Otis Spofford (3 page)

“Moo-moo,” went the first row, taking the part of cows. The second row, who took the part of chickens, made such funny cackles that the whole class laughed and Mrs. Gitler had to start the song again.

Otis chewed more and more slowly. His mouth was dry and he began to feel lonesome all by himself at the back of the room. He stopped making spitballs altogether and sat looking out of the window. It had been raining, and drops of sparkling water dripped from the trees. How good they looked!

“Go on with your spitballs, Otis,” Mrs. Gitler reminded him at the end of the song. Then she started the class on
Row, Row, Row
, which was one of their favorites.

Otis tore off another piece of paper. He took his time rolling it, because he did not feel much like making a spitball. He put it in his mouth and chewed very, very slowly. He tried counting to ten between each chew. His mouth felt drier and drier, and he decided he hated the taste of paper.

“Row, row, row your boat,” sang the class.

Otis sighed. He did not want to give up and admit to Mrs. Gitler that he had had enough of spitballs. Not in front of the whole class.

“Gently down the stream,” sang the class.

Gently down the stream, thought Otis. Why did everything have to make him think of water? Doggedly he kept at his spitballs, but he worked as slowly as he could. He was wondering how he could make his spit last until school was out. He ran his tongue around his mouth. Then he stuck it out as far as he could to see if it were swelling up and turning black. He could barely see the tip, which was still pink. That was a good sign. Maybe he could hold out.

“Merrily, merrily, merrily,” trilled the class.

Suddenly the fire-drill bell rang. He was saved! Otis leaped from his chair and was first in line at the door. If only he could get to a drinking fountain, he knew he could make his spit last until school was out.

“Quickly, children,” said Mrs. Gitler. “Get in line. Don’t push, George. Come along, Austine.”

As soon as the class was lined up two by two, Mrs. Gitler opened the door and marched the boys and girls rapidly through the hall and down the stairs. She walked beside Otis, who looked longingly at the drinking fountain as they passed. With Mrs. Gitler beside him, there was no way he could get to it. The more he thought about that drinking fountain, the drier his mouth felt. If he could just turn the handle and let the cool water flow into his mouth for one instant!

Outdoors, the air was cool and damp. Otis opened his mouth and drew in gasps of cool air. He didn’t care if he looked like a goldfish.

“Spitball Spofford,” the boys and girls whispered to him as he opened his mouth toward the sky in case it should begin to rain again.

When everyone was out of the building, the bell rang again. “All right, class, about face,” ordered Mrs. Gitler.

The class turned. This left Otis and his partner at the end of the line instead of the beginning. Now it would be easier to get to the drinking fountain. As soon as the class reached the top of the stairs, Otis bent over so Mrs. Gitler would not see him and darted behind the line of boys and girls to the fountain. He turned the handle, and just as the stream of water rose almost to his mouth, he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was the principal. “You know that no one is supposed to leave his line during fire drill,” said Mr. Howe, and steered Otis back to his place in line.

If that isn’t my luck, thought Otis. Now my spit will never last.

As the class entered the room again, Otis was tempted to go back to his seat and hope Mrs. Gitler would forget the whole thing. But he knew that if he did Stewy or Linda or someone else would probably remind her. Anyway, he was not going to give in until he had to. He returned to his chair at the back of the room and tore off another piece of paper. Mrs. Gitler ignored him. Slowly he chewed the spitball and pitched it into the wastebasket. He tore off another piece of paper and looked at the clock. Another hour to chew and throw. A long, long hour. A minute clicked by and after a long time, another.

Otis put the paper in his mouth but he did not chew it. He just held it there a minute and took it out again. He never wanted to taste paper again. Mrs. Gitler had won. He only hoped she would not find it out.

The teacher looked up from her desk. “Well, Otis?” she asked.

Otis tried to lick his lips, but his mouth was too dry. “I guess…I guess…I’ve run out of spit,” he said.

“Are you sure you’re through throwing spitballs?” Mrs. Gitler wanted to know.

Otis did not want to answer the question, but he had to. “Yes,” he said in a small voice.

“You may go out and get a drink before you return to your seat.” Mrs. Gitler’s eyes twinkled and she looked as if she wanted to laugh.

