“Moving right along,” Bruno continued brightly, “we have our lovely singer, Janet Black, who will sing ‘This Land is Your Land,’ accompanying herself on the ukulele.” Leaving the stage to the singer, he stepped into the wings where an angry Boots was waiting.
“Bruno, I am not going to make a fool of myself again! That was bad enough, but the other one is ‘the ugliest man in the world,’ and I just can’t stand it!”
“Haven’t you got ears?” Bruno exclaimed. “They loved it! The whole show’s going over great!”
“But Bruno —”
“I’ll take complaints tomorrow,” Bruno told him.
On stage, Janet Black was doing well. The audience was singing and clapping along with her, and when Mrs. Sturgeon snapped her picture, she didn’t even flinch. The song ended to thunderous applause.
Next was the death-defying act of the Amazing Frederick. It was a show-stopper. Mr. Sturgeon fidgeted in his chair as he watched one of his students, to all intents and purposes, drowning himself. Finally, at about the two-and-a-half-minute mark in the submersion, a woman in the seventh row leaped to her feet and began screaming.
“My baby! Freddie, stop it this instant!”
Miss Scrimmage was quick to join the mother’s wailing.
By the time the Amazing Frederick, apparently still alive and well, had collapsed on the stage with his chest heaving and his head in a towel, the audience was in a frenzy.
Bruno grasped the microphone. “The Amazing Frederick, folks, and wasn’t he wonderful?”
The mother cried, “Wait till I get my hands on you, Freddie!” sending the audience into gales of laughter.
“And now, ladies and gentlemen, we take pride in presenting our super-gymnast — Perry Elbert!”
Perry cartwheeled onto the stage and began a series of leaps, bounds, somersaults, headstands, stretches and bends, all to music. He was a real trouper, getting through the flash of Mrs. Sturgeon’s camera and even ignoring the three times his record became stuck.
While he was taking his bows after a flawless performance, Perry was thinking happily that the jinx was broken. Bruno hadn’t gotten to him this time. Then Bruno bounded onto the stage shouting, “That was great!” He awarded Perry a mighty slap on the back and Perry went sprawling off the stage head-first, into the lap of Mr. Sturgeon. Both he and the Headmaster ended up on the floor.
Perry scrambled up and shot Bruno an accusing glance before turning to assist Mr. Sturgeon. Fortunately the Headmaster was unhurt.
On stage, Bruno carried on. “I draw your attention, ladies and gentlemen, to the spotlight at the centre of our stage.” The spotlight was focused on the huge grand piano. Underneath it squatted Wilbur Hackenschleimer. “Introducing Super Hackenschleimer who will, before your very eyes, lift this immensely colossal piano. May I have a drum roll please.”
There was the sound of a needle scratching on a record and the drum roll started. Slowly, Wilbur began to stand up. Sweat poured down his face, and terrible grunts and groans burst from him. With agonizing slowness, his shoulders lifted the piano as he straightened his legs.
Mr. Sturgeon put an iron grip on his wife’s camera. “Mildred, don’t you dare flash that thing in the boy’s face!” he whispered tensely. “He’ll drop our piano — our only piano!”
The piano teetered dangerously on Wilbur’s immense shoulders, as he stood upright. The audience broke into a thunderous ovation. Mr. Sturgeon held his breath while the Macdonald Hall strongman eased himself back onto his knees and let the piano safely down onto the floor. Then and only then did Mrs. Sturgeon stand up and snap a picture of Super Hackenschleimer panting and flexing his muscles in victory.
“Well, what do you know!” exclaimed Boots O’Neal to himself in the wings. “He can lift a piano!”
His feeling of elation was instantly replaced by profound embarrassment. Wilbur’s act was finished, and that meant it was time for the “ugliest man in the world” routine. Boots would have given a great deal to avoid it, but he pictured himself at York Academy and knew he couldn’t let Bruno down. Not now.
“And now, ladies and gentlemen, a special treat,” he heard Bruno say. “The famous Melvin P. O’Neal of Macdonald Hall — who plans to stay at Macdonald Hall — has searched the world over and found the person who is, without question, the ugliest man in the world. Bring him out, Mr. O’Neal.”
