The Wizzle War (14 page)

“I suppose it will come as a great surprise to you,” said Mr. Sturgeon sarcastically the next morning, “that Miss Scrimmage’s school is off limits to the boys of Macdonald Hall.”

Bruno and Boots dropped their heads a little to avoid the Headmaster’s gaze.

“Boys, I want to know right now if that nocturnal escapade had anything to do with the late Committee.”

Bruno brightened. “Oh, no, sir. It had nothing to do with The Committee. We disbanded that when you told us to.” He did not feel it prudent to mention The Coalition at this time.

“Well,” said Mr. Sturgeon, “thank goodness for small mercies. I should think that you boys would know better than to go over there in view of the furor raised when Miss Scrimmage’s student body paid us an unscheduled visit so recently. No doubt Miss Burton and Miss Grant figured in this in some way.”

Bruno and Boots studied the floor.

Mr. Sturgeon stood up and began pacing. “You two have been called into this office a number of times in the very recent past. If you are called here again, I shall have no choice but to suspend both of you. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.” It was barely a whisper.

“Fine. In addition, you are confined to your room after dinner until further notice. You are dismissed.”

Bruno and Boots opened the door.

“And stay away from Scrimmage’s!”
shouted Mr. Sturgeon. It was out of his mouth before he could modulate his tone.

“Ah, Walton, O’Neal,” said Mr. Wizzle. “I heard about your deplorable activities last night. Ten demerits each.” He was shaking his head as he took out his notebook. “Walton — eighty demerits! Five hundred and fifty lines! O’Neal — three hundred lines from you. Now run along.”

Mrs. Davis walked into the Headmaster’s office. “Mr. Sturgeon, I’ve never heard you shout like that. What on earth could have happened?”

“I’m not sure exactly,” said the Headmaster, still agitated, “but in extricating those two from their difficulties, I may have threatened a lady with physical violence!”

* * *

“Bruno,” said Mark Davies in disgust, “if you get one more demerit, we in the Lines Department are going to resign from The Coalition, The Committee and everything else!”

Bruno grinned apologetically. “Okay, you guys, the first meeting of the Macdonald Hall Chapter of The Coalition Department Heads will come to order.”

Boots moaned. “Not so loud, Bruno! If The Fish gets wind of The Coalition, we’re cooked!”

“Don’t worry,” said Bruno. “I would like to explain the one and only aim of The Coalition — Operation Matrimony. We’re going to take Wizzle and marry him off.”

“Don’t be silly,” mumbled Wilbur, his mouth full of pizza. “Who’d be stupid enough or desperate enough to marry Wizzle?”

“Miss Gloria Peabody,” announced Bruno grandly.

Chris Talbot choked.

Elmer Drimsdale looked perplexed. “I don’t understand the logic. If they marry, how is it going to help us? They’ll still be here, presenting a united front.”

“Not quite,” said Bruno. “If they’re in love, then they’re going to be paying all their attention to each other. That means they’ll have less time to cook up miserable things for us. Then, of course, they’re bound to take a long honeymoon. And if we really play it right, they’ll go off together to start their own school. Larry told me he’s heard Wizzle say that Macdonald Hall is only a jumping-off point in his career. With Peabody at his side, maybe it’ll give him the confidence to take that big step. Then we’ll be rid of both of them. Great plan, eh, guys?”

There was a stunned silence.

“Bruno,” said Wilbur, “I’ve always suspected it, but now I’m sure — you’re crazy!”

“Well,” grinned Bruno, “if you’re not interested,
Hacken
, we can get someone else to help.”

“I’ll help,” muttered Wilbur.

“Bruno,” said Larry, “there are some things you can do and some things you can’t. You just can’t control how people are going to feel about each other.”

“Sure we can —” began Bruno.

“Yeah,” interrupted Boots sarcastically. “We’re The Committee.”

“The Coalition,” corrected Bruno. “Now listen carefully. Here’s what we’re going to do …”

* * *

Mr. Wizzle was in his office preparing a memo to all staff on scheduling more psychological testing when Larry Wilson’s voice wafted in through the half-open door.

“Boy, Bruno, I wish I was at Scrimmage’s! I could just sit and look at her all day!”

Mr. Wizzle looked up from his memo.

“I know what you mean,” came Bruno’s voice. “Miss Peabody sure is gorgeous. I wish I was Mr. Wizzle.”

Larry sighed. “Yeah, she’s sweet on him all right. And he doesn’t even seem to know it.”

“Oh, I’ll bet he knows it,” said Bruno. “He’s just playing it cool.”