Otis managed a sheepish halfway grin as he went out of the room. Then he ran down the hall to the drinking fountain. How wonderful the jet of cold water looked! He drank in great gulps, stopped to gasp for breath, and gulped some more. Never had anything tasted so good. Otis drank for a long time before he wiped his mouth on his sleeve. He drank for such a long time that Mrs. Gitler came out into the hall to see what had happened to him.

“Was making me throw spitballs my comeuppance?” Otis wanted to know.

Mrs. Gitler laughed. “It would be for some boys, but I’m not sure about you.” Then she shook her head. “Otis, if only you would work as hard on your spelling as you do on mischief!”

“Aw…” muttered Otis, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Back at his desk, Otis found the class was no longer interested in what he had done. As far as they were concerned, the excitement was over. He also discovered that although he was no longer thirsty, he still had a funny taste in his mouth from chewing so much paper. As he worked at his spelling, it began to bother him more and more. He wished he had something to eat that would take away the awful papery taste.

He fished through his pockets to see what he could find. Maybe he had an old stick of gum or something. In among his rabbit’s foot, yo-yo, and rubber bands, Otis’s fingers found the bud of garlic. He untangled it and looked at it. He wondered what it would taste like. He smelled it and decided it smelled bad and good at the same time. Holding it under his desk, he pulled off a section and peeled off the pinkish outside skin. He popped it into his mouth, bit, and for a terrible instant was sorry. Tears came to his eyes, his nose tingled, and he blew the air out of his mouth.

Instantly everyone sitting near him turned to look at him. Ellen wrinkled her nose. Austine held hers.

“Wow!” whispered Stewy. “What’s that awful smell?”

Wow
is right, thought Otis, as he gulped and blew again. He bit into the garlic once more. The second bite was not quite so bad as the first. Almost, but not quite. Trying to look as if he ate raw garlic all the time, he chewed a couple of times and blew again.

“Otis Spofford,” Ellen said in a fierce whisper, “you stop that!”

Otis grinned. This was just what he wanted. Things were back to normal. He took a deep breath and blew as hard as he could at Ellen.

O
ne Monday morning when Otis went into Room Eleven, he saw an excited group of boys and girls crowded around the ledge under the windows. I wonder what they’re looking at, he thought, and climbed up on a desk so he could see over their heads.

He saw two small wire cages. In each cage was a white mouse. Well! Mice in the schoolroom, thought Otis. They should be good for some excitement. Otis liked animals, but Mrs. Brewster, the manager of the apartment house where he lived, did not allow dogs or cats. Until now he had not thought of a pet mouse.

Mrs. Gitler came into the room. “Otis, you know good citizens don’t stand on desks,” she said, and Otis jumped down.

The whole class began to ask questions. “What are the mice doing here?” “Do we get to keep them?”

Mrs. Gitler smiled. “Take your seats, boys and girls, and I’ll explain. They are not white mice. They are baby white rats. Our room is going to perform a scientific experiment.”

The class was impressed. “Scientific experiment” sounded important, especially if it meant they could have rats in the schoolroom. And baby rats were much more interesting than grown-up white mice.

Mrs. Gitler went on. “This week we are going to talk about good food. These two baby rats are exactly the same weight. Each weighs forty grams. We are going to feed one of them the same food we eat for lunch in the cafeteria. The other we will feed white bread and soda pop. We will weigh them once a week for three weeks to see which one grows faster.”

The class liked this plan. Otis thought it would be fun, too, even though he knew how the experiment would turn out. Mrs. Gitler would never do anything to prove that the baby rats should drink soda pop. She would be on the side of milk and vegetables and that whole-wheat bread they always had in the cafeteria.

Ellen raised her hand. “May we name the rats?”

“That is an excellent idea,” said Mrs. Gitler.

“Are they boy rats or girl rats?” someone wanted to know.

“Boy rats,” said Mrs. Gitler. “They are twin brothers.”

Stewy raised his hand. “We could name one rat Otis.”

Everyone laughed loudly at this except Otis, who made a face at Stewy.

Then Patsy suggested Pinky, because the rats had pink ears and tails. Although some of the boys objected, the girls all agreed that Pinky was a good name.

Otis, who thought Pinky was a sissy name for a boy rat, waved his hand. “I think Mutt is a good name for the rat that gets the soda pop.”

“Me, too,” said George, and the others agreed.

Mrs. Gitler smiled. “It looks as if the soda-pop rat is named Mutt.”

