Macdonald Hall #1: This Can't Be Happening at Macdonald Hall!

Desperate measures

Bruno was getting impatient: Elmer was having real trouble falling asleep. How was he ever going to get out to see Boots? And he had to see Boots. The present strategy was getting them into more hot water than they had ever known existed. 

Bruno had to admit that he was having fun, of course, but the results were disturbing. As he lay in the darkness he could still hear Mr. Sturgeon's voice: "There will be no more ants, no more skunks — and no more privileges, Walton." Bruno grinned in the darkness. He was accustomed to making his own privileges.

It was well after midnight when Elmer finally fell asleep. About time, thought Bruno as he opened the window and crawled out onto the deserted campus. Staying in the shadows cast by the dark building, he made his way to Dormitory 1 and tapped lightly on Boots' window. Several minutes passed without an answer. Bruno's second tap echoed loudly in the stillness of the night. Finally Boots peered out and beckoned. Bruno hoisted himself up and through the window.

"George is in the infirmary suffering from exhaustion," Boots explained. "It seems he doesn't run thirteen times around the campus every day." 

Bruno just kept staring at the room. "Wow! What a set-up! Look at those stereo speakers, and the zoom TV, and the — " 

"And the teletype," interrupted Boots, opening the closet door to reveal a gleaming silver machine. "I told you so." 

"Boy," Bruno exclaimed, "I can hardly believe it!" 

"Just wait until you see the bathroom," Boots said, motioning Bruno inside. "No drugstore in the country is this well equipped."

Bruno whistled. "And I thought you were exaggerating when you told me about all this! I still say Elmer takes the cake, but George sure is a strange one!" He sat down on George's bed. "Now, what's been happening? You first."

Grinning despite his problems, Boots related the story of George's mint stamps, then went on to the epidemic of creeping caliotis. Bruno found it hard to believe that anyone would spend the day dying in bed just because of a few paint spots until Boots handed him the clipping. 

"Pretty slick." 

"Very slick," Boots agreed sarcastically. "So slick I've lost my privileges for three months! And that means I can't go to the dance at Miss Scrimmage's on Saturday."

"What makes you think they'd let us in there anyway? Remember what we did the last time?"

Boots smiled as he recalled the last dance — Miss Scrimmage's gymnasium hung with pink and silver streamers, the walls ringing with music and laughter. It was just as the buffet supper was about to be served that the forty ounces of Scotch Bruno and Boots had poured into the punch bowl reached Miss Scrimmage's head. Suddenly she ripped the chaperone's badge off her shapeless black dress, hauled a startled Mr. Sturgeon onto the dance floor and started into her own extraordinary version of the funky chicken. At that point the young ladies lost what little restraint they had and the party quickly turned into a wild rock festival, with Miss Scrimmage being the life of the party. The next morning she could not get out of bed and seemed to be suffering from something that looked suspiciously like a hangover. 

"Three months without privileges!" scoffed Bruno, jolting Boots back to the present. "Mine were suspended indefinitely! But 1 don't care — Diane's not going to be at the dance anyway." 

"Cathy will," said Boots miserably. "By the way, speaking of Diane, what were you doing with Petunia?" 

With a great smile of satisfaction Bruno related the first episode of the ants and then their second coming. "To make a long story short," he concluded, "the exterminator has had to come twice — at my expense. I'm now known as Bad Luck Bruno in Dormitory 2. Elmer is so scared of me he just about faints when I walk into the room." 

"So where is all this getting us?" demanded Boots. 

"I don't know about you," Bruno replied, "but my dorm is circulating a petition to get rid of me. If it comes to you, sign it." 

"But that doesn't help me," Boots complained. "I cannot and will not live in this hospital-stock exchange any longer!" 

Bruno shrugged and stretched out on George's bed. George probably would have collapsed had he known that his bed was absorbing another person's germs. 

"We'll just have to show The Fish how awful George and Elmer really are," Boots decided. 

"How can we do that?" Bruno protested. "They're only awful to us." 

"Well then, we'll just have to make them awful," Boots insisted. "Report to the old cannon at 0100 hours Sunday with a collection of distinguishable Elmer Drimsdale possessions. I'll bring some stuff belonging to George. If we can't frame them right into the Don Jail, my name isn't Melvin P. O'Neal! As of this moment," he added, "the p stands for 'pushed around for the last time'!"