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Elmer whipped out a sheaf of papers half an inch thick. "I've prepared a
booklet outlining your duties," he said, handing the papers to Boots.
Bruno and Boots sat down to read their instructions as Elmer commenced
tinkering on his remote-control machine.
Bruno looked up helplessly. "Elmer, how am I supposed to tell the difference
between Aspidistra 7 and Boston Fern 3?"
"The fern has serrated leaves," explained Elmer, "while the aspidistra's
leaves are green and white striped. Besides, the names and numbers are marked
on the pots."
"Oh."
"I'll do the ants," offered Boots. "Ants are my specialty."
The three boys set out to complete their respective tasks.
* * *
Sergeant Harold P. Featherstone, Junior, watched and waited. It was after
noon when the tall thin man with the long nose came out of room 14, got into
his car and drove away. Silently Featherstone crept out of his room and
stepped over to the next ddbr. From his belt he produced a long, narrow object
which he inserted carefully into the lock, moving it painstakingly. Five
minutes passed. The click which his training had told him to expect was not
forthcoming. He jiggled for another few minutes, reflecting that the entire
population of Chutney had by then had enough time to spot him crouched before
the door of room 14. Frustrated, he stood up and kicked the wall. There was a
click and the door swung wide. Removing the lock-pick, he dashed inside and
shut the door.
Room 14 was exactly like room 13, small and drab. The bed had not yet been
made, and there was a towel lying on the floor. Some of the man's clothes were
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draped over a chair. The wastebasket held nothing but three apple cores and a
plum pit. In the suitcase was more clothing and a book. Featherstone quivered
with excitement. The book was a well-thumbed paperback entitledFish of the
World .
"A code book!" he exclaimed aloud. He had always believed that the Fish was
sending coded messages to his underlings through the public television
channels, and the existence of this book seemed to prove it.
He was about to examine it when the sound of a car outside caught his
attention. He stuffed the book into his hip pocket and ran into the bathroom,
where the window looked out on the bushy area back of the motel. He heard the
key in the lock as he climbed up onto the sink and hoisted himself through the
window, kicking the screen out as he went.
Splat! He fell flat on his face in mud. As he scrambled up, he sank to his
ankles in the slime. He could hear the man moving about in the room. He had to
get out of there fast, and there was only one way. He pulled his feet out of
the mud, leaving his shoes behind, and ran around the building to the safety
of his own room.
In room 14, the tall man walked into his bathroom. The window was wide open,
the screen gone. Hoisting himself up, he looked out the window. In the mud
below lay his screen, and beside it, the full-length imprint of a body. Stuck
in the mud was a pair of shoes.
The man frowned. His room had been searched.
* * *
At the dinner table that night the conversation was very pessimistic. The
boys were tired and hostile. Macdonald Hall's austerity program was still in
full force, and nowhere was it more apparent than in the dining hall. The food
did nothing to lighten the general mood.
"We need another plan," said Bruno.
"I haven't recovered yet from your last plan," snapped Wilbur. "I spent the
night in the town dump rooting in garbage for nothing! It'll be a frosty
Friday in July before I do anything else you tell me to!"
As if on cue, every boy within earshot began complaining.
"All that work for nothing!"
"My back was killing me!"
"It cost me two bucks bus fare!"
"I tell you there was aguy at the dump!"
"I almost got arrested for loitering!"
"Give me back that fig! It's mine!"
"I stepped on a cat in that alley!"
The general uproar was interrupted by Larry Wilson who came tearing into the
dining hall as if he'd seen a ghost. "Bruno! Bruno, we've got trouble!"
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"So what else is new?" said Wilbur sourly.
Larry ignored him and flopped into a chair. "I just heard at the office on
Saturday at two o'clock, when The Fish and most of the staff are in town for
the Board meeting, a big real estate developer is coming out here to look at
the land! He wants to buy Macdonald Hall and tear down everything to build
apartments!"
"We can't let him do that!" exclaimed Pete. Other voices chorused his
horrified reaction.
Bruno stood up. "Well, it's started, hasn't it? It's the beginning of the
end." He looked reproachfully at Wilbur and the others. "And you guys have the
nerve to complain! I wasn't trying to make you miserable! I was trying to save
the Hall!" He pounded the table. "But it's not too late! We may have lost a
battle, but the war's not over yet! Where would we be if Champlain had packed
up and left because it got too cold here? Where would we be if Alexander
Graham Bell had given up after the first wrong number?"
Bruno's face was red. All eyes were on him. "So we've had a little setback!
Good men don't lie down and die because of one failure! If Macdonald Hall was
worth the effort Friday night, it's worth the effort now! By being out all
night, our guys beat the system, and we can beat this developer too! We're
going to convince him that this is thelast place anybody would want to build
apartments! We'll chase him right back where he came from, and then some! We
can defeat our enemies! We can overcome anything if we work at it! I know we
can!"
Out of breath, he sat down amid thunderous applause from all present. Boys
were standing on their chairs and chanting, "Can do! Can do!" In a far corner
of the room, someone was leading a chorus ofWe Shall Overcome . Arms reached
out to pat Bruno on the back.
Even Boots, who was not usually susceptible to Bruno's dramatics, was
overcome. "That was great, Bruno!" he exclaimed fervently. "How are we going
to get rid of the developer?"
"Don't undermine my moment of glory," whispered Bruno under cover of the
general din. "I'll think of something later."
Boots opened his mouth to protest, but a group of boys grabbed Bruno, hoisted
him to their shoulders and left the dining hall to carry him around the campus
in a snake dance. A cheering crowd followed.
"He has no plan!" said Boots to thin air.
"I know," said Wilbur. "But he'll come up with something. And it'll land us
all in the soup. But after a speech like that, what can we do?"
"Jump on the bandwagon like everybody else," grinned Boots.
* * *
Sergeant Featherstone pored over the book he had confiscated from room 14. He
worked painstakingly, page by page, hoping to come upon some marking or any
clue at all to the code in use. Suddenly he came to a page with a check mark [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]