Otis looked at Mutt and almost felt as if the little rat belonged to him, because he had named him. He watched Mutt sniff around his cage. Sometimes Mutt stopped to scratch himself with his front paw. Once he scratched with his hind paw like a dog. After a while he settled into a corner of his cage. He put his head down, wrapped his hairless pink tail around his body, and went to sleep.

All morning Otis thought about the rats and wondered how he could use them to stir up some excitement. After lunch the class gathered around the ledge to watch the rat monitors lift the wire cages and set down dishes of food from the cafeteria for the two little animals. Pinky was served tiny bits of macaroni and cheese, green beans, carrot and raisin salad, whole-wheat bread, and raspberry Jell-O. Pinky also had a few spoonfuls of milk. Mutt had a whole saucer of soda pop and half a slice of white bread. Poor Mutt, thought Otis, as he watched the little rat lap up the pop. Bread and soda pop did not look like much lunch, even for a rat.

After school Otis lingered by the rats’ cages instead of trying to be the first one out of the classroom. He had several ideas for stirring up excitement, but there was something wrong with every one of them. Let the rats out of their cages? No. Mutt might get lost or stepped on. Switch cages? Too easy for Mrs. Gitler to guess. Hide one of the rats in Mrs. Gitler’s desk? She was not the kind of teacher to scream at the sight of a rat. Hide a rat in Ellen’s raincoat pocket? Well, that might do if he couldn’t think of anything better. It was the sort of thing any boy might think of. Otis wanted to do something unusual.

By Thursday the children could see that Pinky was already larger than Mutt. His eyes were bright and his fur was glossy. Mutt spent most of his time in the corner of his cage, looking cross. The class could hardly wait until Monday, when Mrs. Gitler would weigh the rats.

When Monday came she took Pinky out of his cage and set him on the scale. He weighed ninety grams, more than twice what he had weighed a week before. Mutt weighed forty-six grams. He had gained scarcely at all. Room Eleven was proud when Miss Joyce brought her class in to see the scientific experiment.

A whole week had gone by. I can’t waste any more time, Otis said to himself. Now I’ve got to think of something. And that day he did.

At noon, when Otis took his place in the hot-food line in the cafeteria, he noticed everyone making faces. When he looked at the steam table to see what they were having for lunch, Otis not only made a face, he groaned and held his nose. They were having scalloped potatoes with some kind of meat, Swiss chard, sliced beets, and rice pudding. And, of course, milk and whole-wheat bread.

“Of all the awful lunches,” complained George, who was standing behind Otis.

“It sure is,” agreed Otis. “I don’t see why we can’t have hot dogs and ice cream every day.” He gloomily handed the cashier his money. Twenty perfectly good cents wasted, he thought, as he carried his tray to a table. Scalloped potatoes and Swiss chard! Otis carefully picked the meat out of his potatoes and ate that first.

“I’m sure glad I brought my lunch,” said Tommy, who was sitting across from Otis, eating the centers out of his sandwiches.

“You’re lucky,” agreed Otis, poking at his Swiss chard. “I don’t see why this stuff would even be good for a rat.”

Hey, wait a minute, Otis suddenly thought. He was about to have an idea. He could feel it coming on. This might be very good food for a rat. If he gave Mutt good food, without anybody’s seeing him, Mutt might outgrow Pinky. That would really fix the experiment, because everybody would think it was white bread and soda pop that had made Mutt grow. He could just see Mrs. Gitler’s face. And boy, oh, boy, the cafeteria would have to start serving soda pop! That was the best part of all. Soda pop in the cafeteria!

Otis was so pleased with his inspiration that he ate his beets and Swiss chard without even thinking about them. It was a perfect idea. Difficult, of course, but worth it. Already he could see cases of orange and pink and green soda pop stacked in the cafeteria. Now all he had to do was figure out what to feed Mutt and how to slip the food to him without being seen.

That evening Otis went into the kitchen, where his mother was preparing dinner. She was in a hurry, because she had got home late from the Spofford School of the Dance. Otis watched her drop a slab of frozen peas into boiling water and put two frozen cubed steaks into a frying pan. “I’m hungry,” he said. “We had an awful lunch at school today.”

The peas boiled over onto the stove. “Run along, dear, and don’t bother me,” said Mrs. Spofford, wiping up the stove. “Mother has been teaching tap dancing all afternoon and she’s tired.”

Otis leaned against the refrigerator. “Say, Mom, isn’t there something that’s better for people to eat than scalloped potatoes?”

