“Look!” exclaimed Bruno. “They’ve got George! We’d better get out there and protect him! Everybody’s mad enough to kill him!”
“Just remember that we’re culprits number two and three,” said Boots. “I don’t want to go out there. Let George protect himself!”
Bruno opened the window. “Listen to that!”
From across the road came the rhythmic chanting of female voices: “We love George! We love George!”
Bruno and Boots exchanged a quick, confused glance before leaping out of their open window to join the crowd. They were met by a jubilant Pete Anderson. With him was Elmer Drimsdale, his neat black tie flapping in the breeze, his glasses awry.
“Don’t be too hard on George!” shouted Bruno over the general din.
“Hard on him?” laughed Pete. “We’re going to make him king!” And he ran back into the crowd which was, by this time, carrying George high in the air.
Bruno grabbed Elmer by his thin shoulders. “Elmer, what’s going on here?”
“Well, I’m not certain exactly,” said Elmer, “but I believe it has something to do with some men finding a lot of silver in our mine.”
At that instant, Wilbur Hackenschleimer thundered up and thrust a sheet of paper into Bruno’s astonished face. The headline read: Rich Vein Discovered at Lorelei Mine.
Bruno threw his head back and howled with delight.
Breathlessly, Boots read the article. “A half hour after the stock market closed today, it was revealed that mining operations at Lorelei Mining Inc. have uncovered one of the richest silver deposits ever found in Canada. A company spokesman … Bruno, we’re going to be rich!”
Bruno was ecstatic. “I knew George would come through! He’s not a crackpot! He’s a genius! George! George!” He ran off towards the hero of the day. Boots followed.
The mob carrying George set him down before the president and vice-president of the fund-raising committee.
“Well, George,” said Bruno, “what do you think of that?”
George was as composed as ever. “I fail to understand why everyone is so surprised,” he said. “I told you about all this some time ago.”
“Yes, but we didn’t believe you!” blurted Boots.
Bruno clamped a hand over Boots’s mouth. “He’s excited. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. We believe! We believe!”
“May I ask what is going on here?” said a quiet voice behind them.
Silence fell. All eyes turned to Mr. Sturgeon who stood a few yards away watching them.
“Lights-out,” said the Headmaster, “is exactly three minutes from now. I fail to see why no one appears to respect the rules of this institution.” A puzzled frown creased his forehead as the last “we love George” died away from across the road. “You will return to your rooms immediately and go to bed.”
As the crowd began to disperse, Bruno grinned at George. “How did it feel to be part of one of our riots?”
George almost grinned back. “Actually,” he said, “I found that vulgar display of emotion rather exhilarating. However, I certainly hope I do not become ill from all this night air. Very bad for my sinuses, you understand.”
* * *
The next day Lorelei mining made an enormous gain, closing at $1.04 per share. There was much jubilation at Macdonald Hall; their stock had recovered from its slump and shot up so that the school’s holdings were now worth more than twenty thousand dollars.
All through the week that followed, the students of Macdonald Hall waited and, as George put it, “watched their hard-earned money grow and grow.” Glowing reports continued to be published about the quality of the silver strike at Lorelei. The stock continued to rise. When the stock market closed on Friday, the shares were worth $1.73 each.
“Thirty-four thousand, seven hundred forty-five dollars and thirty-two cents,” announced Elmer Drimsdale excitedly. “That’s a fortune!”
“You know,” said Boots, “maybe we should sell out. How high can it go?”
“He may have a point there,” said Bruno to George. “We didn’t make nearly as much money on Thursday and Friday as we did at the beginning of the week. Maybe it isn’t going to go up any more.”
“When the time has come to sell,” George said calmly, “I shall tell you. Trust me.”
The next day the financial papers published further reports on Lorelei Mining. Not only was the silver of high quality, but the find was apparently extensive. Two minor veins had been uncovered. By the time the stock market closed, Lorelei Mining was worth $2.02 per share.
“Sell!” Boots begged. “For pity’s sake, let’s sell! We have over forty thousand dollars!”