Boots appeared, leading one of the stage hands who had a towel draped over his head.
“Is this the ugliest man in the world?” Bruno asked. Boots nodded miserably.
“Are you going to allow anyone to look at the ugliest man in the world?”
Again Boots nodded miserably.
Hughie, one of the soft-shoe dancers, approached the ugliest man in the world, peeked under the towel, cried out in horror, and fell to the stage in a dead faint.
Next Cathy Burton marched out, wearing a full-length raincoat. She lifted the towel, let out a shriek that raised the audience out of their seats and collapsed beside Hughie.
“What’s all this?” Bruno exclaimed. “He can’t be that bad. I’ll have to see for myself.”
Bruno walked over as the others had done, lifted the towel and peeked inside. The ugliest man in the world screamed and fainted.
Waves of laughter and applause rolled across the audience and reached the stage.
Boots was astounded. “I thought it was going to be terrible!” he blurted out, right into the microphone. “They’re laughing! You may be a genius after all!”
The laughter doubled as Boots’s exclamation was carried throughout the auditorium. The dreaded “ugliest man in the world” routine was a smash hit.
“There’s a lot more to come,” Bruno announced when order was restored, “including the drawing for our door prize and, finally, the fabulous Scrimmettes. But first we’ll have a fifteen minute intermission. Don’t go away.” And the curtain closed to engulf him.
Down the aisles rolled the dining room tea wagons, manned by students who were chanting: “Ice cold orangeade, fifty cents! Get your fresh and delicious Scrim-cakes here! One dollar!”
The idea of selling drinks and cupcakes at intermission had come from Wilbur Hackenschleimer, who had been unable to imagine anyone sitting through an entire performance without food. Bruno had charmed the orangeade out of the Macdonald Hall kitchen staff. The Scrim-cakes had been baked in Miss Scrimmage’s cooking class.
Bruno and Boots had been delighted with the idea because it provided another source of revenue. This was the first Mr. Sturgeon had heard of it, however. As he bit into a rather hard cupcake, he reflected that although he had given permission for this talent show, he had been consulted on very little else.
“Aren’t these delicious!” Mrs. Sturgeon exclaimed, much to the delight of Miss Scrimmage, who was very proud of the accomplishments of her girls.
Backstage, Bruno was met by a white-faced Boots O’Neal. “Bruno, come quick!” he practically gibbered. “The Scrimmettes! They used the scissors to —”
“Not now,” Bruno interrupted. “Intermission is almost over.”
“But Bruno, we’ll be expelled!”
“Why should we be expelled? The show is great! Where’s Sidney? I’m going out to introduce him.”
Bruno walked out on stage. “Hello again, ladies and gentlemen. I hope you enjoyed your little snack. Next from our all-star cast we have for you our juggler, Old Butterfingers — ha, ha, little joke there — Sidney Rampulsky!”
Sidney started out with Indian clubs, and after a perfect performance, switched to eggs. He was doing fine with first three and then four eggs until an enraptured Mrs. Sturgeon jumped up and snapped his picture, disrupting his concentration. The eggs flew from his hands and, one by one, as though aimed by an evil spirit, splattered against Miss Scrimmage’s face. When the blindness caused by the flash faded from his eyes and he saw what he had done, Sidney Butterfingers Rampulsky turned and ran. The audience lapsed into an embarrassed silence.
/> As usual, it was Bruno who broke the ice. “We can have a few minutes delay,” he offered, “in case anyone wants to — uh — go to the bathroom and wash egg yolk off her face.”
Miss Scrimmage rushed up the aisle, followed by a solicitous Mrs. Sturgeon.
The Headmaster beckoned to Bruno. “I don’t suppose anyone thought to have those eggs hard-boiled,” he said sarcastically.
“Well, no, sir,” Bruno replied. “We never thought Butterfingers was going to throw them at anyone.”
Mr. Sturgeon grimaced. “I trust there will be no more surprises this evening?”
“Of course not, sir. Everything’s going to be fine.”
In a few minutes the ladies returned to their seats and Bruno introduced Marie Latousse, virtuoso of the concert piano. Marie, a junior student at Miss Scrimmage’s, played the piece she had been rehearsing for two weeks — “Hot Cross Buns.” It was very well received, but there could be no encore. “Hot Cross Buns” was the only selection that Marie could play.
