Go Jump in the Pool (2 page)

“What will you be doing while I’m recruiting?” asked Boots.

“Sleeping in, of course. You know I never get up for breakfast.”

* * *

“Mrs. Davis,” Mr. Sturgeon instructed his secretary, “please notify Mr. Hartley of York Academy that his swimming pool will be back to normal in five days’ time.” He smiled thinly. “Tell him I have it on the highest scientific authority.”

“Time to get up,” announced Boots.

A lump under the blue blanket stirred slightly. “It’s the middle of the night,” it mumbled plaintively.

“It’s twenty to nine. You know how Mr. Stratton freaks out when someone is late for math class.”

Bruno Walton’s dark, tousled head appeared from under the covers. “You know I never get up before quarter to, so don’t disturb me. I’m going back to sleep.” The head disappeared again.

Five minutes and forty winks later, Bruno bounded out of bed and tore through the room like a whirlwind. Within five minutes, the two boys were headed towards their first class, Bruno hopping on one foot as he tied the other shoe.

* * *

At a secluded table in the lunchroom sat six boys. Along with Bruno and Boots from Dormitory 3 were Mark Davies, editor of the school newspaper, and the eccentrically brilliant Elmer Drimsdale, both from Dormitory 2. Dormitory 1 was represented by Chris Talbot, a talented art student, and Wilbur Hackenschleimer, an amateur weightlifter and a whiz at woodworking and metal shop. Bruno, seated at the head of the table, had obviously appointed himself chairman of the committee.

He cleared his throat. “I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve called you all here today,” he began impressively.

Nobody answered.

“All right, I’ll tell you,” he said. “And frankly, I don’t see how any of you can even swallow your lunch!”

“I’m hungry!” protested Wilbur Hackenschleimer, his mouth full of meatloaf.

Bruno pounded the table so hard that one of Wilbur’s baked potatoes rolled off his tray and onto the floor. The big boy scrambled to retrieve it.

“How can you think of food at a time like this?” Bruno hollered. “This is the darkest hour in the history of Macdonald Hall! Our world is crumbling around us!”

“You’ll have to excuse my friend,” interrupted Boots, before Bruno could go into detail about the tragedy that had overtaken them. “He gets very emotional sometimes. What he’s trying to say is that York Academy has a pool and we don’t.”

“Right,” said Bruno. “But there’s more to it than that. We stand to lose valuable students —
him
for one” — he pointed at Boots — “if the Athletic Department here doesn’t start to move.”

Mark Davies nodded. “Pete Anderson’s dad has been talking about taking him out of the Hall.”

“You see?” exclaimed Bruno triumphantly. “We need that pool, and to get it we need fifty thousand dollars. And here’s how we’re going to raise it.”

“We’re going to rob a bank?” suggested Chris Talbot.

“I’ve been telling him it can’t be done,” agreed Boots. “Fifty thousand dollars!”

“A fine bunch you turned out to be,” said Bruno in disgust. “If you’re content to lose our swim meets
and
our students to York Academy — and to have them looking down their noses at us — then go ahead. I’ll get somebody else to help.”

“Well, when you put it that way,” said Mark, “I guess I’ll help you do whatever it is you’re going to do — even if it can’t be done.”

“Me too,” put in Elmer.

“Same here,” said Chris.

At the end of the table Wilbur Hackenschleimer was attacking a huge piece of lemon meringue pie. “I’m in,” he mumbled. “I’ll do anything you want, just so long as I don’t get arrested, expelled, or starved.”

Bruno beamed. “Good. Wait for me in your rooms after classes. I’ll come around with your assignments.”

One by one the boys finished their lunch and left the dining room, until only Bruno and Boots remained at the table.

“Have you got a plan,” asked Boots, “or were you just bluffing?”

“Certainly I have a plan. I just wanted to talk it over with you first. We’re going to have a rummage sale on Saturday.”

“Did The Fish give permission?”

“It’s possible that he would if he knew about it. As it happens, he doesn’t. But I’m sure he won’t mind when he finds out it’s for the pool.”

“What’s my job?” asked Boots.

“You and I are in charge of Dormitory 3,” said Bruno. “You’re also vice-president of the fund-raising committee. We have to dig up saleable goods from our dorm, and from Scrimmage’s. The girls will be able to get us tons of stuff. I’ll take Sturgeon’s. Mrs. Sturgeon is always glad to help out.”

“We’ve got classes to think about,” Boots reminded him.

“Well, we won’t let that interfere,” Bruno replied.

Boots shrugged. “You’re the boss. We’d better get cracking.”