Mrs. Spofford forked two potatoes baking in the oven. “Why, almost anything, I suppose. Milk and cheese and—oh, I don’t know. Lots of things.”

Cheese! Of course! Rats liked cheese. He should have thought of that himself. Otis helped himself to a piece of cheese from the refrigerator. Then he noticed a bottle of vitamin pills on the drain board. “Say, Mom, can I have some vitamins?” he asked.

“Yes, dear. Now please run along,” said Mrs. Spofford, as she turned the flame down under the meat.

Otis added a handful of vitamin pills to the piece of cheese in his pocket. Cheese and vitamins. They ought to make Mutt grow. Now all he had to do was to find a way to slip them into Mutt’s cage without being seen. That was the hardest part of his plan.

When Otis arrived at school early the next morning, he found the door of Room Eleven locked. In a few minutes Mrs. Gitler appeared with the key in her hand. “Good morning, Otis,” she said. “My, aren’t you bright and early?”

“I…uh…thought I’d come early and study my spelling,” Otis explained. If only Mrs. Gitler would unlock the door and go away.

“Splendid,” said Mrs. Gitler, giving Otis a surprised look. Or was it a suspicious look? Otis couldn’t tell.

When Mrs. Gitler was busy writing some arithmetic problems on the blackboard, Otis left his desk and went to the rats’ cages. Mutt was huddled miserably in a corner. Otis put his hand in his pocket and broke off a piece of cheese.

“Otis,” said Mrs. Gitler, without even turning around to look at him, “if you aren’t going to study your spelling, you must go out on the playground until the bell rings.”

Otis took his seat. He had said he had come early to study spelling, so he supposed he had to sit there with a book in front of him.

All morning Otis waited for a chance to slip food into Mutt’s cage. By lunch period he was forced to form another plan. He went into the cloakroom and pretended he could not find his sweater. Then he waited quietly until all the other boys and girls left the room. He heard Mrs. Gitler shut the door. Then he heard something he did not expect. The key turned in the lock. Otis was locked in.

As long as the door was locked, he did not have to worry about being discovered. That was something. Stooping, so he could not be seen through the windows, Otis hurried to the rats. When he lifted Mutt’s cage and put down a piece of cheese and a vitamin pill, the little rat scurried over to the food and nibbled greedily.

Good old Mutt. He must have been awfully hungry. The trouble was, Mutt wasn’t the only one who was hungry. Otis was hungry too. He wondered what the others were eating in the cafeteria. Maybe it was hot-dog day. Otis watched Mutt finish the cheese and gnaw the vitamin pill, which slipped away from him until he learned to hold it with his paws. Otis was so hungry that he took the rest of the cheese out of his pocket. It was covered with fuzz, but he didn’t care. He gave Mutt another piece and ate the rest himself. When it was time for the bell to ring again, Otis made sure there were no telltale crumbs in the cage before he hid in the cloakroom once more.

“Where were you?” Stewy asked, when Mrs. Gitler unlocked the door and the class streamed into the room. “I didn’t see you in the cafeteria.”

“Oh, around,” said Otis vaguely, as he joined the group watching the monitors feed the rats. So it really had been hot-dog day in the cafeteria! Watching Pinky nibble a piece of hot dog made Otis hungrier than ever.

“Mutt isn’t eating his bread,” someone said. “Do you suppose he’s sick?”

“He’s probably just tired of it,” said Ellen. “You’d get tired of it too, if that’s all you had to eat.” Then she added, “Poor little Mutt.”

The next day Otis brought more cheese and another vitamin pill to Mutt. He also brought a sandwich and a cupcake for himself, so he and the rat ate lunch together. Otis thought Mutt had grown a little already. If only he could keep on feeding him without being caught!

The third day, Otis decided not to feed the rat at noon. Stewy had asked too many questions about why he wasn’t in the cafeteria.

“I think Mutt’s growing,” Otis heard someone say.

“So do I. His stomach sticks out,” Tommy said. “And he’s frisky, too. Look at him.”

Otis was delighted with the way his private experiment was turning out. Just wait till Mrs. Gitler weighed Mutt. When he asked her if she didn’t think the cafeteria should serve soda pop, she wouldn’t have a thing to say against it.

As he was leaving the room for recess, Otis made a detour past the cages in the hope that he could slip Mutt’s food to him. Stewy followed close at his heels. “What are you tagging around after me for?” Otis asked.