“Boy, wasn’t she terrific!” Bruno exclaimed. “And wait till you see what we’ve got for you now! Introducing Marvin the Magnificent, who will dazzle you with his supernatural powers.”
Marvin the Magnificent, the magician who had promised to polish up his act, was doing a fine job. He started with a few card tricks, sawed Boots in half, and made Bruno disappear.
“I’ve got to find out how that’s done,” Mr. Sturgeon whispered to his wife.
“Oh, William!”
“For my last trick,” Marvin announced, “I will pull a rabbit out of this totally empty hat.” Mrs. Sturgeon readied her camera. Marvin reached into the hat and triumphantly drew out a small white rabbit which he displayed to the audience.
Flash! The rabbit panicked, and using the top of Miss Scrimmage’s head as a jumping-off point, headed for the back of the auditorium.
Without hesitation, Mr. Sturgeon whipped out his trusty handkerchief and began to fan the semi-conscious Miss Scrimmage. He eyed Bruno accusingly.
At the back of the hall, two usherettes were luring the rabbit from under a seat, using a leftover Scrim-cake as bait. The terrified animal was soon restored to Marvin, but not before he had paid Bruno a dollar for the Scrim-cake.
“And now, ladies and gentlemen,” Bruno announced, “get your ticket stubs ready because it’s time to draw for our door prize.” Boots wheeled onto the stage a tea cart containing a fish bowl full of ticket stubs and a brightly wrapped package. “The prize was donated by our own Mrs. Sturgeon.” There was polite applause. “As a reward for locating the ugliest man in the world, I’m going to call upon Mr. Melvin P. O’Neal to draw the winning number.”
Boots reached into the bowl, picked a ticket and handed it to Bruno.
“And the winning number is — 119.”
There was a murmur as people checked their tickets; then Mrs. Sturgeon’s voice rang through the hall. “William, that’s your number!”
Mr. Sturgeon climbed onto the stage to collect his prize. His wife stood poised, ready to capture the moment on film.
“What a surprise,” said Bruno. “Congratulations, sir.” He picked up the package and thrust it into Mr. Sturgeon’s hands.
There was an all-too-familiar click. A soft object burst up through the wrapping paper and struck the Headmaster in the face. A recorded voice said, “Hi there! My name is Jack!” just as the flash went off. Mr. Sturgeon got a standing ovation as he carried his old nemesis back to his seat.
“And now, ladies and germs — ha, ha, little joke there — the moment you’ve all been waiting for.” Bruno was waxing enthusiastic while, backstage, Boots was holding his head. “We take great pride in presenting — The Scrimmettes!”
To the music of a hit Broadway show, the six Scrimmettes danced onto the stage, wearing little more than the smiles on their faces. Miss Scrimmage screamed in horror and slumped back in her seat, unable to take her eyes off the row of shapely legs. Even Bruno was shocked. He suddenly realized what Boots had been trying to tell him — that Cathy had used the scissors to modify the conservative sewing-class ballet costumes.
Pandemonium broke loose as the Macdonald Hall boys stood up on their chairs and whistled.
Mr. Sturgeon leaned over to Miss Scrimmage. “You say the girls made these costumes in sewing class?”
Miss Scrimmage was beside herself. “They looked — larger when I saw them,” she managed to reply. “They had — skirts attached.”
Mrs. Sturgeon rose to the occasion. “They’re lovely,” she said comfortingly. “And the girls are excellent dancers.”
That was undeniable. The Scrimmettes were nothing short of sensational. In spite of the fact that they could no longer hear their music over the din, they staged a show that was worthy of the Rockettes of Radio City Music Hall. Their finale of precision high kicks brought the house down. When they left the stage, the cheers were the loudest that had ever been heard in the Macdonald Hall auditorium.
Bruno reappeared at the microphone. “That’s our show, ladies and gentlemen. We hope you’ve enjoyed our talent. Thank you for coming. Goodnight, all.”
The final ovation was deafening.
* * *
By the light of a flashlight, Bruno and Boots, still flushed with the success of the talent show, huddled at Boots’ desk.
“Dear Mom and Dad,” Bruno dictated as Boots wrote.