* * *

Bruno glanced with an appraiser’s eye over Mark Davies’s room. “Take that lamp, for instance,” he said. “It isn’t doing anything over there.” He unplugged the small lamp and placed it in a vacant corner of the room. “We’ll sell it.”

“How can you sell that?” protested Mark. “It belongs to the school.”

“Well,” Bruno replied, “the money that we’ll get for it goes to the school.” Mark nodded reluctantly at the undeniable logic. “Now, let’s see what else you’ve got.” While Mark stood open-mouthed, Bruno began going through drawers. “There. You never use that pocket knife.” He tossed it into the corner with the lamp. “And that stuffed bear. Now, really!”

When Bruno had finished ransacking the room, in the corner with the lamp, the knife and the bear were a nutcracker, a poster of Wayne Gretzky, a pair of nearly-new gym shorts, a paperweight in the shape of a carrot and an assortment of old comic books.

“Now, that’s how it’s done,” he said. “You’re to go to every kid in this dorm with an even-numbered room and get all his stuff.”

Mark scratched his head. “Gee, I don’t know, Bruno —”

“Pool!” interrupted Bruno.

“Oh, all right. I’ll try.”

* * *

“Elm, I’m relying heavily on you,” said Bruno, glancing around the room which at one time he had shared with Elmer. “What have you got for the rummage sale?”

“My Junior Science books?” Elmer suggested hopefully.

“Well, all right,” agreed Bruno without too much enthusiasm. “What else?”

Elmer thought hard, closing his owl-like eyes behind his large glasses. “I have some pamphlets on west coast fisheries,” he offered.

“Elmer, you’re killing me!” Bruno groaned. “Haven’t you got anything that an ordinary human being would be interested in?”

“I could sell some of my goldfish,” Elmer said meekly.

Bruno thought it over. “Elmer, you’re a genius! Get jars from the kitchen for them. What else?”

“Miniature ant colonies,” said Elmer, his spirits on the rise. “I could use jars for them too.”

“Tremendous!” Bruno approved. “You get onto that right away, and start scrounging from all the odd-numbered rooms in this dorm. We’ve only got four days to the sale.”

“I will,” Elmer promised. “You won’t be sorry you picked me.”

* * *

“We’re having a rummage sale on Saturday,” Bruno informed Chris Talbot. “I’ll need a poster for each dorm, four for the highway and one for Scrimmage’s.”

Chris, very cool and businesslike, wrote the order down. “Anything else?”

“As a matter of fact there is. You’re in charge of gathering stuff for the sale from the odd-numbered rooms in this dorm. Wilbur will take the evens. You have a lot of art to do, so you’d better get help.”

“Will do,” said Chris.

* * *

“What if nobody wants to give me anything for the sale?” asked Wilbur Hackenschleimer timidly.

Bruno looked the big boy up and down. “
I
wouldn’t refuse you,” he said. “Convince them. Also, you’re so great at Tech Ed. that Mr. Lautrec is crazy about you. Get all last year’s projects that are good enough to sell. The more we sell, the more we make.”

“Well, I’ll try,” agreed Wilbur uncertainly.

* * *

“Boots!” shouted Bruno. “Boots! Open the door!”

“Well, I can’t exactly,” called Boots’s voice from inside room 306. “There’s too much stuff. We’ll have to get out of the habit of using the door till after the sale. I’ll open the window for you.”

Bruno went around the outside of the grey stone building and hoisted himself up through the open window. The sight that met his eyes amazed him. In little more than an hour Boots had managed to collect enough odds and ends to satisfy a junk dealer’s dream. There were chairs, stools and small tables, books and framed pictures, battered luggage, an assortment of jack-knives, fishing lures, and other great treasures. A collection of the canned and packaged treats each boy had brought from home topped the pile.

“Wow!” said Bruno admiringly. “You really
don’t
want to be a turkey! If all the guys do as well as this, we’ll have the money in no time at all!”

“Aren’t you getting a little carried away?” asked Boots. “I mean, who’s going to give you fifty G’s for this junk?”

“You’ll see,” promised Bruno. “I guess I’d better go through my stuff and see what I have to offer.”

“Oh,” said Boots airily, “I did that already.”

“You
what
?”

“Subject to your approval, of course,” Boots compromised hastily. He pointed to a pile of objects standing on an old chair. “That’s all yours.”

Bruno sat down and began to go through his things. “How can you give away my track shoes?” he cried in protest. “I’ll bet you didn’t give away
your
track shoes. And — and my lucky penny!” He held up a large, ugly, imitation-silver four-leaf clover with a penny stuck in the centre. “It’s my good luck piece! Do you want me to
die
?”

