spectacle.

Cathy nudged Diane. “Boy, oh boy,” she whispered. “The soda pop is going to hit the fan now.”

Mr. Sturgeon cleared his throat purposefully. “You boys come out of there at once.”

“I’m trying, sir!” cried Sidney Rampulsky, hopelessly attempting to swim to the door.

Mr. Sturgeon turned to Miss Scrimmage. “As you can see,” he said icily, “
nothing
has been stolen from your school. In the interests of peace and quiet, then, I think the best thing for you to do is to depart.” His face turned momentarily red, indicating suppressed anger. “
At once
, if you please.”

Miss Scrimmage gathered up her staff and students and began to march towards home.

Mr. Sturgeon turned to his boys. “You will all go to your beds immediately.” The boys began to scatter, grateful to be out of the Headmaster’s presence. “Walton, O’Neal, not you. I will see you in my office.”

“But, sir,” protested Bruno, “the Faculty Building is locked up for the night.”

“I am entrusted with a key,” replied Mr. Sturgeon, producing a key ring from his dressing gown pocket. “Come with me. We shall discuss this while it is still fresh in our minds.”

Silently Bruno and Boots followed the Headmaster into the darkened Faculty Building. Mr. Sturgeon switched on the lights in his office and led the boys inside. Instinctively, they seated themselves on the bench.

Mr. Sturgeon closed the door and began pacing in front of them, his backless slippers flapping loudly. “Now,” he said grimly, “I want an explanation. From the beginning. Everything. Omit nothing. A complete and concise summary of all the events leading up to the presence of that abomination in our dormitory!”

There was an awful silence.

“Come, come!” Mr. Sturgeon prodded. “You cannot possibly get into any more trouble than you are already in! I wish to know this instant why our dormitory is burgeoning with aluminum cans!”

“Well, sir,” began Bruno. There seemed no way out of it, and he was about to resort to the truth. “It’s like this. We were —”

There was the sound of running feet in the hall outside. The door flew open and in burst Cathy Burton in a pink quilted dressing gown and matching fleece slippers.

“Oh, sir,” she panted, throwing herself at Mr. Sturgeon’s feet, “I confess! The pop cans — they’re mine!”

Mr. Sturgeon jumped back as if he had been burned. “You will remove yourself from the floor, young lady,” he commanded sternly.

Cathy got up and sat down on the bench between Bruno and Boots.

Oh, no, thought Boots miserably. If she’s trying to get away with the same stuff she pulls on Miss Scrimmage, The Fish’ll cut all three of us to pieces!

“Cathy …” murmured Bruno warningly.

“Silence!” thundered Mr. Sturgeon. He seated himself at his desk. “You are Miss Burton, I believe. Tell me, Miss Burton, how did you come into the possession of so many soft-drink cans?”

“I’m a collector, sir,” Cathy explained. “I can never pass up a pop can. When I see them, I just have to have them.” She detected the beginnings of a smile on Mr. Sturgeon’s face and decided to elaborate. “I now have 41,683,” she said proudly. “I’m one of the foremost collectors in the country.”

“Congratulations,” said Mr. Sturgeon dryly. “May I ask how this formidable collection came to reside in my dormitory?”

Cathy hung her head dramatically. “My collection got so big that it was clogging up my room. I needed more space. Of course, cans can’t be stored outside. Rust and corrosion are the can collector’s nightmares.”

Mr. Sturgeon nodded understandingly. “Do go on,” he prompted.

“The fact is, sir,” Cathy confessed, “I talked Bruno and Melvin into letting me keep my collection in your empty dormitory. It was all my fault. I’m sorry.” She gave him her most innocent, dark-eyed look.

Mr. Sturgeon indulged in a long coughing spell. Finally he asked, “Does Miss Scrimmage know about your celebrated collection?”

“Uh — no, sir,” replied Cathy.

“Well,” said the Headmaster, smiling broadly, “why don’t we tell her?” He reached for the telephone.

“Hello, Miss Scrimmage,” he said genially, much different from the man who had just ordered her off the campus. “I think I have straightened things out around here. There is a Miss Burton in my office at the moment … No, she is here of her own free will. We have not kidnapped her … I was hoping you would ask that. She is here to confess to ownership of the 41,683 soft-drink containers which are currently in my dormitory. Isn’t that right, Miss Burton?”