Larry sighed again. “Gee, she’s beautiful!”

Inside the office, Mr. Wizzle stared perplexedly at the crack in the doorway. Miss Peabody was sweet on him?

* * *

Miss Peabody was walking down the hall of the dormitory when Diane Grant’s voice reached her from around a corner. “… and with those glasses, he’s just so cute!”

“Oh, I know!” squealed the voice of Cathy Burton. “I dreamed about Mr. Wizzle last night. I was held prisoner in this castle and he programmed the computer to slay the dragon and get me out. He’s adorable!”

“But he’s too old for any of us,” lamented Diane. “Besides, anybody can see he’s crazy about Miss Peabody.”

“And she’s playing hard-to-get,” added Cathy.

“Boy, if it were me, I’d grab him in a minute. He’s so —”

“All right, you!” roared Miss Peabody, swooping down on them from around the corner. “Why aren’t you doing your homework?”

“Oh, we finished it, Miss Peabody,” said Cathy. “We were just doing a little — wishful thinking.”

“Well, don’t,” snapped Miss Peabody. “Get back to your room or I’ll have you both running the track.”

The girls scurried off.

Miss Peabody stood for a moment, frowning. Wizzle was crazy about her? Since when?

* * *

Alex Flynn, athletic director of Macdonald Hall, was rummaging through the equipment room. He had decided to start the senior phys. ed. classes on a program of Manchurian toe-ball, but he couldn’t find any wickets. He was just making a mental note to order some when he came across a gigantic brown bag behind a stack of mats. It was tied shut with twine, and on it was scribbled
Wizzle
.

Flynn snorted in annoyance. If this belonged to Wizzle, what was it doing cluttering up his equipment room? He picked the heavy package up, left the gymnasium and began walking across the campus to Mr. Wizzle’s cottage.

There was no answer to his knock. He turned and looked back towards the Faculty Building. There were still lights on. Wizzle was probably working late on his latest software innovation. Flynn tried the door. It was unlocked. He deposited the bulky package on the bottom shelf of Wizzle’s hall table
and left the house, shutting the door behind him.

As he walked back across the campus towards the gym, all thoughts of Mr. Wizzle’s parcel left his mind. Now, where was he going to get those wickets …

* * *

It was almost lights-out when Bruno and Boots answered the knocking at their door. Chris and Elmer stood there, chalk-white and trembling.

“Hi, Chris, Elm. What’s the matter?”

“Bruno!” gasped Chris. “The balloon! It’s —”

“Oh, the balloon,” Bruno interrupted. “That was strictly a Committee thing. The Coalition doesn’t need it. I’m sorry about all your hard work.”

“Bruno, listen to me!” Chris insisted. “The balloon is gone! It’s disappeared!”

“What do you mean, ‘disappeared?’” squeaked Boots. “Where is it?”

“We don’t know!”

“It was in the equipment room of the gym,” explained Elmer, “behind some mats. It was there yesterday, but today it’s gone.”

“Was it finished?” asked Bruno.

“Almost,” said Elmer. “Chris finished the painting and tonight we were going to connect the remote control to the inflater.”

Boots brightened. “What a relief! Then it won’t go off!”

“Not exactly,” said Elmer. “If roughly handled, it could accidentally inflate.”

“You mean,” finished Boots, all the colour draining from his
face, “that any minute now, from we-don’t-know-where, a ten-metre Wizzle balloon might suddenly whoosh into being in the middle of the campus?”

Bruno grinned. “Boy, would that ever be funny!”

“No it wouldn’t,” said Boots positively. “We’re not allowed to bug Mr. Wizzle, and if a ten-metre balloon isn’t bugging him, I don’t know what is! Bruno, The Fish is going to kill us!”

“Don’t worry,” soothed Bruno. “It hasn’t happened yet. And it’ll probably never happen.”

“But where is it?” moaned Chris. “It didn’t just walk away! What could have happened to it?”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Bruno. “It’s a Committee balloon, and as members of The Coalition, we don’t have to worry about it. We’re just going to ignore it and continue convincing Wizzle that Peabody’s gorgeous. So why don’t you guys go to your rooms and get a good night’s sleep. It’s after lights-out.”

Unconvinced, Chris and Elmer straggled off.

“Bruno,” said Boots, “you know The Fish has threatened us with suspension. If that balloon floats up from somewhere, we’ll be blamed for it. We’ll be lucky if we’re just suspended. Expelled would be more like it. Probably shot, too. Bruno, I love being at Macdonald Hall. Macdonald Hall with Wizzle is better than no Macdonald Hall at all. And also, my folks would kill me.”

