Go Jump in the Pool!

  “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.

  Chapter 3

  Everything Must Go

  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 sav
ed 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.

  Because there were so many small children, Elmer Drimsdale’s goldfish and ant colonies were the hit of the sale at two dollars apiece. The enterprising Mark Davies had printed up sheets entitled “The Care and Feeding of your Goldfish” and “How to Care for your Ant Colony.” These were selling for an additional ten cents and contained as much technical information as Mark knew, mainly, “Don’t take your fish out of water” and “Don’t put your ants in water.”

  No one had thought to put price tags on the merchandise, but Bruno had quickly made up for that by writing “Price Catalogue” on a blank notebook and studiously pretending to look up each item as it was brought to the cash table. Bruno was very agreeable, though, and if a customer complained that the price was too high, he happily dropped it because, as he explained, “Everything must go.”

  Cathy Burton hurried up to the cash table. “Well, we’ve sold all the jewellery,” she announced happily. “We even sold the tablecloth.”

  “Boots will be thrilled,” replied Bruno. “That was the sheet off his bed.”

  “How are we doing?”

  “We’ve got a fortune here!” Bruno exclaimed. He pointed to the crowd. “Look. I can see somebody coming with that hideous lamp you girls brought. We should have saved our breakfast garbage! People will buy anything!”

  The crowd parted to make way for Miss Scrimmage who was carrying a garishly painted hurricane lamp in her arms.

  “It seems a shame to make her pay for it,” Cathy commented. “She already bought it once.”

  Bruno’s head whipped around. “You mean it’s hers?”

  Cathy shrugged. “We liberated it from her sitting room.”

  It was too late for Bruno to say anything else. Miss Scrimmage was upon him.

  “Dear boy, I can’t tell you how pleased I am at finding this marvellous antique,” she gushed. “It’s a perfect match for one I already have. What are you asking for it, and wherever did you find it?”

  Bruno looked around desperately. Cathy had drifted off into the crowd. “W–would five dollars be too much?” he stammered.

  “Dear boy, you’ll never make money if you’re not a better businessman. Here is twenty dollars, and I’m happy to pay it.” She handed him two ten-dollar bills.

  Boots came running up as Miss Scrimmage moved away. “The Fish is here!” he announced.

  “Those girls!” Bruno gasped, half in laughter, half in tears. “They swiped Miss Scrimmage’s lamp and she just gave me twenty dollars for it and now she thinks she’s got a pair and —”

  “Never mind that,” groaned Boots. “They did the same thing with her shotgun. Wilbur opened up another cash on the other side, and some lady just gave him a hundred bucks for it!”

  Bruno held his head and watched as Mr. Sturgeon’s blue Ford inched its way up the crowded driveway.

  “William, calm down,” said Mrs. Sturgeon soothingly.

  “I am calm,” insisted the Headmaster as he finally found a place to park. “I shall remain calm until I get my hands on the boys responsible for this — this flea market!”

  “William,” she argued, “you know they’re only doing it for you and the school. I think you should be proud of them.”

  Mr. Sturgeon said nothing. With his wife right behind him pointing out the virtues of “the boys who worked so hard for all this,” he ploughed through the crowd toward the cash table where Bruno Walton was seated. Halfway there, he ran into James R. Snow, chairman of the Board of Directors of Macdonald Hall. Mr. Snow was examining a framed paint-by-numbers painting of a rather cross-eyed dog when he caught sight of Mr. and Mrs. Sturgeon.

  “William. Good afternoon, Mildred,” Mr. Snow greeted them. “Congratulations. You must be very proud of your boys for putting together this marvellous sale. And to raise money for the school. Such loyalty! Such school spirit!”

  The Headmaster’s jaw dropped, but he managed to rise to the occasion. “Oh, yes, Jim. Very proud indeed.”

  “As a matter of fact,” Mr. Snow continued, “I’ve managed to pick up some real bargains.” He held up an old brass umbrella stand. “Look at this beautiful antique for only ten dollars.”

  Mr. Sturgeon feigned a smile. “Lovely, Jim. Just lovely. It seems that you are doing well.” He turned to his wife. “Mildred, shall we browse?”

  Mrs. Sturgeon followed her husband through the crowd toward some of the display tables. When they were out of Mr. Snow’s hearing, the Headmaster addressed his wife. “Mildred, that umbrella holder was a wedding present from my great-aunt Agatha.”

  “Yes, dear, I know that,” she replied. “And I’ve always hated it. But did you hear what Jim Snow said about the sale? He’s always so quick to understand the essential points, isn’t he, dear?”

  Mr. Sturgeon did not reply because he was busy watching Bruno close another deal with Miss Scrimmage. She was buying his favourite old chair, the one he used in his basement retreat. He glared at his wife. His mouth opened and closed several times, but no sound came out. Mrs. Sturgeon just continued smiling.

  Having managed to lose his wife in the crowd, at last Mr. Sturgeon came face to face with Bruno Walton. “I trust business is going well,” he said, not without some sarcasm.

  “Hello, sir,” Bruno greeted him heartily. “I’m glad you could make it. We’re really doing great! We’ll have enough money for a pool in no time!”

  “May I ask what your business hours are?” Mr. Sturgeon consulted his watch. “It’s only an hour until dinner. When does the sale end?”

  “When we’ve sold everything, of course,” Bruno replied cheerfully. “Everything must go. That’s our motto.”

  “Well, Walton, you have fifteen minutes in which to reach that goal. After that I want everything and everybody off this lawn. The sale is over.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Bruno, much subdued.

  “Also,” the Headmaster went on, “I would like to see you and O’Neal in my office this evening at half past seven. Please be punctual.” And Mr. Sturgeon walked off into the crowd in search of his wife.
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  Bruno stood up on the sales table and cupped his hands to his mouth. “Fifteen minutes!” he roared. “Fifteen more minutes of fabulous bargains! Fifteen minutes to closing!”

  Across the way, he heard the foghorn voice of Wilbur Hackenschleimer taking up the cry. In a little while the campus was cleared.

  * * *

  “One thousand, four hundred twenty-six dollars and thirty cents,” Bruno Walton reported to the fund-raising committee at dinner that evening. He indicated four large buckets on the floor under the table. “It’s all in there. Boots and I just finished counting it.”

  “The amount in our possession,” announced Elmer Drimsdale, “is 2.8526% of the required amount for the swimming pool, leaving $48,573.70 still to be collected.”

  The boys were stunned into momentary silence. For a split second even Wilbur paused in his systematic eating.

  “I guess it’s a whole lot of money,” Mark Davies commented, “but I sure expected more.”

  The boys all murmured their agreement.

  Bruno nodded sadly. “I thought we’d make thousands,” he agreed. “But anyway, it’s a start. And at least Boots and I have something to give to The Fish when we go to his office tonight.”

  Boots choked on his milk. “The Fish? His office? Tonight?”

  “Didn’t I mention it?” Bruno asked innocently. “The Fish wants to see us tonight at seven-thirty.”

  “Well, I don’t want to see him,” Boots moaned. “We’re in trouble again.”

  “Not to worry,” Bruno promised. “We’ll dazzle him with our flawless logic and our buckets full of money.”

  “I know about the money,” said Boots, “but would you like to let me in on the logic?”

  “Certainly,” Bruno replied. “Logic dictates that if anything threatens the sanctity of Macdonald Hall the threat must be eliminated. Besides, The Fish wants a pool too — he said so.”

  “And he’ll be thrilled with our $1,426,” Boots said sarcastically.

  “And thirty cents,” Bruno added. “Yes, he will, because there’s plenty more where that came from.”