“But you require fifty,” said George. “And you will have it. You must be patient. These things don’t happen overnight.”
At the end of the week the discovery of yet another silver vein nudged Lorelei Mining up to $2.57 per share.
A half-demented Pete Anderson delivered the news at lunch on Friday. “We did it!” he screamed, waving a newspaper in the air. “We broke fifty thousand!”
Pandemonium broke loose in the dining hall. Napkins flew through the air and boys began running around congratulating each other wildly. Elmer Drimsdale was so happy he burst into tears. Wilbur Hackenschleimer, for the first time in his life, was too overcome to eat. Chris Talbot ran around the dining hall pounding people on the back and gibbering incoherently. Mark Davies, puffed up with pride, strutted around as though he himself were responsible for the great accomplishment. Sidney Rampulsky overturned his chair and whacked his head on the edge of the table, knocking himself unconscious. Boots just sat and savoured the taste of victory.
Bruno’s voice was the loudest. “That’s it!” he screamed. “We did it! We’ve got more than enough! Sell! Sell! Sell!”
“What about an adjoining sauna?” asked George calmly. “And our pool should be bigger and better than York Academy’s. They are so vulgar.” And he would not sell.
Macdonald Hall held on. All through the next two weeks the financial papers published reports on the phenomenon that was Lorelei Mining. Seldom had a stock gained so much in so short a time. Mining operations were not only fairly inexpensive but extremely profitable as well. And yet another sizable vein of silver had been discovered.
When Lorelei closed at $3.21 per share, Bruno Walton was no longer in a selling mood. “After the pool,” he was telling everybody, “we can build a planetarium, renovate the dormitories, set up a broadcasting studio and maybe build a museum. Why, we’ll buy York Academy and throw all the turkeys out!”
George Wexford-Smyth III said one word: “Sell.”
Bruno was aghast. “What do you mean sell? We’ve only been in this for a few weeks! Now we can start to make some real money!”
“My inside information says that there is one enormous vein, one rather sizable vein and three smaller ones,” said George. “The stock should be peaking just about now. It will level off and then slowly begin to decline until it reaches a normal level for a stock of this nature. Tomorrow I shall call my broker. We sell.”
The next morning George telephoned his stockbroker who liquidated the Macdonald Hall holdings for a grand total of $64,469.64 and dispatched a courier to deliver the cheque to his young clients.
True to George’s prediction, Lorelei’s next gain was extremely insignificant. The stock indeed appeared to be levelling off.
“You were right,” said Bruno. “We sold out at the right time.”
“Naturally,” said George, fanning himself with the cheque.
“You know something, George?” remarked Boots. “You’re not such a creep after all.”
“Indeed,” smiled George sincerely, “you two are not quite so disgusting as I had originally thought either. Still a little vulgar, mind you …”
* * *
“Dear son,” read Boots aloud from the letter he had just received from his mother.
I have this vague feeling that you are worried about being take
n out of Macdonald Hall and sent to a school with a more extensive athletic program. Your father and I have discussed this and have decided that we’d rather have you happy than an Olympic athlete. We are also very pleased that you seem to be getting so much joy out of your classes lately. We love hearing from you twice a day. Keep it up.
Love, Mom.
“No gobble-gobble?” Bruno questioned.
Boots nodded hysterically. “I can stay! I can stay! I can stay!”
“Everyone can stay,” said Bruno with great satisfaction.
Chapter 15
For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow!
“Mildred, I cannot imagine what this is about!” said Mr. Sturgeon, knotting his tie. “I am not accustomed to being called to assembly by my students. If it has anything to do with fund-raising, I promise you I shall wring their necks!”
“I have no idea what it means,” his wife said, putting the finishing touches on her hairdo. “Bruno and Melvin showed up at the door at four o’clock and invited us to a special assembly after dinner. I’ve been phoning around to the faculty and it seems that everyone is invited, but no one knows what it’s all about.”