“Really, Boots,” said Bruno earnestly, “there’s nothing to worry about. Pretty soon Wizzle and Peabody will be married and a thing of the past. And then it won’t matter if the balloon turns up because no one will be offended. The Fish will just laugh it off when we explain that it was all built way back
before he ordered us to disband The Committee. So let’s just go to bed and forget about the whole thing.”

Bruno and Boots got into their pyjamas and climbed into bed. Boots glanced over at the remote control button for Elmer’s low-frequency sound generator. “At least we haven’t been giving Wizzle any earthquakes recently.”

“Of course not,” said Bruno. “A man in love needs his sleep.”

* * *

Miss Scrimmage and Miss Peabody sat in the sitting room. The Headmistress poured two cups of tea from her very best china pot and faced her assistant with some trepidation.

“Now, what was it you wanted to see me about?” asked Miss Peabody, downing the entire cup and looking her employer squarely in the eye.

“Oh dear,” said Miss Scrimmage uncomfortably. “This is so delicate. For the last week or so, a large number of the girls have been speaking to me — lady to lady —”

“What do you mean?” asked Miss Peabody impatiently. “Don’t tell me they’re complaining about me again. I’ll soon run that out of them.”

“No, no,” said Miss Scrimmage. “It seems that the girls are — well — enamoured — of young Mr. Wizzle from Macdonald Hall. And they are all heartsick because — uh — they say — er — they say he’s in love with another woman — and that she’s you.” Miss Scrimmage finished in a rush, pink to the roots of her hair.

“Balloonjuice!” exploded Miss Peabody. “The girls can’t be in love with Wizzle. He’s — dull and pudgy.”

“Nonetheless, they are,” said Miss Scrimmage. “And I felt that I should bring it to your attention. They seemed quite definite about Mr. Wizzle’s — er — regard for you.”

“That’s even more balloonjuice! Where would they get such a stupid idea? Wizzle and I hardly ever see each other, and when we do we fight. Don’t worry, Miss Scrimmage. A few laps of the track will run this out of their systems.”

“Now, Miss Peabody,” Miss Scrimmage went on, “you must realize that the girls are a little angry with you. They feel you’ve been trifling with the affections of their — ahem — sweetheart.”

“This is ridiculous!” exclaimed Miss Peabody. “They need exercise!” She stormed out of the sitting room.

* * *

Mr. Wizzle sat at his desk, staring out the window at an oak tree on which someone had carved a large heart enclosing the initials W.W. and G.P. The campus was covered with this graffiti. For more than a week now he had been overhearing his name linked romantically with Miss Peabody’s. And Miss Peabody was enjoying incredible popularity at Macdonald Hall. Her name was scribbled on notebooks; boys talked about her with love in their eyes; the more artistic students sketched her; why, one boy had even handed in his punishment lines with a love sonnet to her written on the back. The boys were looking at him with envy as the man who had captured her heart.

Had he? And why all this admiration? Miss Peabody was a lovely girl, but surely — Perhaps he hadn’t looked clearly enough. Well, he would call her, just to chat.

He picked up the phone and dialled Miss Scrimmage’s number.

“Ah, yes — Miss Peabody, please … Uh, hello there. This is Walter … Wizzle. Walter Wizzle … Ah, yes. Hello … Why I called? Uh — well — I just wanted to inquire as to — how things are going … Oh, that’s good. Everything is fine here, too … Yes, good-bye, Miss Peabody.”

He hung up the phone and looked off into space. She didn’t
seem
to be in love with him. In fact, she had sounded somewhat standoffish — indifferent even. A goofy grin spread over his face. She was shy!

Miss Peabody sat at her desk, her arms folded and cradling her head, staring across the room at a large poster of a tank she had on the wall.

For the past three days Wizzle had been phoning intermittently and even showing up at the school asking if there was anything he could do to help out. It was creating havoc among the girls, who honestly did seem to idolize the man (though for what reason she could not possibly imagine). But why was he hanging around? Could he actually be seeking out her company? The girls seemed to think so. Miss Scrimmage was sure of it and had assumed the role of motherly chaperone, inviting Wizzle for hundreds of cups of tea. It was all a load of balloonjuice, and yet …

* * *

Bruno and Boots helped Cathy and Diane in through their window.

“Sorry we couldn’t come over to you,” said Bruno, “but
things have been pretty heavy with The Fish lately and we couldn’t risk it.”