“Bruno, lots of guys are giving up things they like so the sale can be a success. The least you can do is give up your lousy penny for the cause. Don’t
you
want a pool?”

“Oh, all right,” Bruno growled.

“What’s next?” Boots asked. “Mrs. Sturgeon’s?”

“No. I’m saving her for the last, to cut down on the chances of The Fish hearing about it. Tonight after lights-out we go to Scrimmage’s.”

* * *

A few minutes after midnight the window of room 306 silently slid open and two shadowy figures jumped to the ground. Bruno Walton and Boots O’Neal were on the move. They stole across the deserted campus, dashed across the road, and clambered over the wrought-iron fence which surrounded Miss Scrimmage’s Finishing School for Young Ladies.

Bruno picked up a handful of gravel and threw it at a second floor window. There was a scrambling sound and high-pitched giggling; then two heads, one fair, one dark, appeared at the window. Bruno and Boots shinnied up the drainpipe and were helped across the sill and into the room.

“Hi there,” blonde Diane Grant greeted them. “What’s new? We haven’t seen much of you lately.”

“We’ve been busy,” Bruno explained.

“
He’s
been busy,” Boots amended. “And he’s got the whole school in an uproar this time.”

“Oh, good!” exclaimed dark-haired Cathy Burton. “Can we get in on it?”

“As a matter of fact, that’s a good idea,” said Bruno, as though it had never occurred to him before. “We’re trying to raise a little money.”

“Fair enough,” said Cathy. “How much?”

“Fifty thousand.”

Cathy pointed to the window. “Out!”

“No, wait a minute,” soothed Bruno. “Listen to the story. We’re losing all our swim meets to York Academy. And we’ll keep on losing them until we have a pool of our own. So we’re having a rummage sale on Saturday to raise the money. We need things to sell — you girls should be able to dig up all sorts of neat stuff.”

“We also need you to talk it up,” added Boots, “so the girls will come over and be customers.”

“Sounds like fun,” agreed Cathy. “We’ll do it.”

“Be greedy,” Bruno advised. “We need lots of things. We’re going to have posters on the highway, so we’re expecting plenty of customers. Don’t forget, Saturday — starting at noon. We’ll be over Friday night to pick up the stuff.”

“Should we tell Miss Scrimmage?” asked Diane.

“Not yet,” said Bruno. “We don’t want The Fish to know he’s having a rummage sale until it’s already in progress.”

Boots swung a leg over the window ledge. “Happy hunting.”

The two boys slid down and made their way home through the night.

So it happened that when Mr. Sturgeon and his wife were driving home from a shopping expedition on Saturday afternoon they saw a sign which read:
Giant Rummage Sale! Macdonald Hall, 3 Kilometres
.

The Headmaster jammed on the brakes so suddenly that only the seat belts saved them from going through the windshield.

“William, what on earth —” exclaimed Mrs. Sturgeon.

“I have no idea,” her husband said coldly. “I can only hope there is another Macdonald Hall.”

“Oh, that,” said Mrs. Sturgeon with a little laugh.

“You mean you
knew
?”

“Well, yes,” she replied. “The boys came to me for rummage. I can’t see any harm in their having a rummage sale to raise money for the swimming pool.”

“Why didn’t they come and ask me for permission?” the Headmaster demanded angrily.

“Don’t be silly, dear,” she replied airily. “You know perfectly well you’d have said no. Those boys aren’t stupid.”

Mr. Sturgeon stomped out of the car, pulled up the sign and tossed it into the trunk. “That’s the end of that,” he declared firmly.

His wife just smiled. A little farther along she noticed another of Chris Talbot’s signs coming up on the right. “That little light on the dashboard,” she said hastily, “the one that says ‘oil.’ It’s been flickering. Perhaps you’d better keep an eye on it.”

With one anxious eye on the dashboard and the other watching the road, Mr. Sturgeon failed to see the sign. It read:
Don’t Miss It! Macdonald Hall Rummage Sale, 1 Kilometre
.

* * *

Behind the cash box Bruno Walton took in money and surveyed the campus with great satisfaction. Cars were parked on both sides of the long driveway and along the soft shoulder of the highway, and the sales tables were crowded with people. Bruno had a right to be pleased. His rummage sale had attracted not only the staff and students from both Macdonald Hall and Miss Scrimmage’s, but also a good deal of passing trade. There were older people who had been out for a leisurely drive, young people with small children and many of the families from neighbouring farms and villages. Bruno was doubly happy, for safe and warm in his pocket was his lucky penny — a bargain buy at only seventy-five cents.