“If Walton and O’Neal are behind it,” the Headmaster said sourly, “it’s probably a new fund-raising scheme. We shall all be held for ransom.”
“Hurry now,” she said, “or we’ll be late. We’re to meet Miss Scrimmage outside the auditorium in five minutes.”
“Miss Scrimmage? Why is she invited?”
“Well, I don’t know, dear. Let’s go and find out.”
* * *
Mr. Sturgeon’s fears were confirmed as he, his wife and Miss Scrimmage were seated in the front row of the auditorium. On the platform were Bruno and Boots, Wilbur, Chris, Elmer and Mark — the entire fund-raising committee. To make matters more perplexing, the extra boy on the stage, George Wexford-Smyth III, was known to be generally disliked. Where did he fit in? What was going on here?
Because of the presence of Miss Scrimmage’s girls, the auditorium was packed to overflowing. Students were sitting on the floor in the aisles.
Bruno stepped up to the microphone and cleared his throat.
“Honoured guests, fellow students,” he began, and it was apparent that he had rehearsed very carefully. “We are gathered here this evening to celebrate a memorable event. I would now like to call Mr. Sturgeon to the platform, as I have a few brief words to address to him.”
As Mr. Sturgeon joined him at the microphone, Bruno reached into his pocket and produced enough paper for a two-hour speech. There were loud groans from the audience and several elaborate yawns. Mr. Sturgeon silenced everyone with one cold look. He felt like the leading actor in a farce and was not in a particularly good mood.
“Mr. Sturgeon,” Bruno began, “I — we — George — silver — here, sir!” His face flaming red and his speech forgotten, Bruno whipped an envelope out of his pocket and thrust it into the Headmaster’s hand.
“Great speech!” Cathy Burton cheered from the back row.
Mystified, Mr. Sturgeon opened the envelope and removed the contents. He found himself holding a cheque in the amount of $64,469.64. There was a long silence. The Headmaster stared from the cheque to Bruno and back to the cheque again.
“It’s for a pool, sir,” Bruno stammered, “with extra dressing rooms for the girls because they helped. And a sauna. And please, sir, could it be bigger than York Academy’s pool? Even if it’s just a little bigger?”
An unfamiliar expression came over the Headmaster’s face. He took out his handkerchief and blew his nose loudly. In the front row Mrs. Sturgeon was dabbing at her eyes with a lace hanky and trying to quiet Miss Scrimmage, who was sobbing uncontrollably. The cheering from the boys was deafening, and the girls were standing up and dancing wherever they could find room to put a foot down. Confetti flew like snow, and several boys waved hand-made victory flags.
“Aren’t you happy, sir?” Bruno shouted over the din.
“Very happy indeed,” said Mr. Sturgeon. “But where on earth did you get so much money?”
“It’s a very long story, sir,” said Bruno hesitantly. “Are you sure you want to hear it?”
“Not at all sure. But perhaps I’d better. After the assembly, I want to see you and O’Neal privately in my office.”
“Yes, sir,” said Bruno. “And we’d better bring George.”
“Wexford-Smyth III?” asked Mr. Sturgeon. “I was under the impression that you did not even associate with him.”
“George?” said Bruno in surprise. “Why, he’s our best friend. He may look like a creep, but you can’t judge a book by its cover.”
“Very true,” Mr. Sturgeon nodded.
Boots approached them. “Sir,” he said, “all the ruckus has died down now. Would you like to say a few words?”
Mr. Sturgeon nodded, blew his nose once again, and addressed the assembly.
“When I was called here tonight, I recall thinking that if this assembly had anything to do with fund-raising, heads would roll. Fund-raising has made this an interesting semester, to say the least. And now we are to have a pool.” There was much stamping and whistling. “Getting the pool has been the achievement of every boy and girl in this auditorium. For this reason, the name over the door of our pool will read: Students’ Pool.” Again he was interrupted by wild cheering. “I don’t know how you did it,” he went on. “I am shortly to be filled in on the details. I only want to say thank you and to let you know that I am very proud of every one of you.”