“Yes, sir,” mumbled Cathy half-heartedly.

“Yes, they belong to her,” Mr. Sturgeon continued in great good humour, “and therefore to you … But it is the girl’s
collection
, Miss Scrimmage, and quite an impressive one at that. It is not often that you see this sort of dedication in young people … Well, from what she tells me, you allotted no space at your school for this monumental project. It seems to me that you have sadly neglected the specialized interests of one of your young ladies. The poor girl is very upset. That is why I do not intend to punish my lads. Even though they did not consult me, I consider their housing Miss Burton’s collection an extremely commendable act. However” — he was enjoying himself hugely — “now that you know about the existence of this wondrous collection, I’m sure that you will want to claim it for your school. So I expect it — all of it — to be out of my dormitory by noon tomorrow … Oh, no, no, don’t disturb yourself at this hour, Miss Scrimmage. I shall escort Miss Burton home. Goodnight.” By the time he had hung up, the smile had grown even broader.

“Off to bed, boys,” he said to Bruno and Boots. “Come along, Miss Burton. I’ll take you home.”

* * *

“I could just choke!” exclaimed Bruno Walton as he and Boots walked down the hall of Dormitory 2. “When I think of all those cans! We had a world record in the palm of our hand, and it all turned to gazoobies!”

“We got away with it, though,” Boots pointed out. “Cathy saved our lives! Did you see the way she handled The Fish? I don’t understand it. She told him the most ridiculous story and he fell for it like a jerk.
We
never could have gotten away with that.”

“Yeah,” agreed Bruno, “but if we’d admitted the cans were ours he couldn’t have socked it to Miss Scrimmage. He loves getting the best of her.”

“So long as we don’t get expelled,” Boots sighed.

“We don’t have to get expelled,” mourned Bruno. “No pop cans, no pyramid, no record, no publicity, no enrolment, no Macdonald Hall.”

He opened the door to room 201 and switched on the light, startling Elmer who had, in the end, been exempted from pop-can duty. Elmer was on his knees tinkering by flashlight with a huge mechanical device which had materialized in the centre of the room in place of the chemistry lab. That had been pushed to a corner and had not been used since the incident with Coach Flynn. Flynn, who had been more than bewildered about losing a day somewhere, still had his cold.

“On the plus side,” muttered Boots, “no Macdonald Hall, no Elmer Drimsdale.”

“Where have you been?” asked Elmer anxiously. “What happened?”

“Miss Scrimmage again,” moaned Bruno. “The pop cans are gone. End of pyramid. Zap.” He threw himself onto his bed. “She caught us with Elmer; she caught us with Sidney; she was there when you lost your shoe; she darn near got us sneaking off her bus; and she got us tonight and ruined our pyramid! I don’t know what I’m going to
do
with that woman!”

Boots pointed to the immense contraption towering over Elmer. “What on earth is
that
?”

“It’s the new remote control device I’m working on,” Elmer replied.

“What does it do?” asked Boots.

“It is an extremely inexpensive remote-control guidance system with a high-speed capability,” explained Elmer.

“What’s so great about that?” murmured Bruno, depressed and weary. “Everybody flies model airplanes.”

“Not, I believe, at these speeds — nor for the price,” replied Elmer. “If it’s successful, it may be an extremely important discovery.”

Bruno was suddenly interested. “Do you think it will get us lots of publicity?”

“I should think so,” said Elmer cautiously.

“Okay,” decided Bruno. “You work on that non-stop. We’ll take care of your plants and ants and stuff. Meanwhile Boots and I will think of other records to set. I’m not going to let Macdonald Hall collapse because of Miss Scrimmage!”

“Couldn’t we go to sleep now?” yawned Boots. “We haven’t slept since Thursday!”

Bruno, fully dressed, was already asleep.