This sure is a great school, and my best year yet. We factored polynomials in math today. It was so fascinating that I led the applause at the end of the class.
Plans are going forward very quickly for the pool. It won’t be long now.
Happily yours,
Melvin.
P.S. Everything is really great here.
“Bruno, this is the most ridiculous letter yet! Last time it was geography I was in love with. The time before that, health. My folks are going to think I’ve gone crazy!”
“They have to be convinced that taking you out of the Hall would ruin your life,” Bruno insisted. “This is the only subtle way. Otherwise, you may as well start packing. Gobble, gobble.”
Boots swallowed hard. “Have you got a stamp?”
Chapter 7
What’s on the Menu?
“One thousand, six hundred and eighty-nine dollars,” Bruno announced as the last quarter clicked into the bucket. It was Sunday morning, and he and Boots were seated on the floor of their room counting the proceeds from the talent show.
“What’s that five-dollar bill in your hand?” Boots asked accusingly. “Royalties for inventing the ‘ugliest man in the world’ skit?”
“Of course not!” Bruno replied, highly insulted. “Miss Scrimmage’s is going to the Royal Ontario Museum tomorrow, and Cathy’s going to buy us some lottery tickets while she’s in town. Two hundred thousand bucks. That’ll pay for it four times over.”
“I don’t suppose it ever occurred to you that we might not win,” Boots said.
“Not for a minute,” Bruno replied serenely.
“How do we get the money to Cathy?”
“Same as always,” Bruno told him. “We become the midnight marauders. Tonight after lights-out.”
* * *
Mr. Sturgeon sat at the breakfast table staring distastefully at his jack-in-the-box. “Mildred,” he said thoughtfully, “it’s too bad the barracuda didn’t win this thing. Everything else happened to her last night.”
“Poor Miss Scrimmage,” sighed Mrs. Sturgeon, pouring coffee for two. “It certainly wasn’t her night. As if the eggs and the owl and the rabbit weren’t enough, her well-bred young ladies proved how shy and demure they really are.”
“Let’s not be smug, Mildred. The reaction of our boys was nothing to be proud of. It leaves me with the problem of what to do about Bruno and Melvin.”
“Why, let them continue their efforts, of course!” his wife exclaimed. “We’ve never had such school spirit!”
The Headmaster nodded in agreement. “Take a boy like Elmer Drimsdale,”
he said. “He’s never taken part in anything before, and he’s never had any friends. Bruno has brought him into the mainstream of things. I think all this fund-raising may be good for the school.” He chuckled. “It’s just not very good for Miss Scrimmage.”
“Would you care for some French toast, dear?”
“No, thank you,” her husband replied. “That Scrim-cake you made me eat last night hasn’t quite gone down yet.”
* * *
A dozen or so boys were gathered around the lunch table.
“That brings our total to $3,095.30,” announced Elmer Drimsdale, “which is 6.1906% of our objective. We still need $46,904.70.”
“At our present rate of income,” said Chris Talbot, “by the time our pool is built our arthritis will be too severe for us to be able to swim.”
“Not quite,” said Elmer. “At our present rate, we will have fifty thousand dollars in approximately eleven months, two weeks and three days. Common arthritis does not develop so rapidly.”
“Don’t worry,” Boots put in sarcastically. “Bruno is buying some lottery tickets. We’re going to win two hundred thousand.”
“Oh,” said Chris. “Well, that’s different.”
“According to the odds,” said Elmer, “I calculate that we have a better chance of being stung to death by bees than of winning first prize in the lottery.”
“Given a choice,” said Bruno, “I’d rather win the money. By the way, why is it that not one of you is down on his knees to me for that glorious show last night? It was my idea, after all.”
All the boys began chattering at once.
“Boy, those Scrimmettes!”
“Elmer stole the show!”
“The rabbit stole the show!”
“I stole the show!”
“The Scrimmettes!”
“Face it, Miss Scrimmage stole the show!”
“What about the Amazing Frederick’s mother?”
“And when the door prize exploded in The Fish’s face …”
“But the Scrimmettes!”
“Yes,” said Boots soberly. “The Scrimmettes. Bruno, we haven’t heard the end of that.”