To the sound of hundreds of young voices singing “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow,” Mr. Sturgeon left the stage and rejoined his wife.
“Well, William,” she said happily, “what do you think of that?”
“A telephone,” said Mr. Sturgeon abstractedly. “We need a telephone in the sauna.” His eyes took on a wicked gleam. “I want to phone Hartley from there. And I must also mention to him how lucky he is that his water bill will be so much smaller than ours.”
“Oh, William!” she laughed. “You are pleased!”
He nodded. “And I can also invite Hartley’s students to use our sauna — between the hours of two and three in the morning on nights when there is a full moon!” His face grew grave. “Of course, first I have to find out where they got that money and whether or not we have to give it back.”
* * *
Bruno, Boots and George sat in three comfortable swivel chairs facing their Headmaster across his desk.
“It’s all very simple, sir,” said Bruno. “George took our fifteen thousand dollars and invested it in the stock market for us.”
“But you didn’t have fifteen thousand dollars,” protested Mr. Sturgeon, mystified.
“Yes, sir,” said Bruno. “But Cathy made horseradish cake and won six thousand dollars for us.”
“Oh,” said Mr. Sturgeon oddly, “I see.”
“So,” Bruno went on, “George invested our money.”
The Headmaster stared at him. “I received reports that you and O’Neal had missed a few classes. I assume that would be trips to the bank and other financial transactions?”
“Yes, sir,” Bruno admitted.
Mr. Sturgeon held his head. “Don’t you two realize — and you too, Wexford-Smyth — that you had no moral right to touch that money? I entrusted you with the responsibility of that bank account.”
“Yes, sir,” said Bruno, “and we more than tripled it.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Sturgeon, “but you might just as easily have lost it.”
George sat bolt upright in his chair. “Impossible, sir!” he exclaimed. “There is a science to the stock market. I had inside information on Lorelei Mining from a reputable firm of geologists.”
“Lorelei Mining?” repeated the Headmaster. “That was your investment? You knew about Lorelei Mining before it happened? Why, that was the biggest —” He caught himself and fell silent.
“Are you very angry, sir?” asked Boots in a small voice.
“Yes — and no,” said Mr. Sturgeon. “You see, I am afraid that this experience may have taught you boys that you can do absolutely anything to achieve what you are after. Life is not like that. There are rules. At some time in your lives you will have to give up something you want very badly because the means to get it will hurt someone else. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” chorused the three boys.
“As for the money itself,” said Mr. Sturgeon with a smile, “I could not be more pleased. I think, under the circumstances, that Wexford-Smyth should be the first person to swim in our pool.”
“Oh, no, sir!” said George quickly. “From a hygienic point of view, I feel pools are unsafe. And of course there is the ever-present danger of catching a chill.”
“Well, then,” said the Headmaster with a trace of amusement in his voice, “the honour should fall to the chairman of the fund-raising committee. Bruno, you should be first in our pool.”
Bruno turned deathly white. “Me, sir? Pool, sir? But I don’t know how to swim!”
Be sure to read the next hilarious Macdonald Hall adventure:
Chapter 1
Much Ado About Spinach
Few people would argue that Macdonald Hall, located east of Toronto just off Highway 48, is not the best boarding school for boys in Canada. Even the most severe critics of modern education point to the ivy-covered walls of the Hall as a symbol of the happy blend of tradition, enlightened administration and progressive educational policies that have resulted in a rare combination of pleased parents and contented students.
Why, then, are rumblings echoing from the dining hall?
* * *
“Yes! Okay! So we need another vegetable! But why spinach?” exclaimed Boots O’Neal in disgust.
“Stewed green leaves,” agreed Bruno Walton, pushing the spinach as far from the rest of his dinner as he could without actually toppling it off his plate onto the tray. “Last week they started serving raisins and figs instead of cake and ice cream. Now it’s spinach instead of french fries. If this keeps up I’ll be the healthiest person ever to starve to death at this school. Yeccch!”