* * *

“Catherine, I’m shocked,” said Miss Scrimmage. “Shocked and disappointed.” The two were in Miss Scrimmage’s sitting room having a late night discussion over warm milk. “Haven’t I always been a fair Headmistress? You should have come to me when you needed someplace to keep your collection. I’m very hurt.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Scrimmage,” murmured Cathy. “I was afraid you’d think collecting pop cans was unladylike.”

“Nonsense, dear,” replied the Headmistress. “It’s a lovely hobby. We can keep your collection in the empty storage room in the basement. It’s dry and comfortable and always locked, so your cans will be perfectly safe there.”

“Oh, thank you, Miss Scrimmage,” said Cathy gratefully.

“Now, run along to bed, dear, and we’ll say no more about the events of this night.”

Congratulating herself on a successful evening, Cathy went to her room.

* * *

“William!” exclaimed Mrs. Sturgeon as her husband entered the kitchen where she was brewing tea. “What happened? You look ten years younger!”

“Mildred, you would have died!” chuckled the Headmaster. He told her about the riot and the pop cans in Dormitory 3. “And I had Walton and O’Neal dead to rights. They were just about to tell all when that awful Burton girl burst in. You won’t believe this! She said the cans were hers and that she’s a collector! Forty thousand of them! Mildred, that girl should be on the stage! You never saw such a performance!”

“Surely you told her that you didn’t believe it,” said Mrs. Sturgeon.

“I did nothing of the kind!” chortled her husband. “I called up Miss Scrimmage and lectured her about neglecting the interests of her students. Lord, I enjoyed it! I cannot recall enjoying anything so much!”

“What about the boys?” she asked. “That was a terrible disturbance. Are you going to punish them?”

“Punish them?” he laughed. “I should reward them for providing me with such a golden opportunity! Why, I gave Miss Scrimmage until noon to get that rubbish collection off my campus. And I intend to supervise the removal personally.”

“But, William, you know the cans belong to our boys.”

“Of course I know,” he replied. “But now they belong to Miss Scrimmage — all forty thousand of them. And you missed it!”

“Sit down,” she suggested. “A nice cup of tea will bring you down to earth.”

“Actually, there’s only one thing that disturbs me,” remarked Mr. Sturgeon. “Two things, really.” He frowned. “How did our boys amass forty thousand soft-drink containers? And more important, what in the world were they going to do with them?”

Bruno Walton crawled out of bed late on Sunday morning and went listlessly over to Elmer’s PIT system. He flicked the
On
button.

* * *

The head of Mighty Mouse disappeared from Sergeant Featherstone’s TV set, to be replaced by the familiar fish.
Thanks to a certain somebody
, the audio crackled,
Operation Popcan was a complete and total disaster with absolutely no redeeming features
. A great feeling of elation surged through Featherstone. All the misery and discomfort had been worth it. He had foiled Operation Popcan!

The voice went on.
The Fish Patrol has decided that activities cannot go on unless this certain somebody is out of the way. Be warned. The Fish will have revenge!

Featherstone was stunned. They were planning to dispose of him! He rushed into the bathroom to dictate his report.

* * *

“Bruno, why do you keep doing that?” asked Boots, who had also slept in that morning. “You know no one can hear it.”

“It’s an outlet for my frustrations,” said Bruno. “Miss Scrimmage is driving me crazy.”

“How are you going to get her out of the way?” asked Boots. “You can’t murder her.”

“Much as I’d like to,” muttered Bruno. He wandered to the window and lifted the blind. “Will you look at that!”

A long line of girls stretched from Dormitory 3 all the way across the road to Miss Scrimmage’s. At the door of the dormitory stood the Headmistress herself, supervising the removal of the pop cans and casting an occasional fuming look at Mr. Sturgeon who had established himself in a lawn chair and was watching the proceedings with great interest.

Boots came to the window. “There go our pop cans,” he observed with mixed emotions.

Bruno nodded sadly. “But we’re not dead yet. There are lots of ways to get publicity.”

The door opened and Elmer Drimsdale climbed in over Boots’s bed and made his way around the equipment to his newest device. “Good morning,” he said. “I was just down the hall getting some things I need from Larry’s radio. Since Sidney broke it anyway, Larry said I could have the parts.”

“Great,” said Bruno. “Get to work. But first, tell us what you want us to do with your plants and stuff.”