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

Raid!

George was carefully hanging up his tuxedo and brushing off the velvet lapels. "What a superb evening!" heremarked, knowing full well how much Boots had wanted to go to the dance. "The young ladies danced like angels, and the ballroom was a masterpiece of décor."

"It really must have .been great," Boots agreed sarcastically. "After all, what could be more elegant than waltzing over the foul lines of a basketball court?" 

George ignored him. "And the food — a really extravagant buffet!" 

"Yes, I know," said Boots sourly. "Colonel Sanders' boys make it finger-lickin good." 

"It's a shame that you were unable to attend, Melvin, but if you insist on acting like a barbarian — " 

"Just shut up and go to sleep," Boots snapped. 

George changed into his pyjamas, still trying to give the impression that he had had an enchanting evening.

"You know, I'm sort of glad I didn't go," Boots murmured reflectively. "Can you imagine all the germs a guy could pick up at that kind of affair?" 

George sniffed and got into bed without another word. 

When his roommate was sound asleep, Boots went into operation. Fifteen minutes later the window opened and out he went — along with a monogrammed money clip, a personalized teletype machine key and a gold pen and pencil set, all clearly the property of George Wexford-Smyth III.

Elmer had not gone to the dance either. "I don't see how everyone can go and dance with girls," he said with disgust. "Girls are so icky! I'm glad you didn't go, Bruno. At least one person in this school besides me has some sense." 

"Yes, Elmer," Bruno sighed, ready to make his move as soon as his roommate went to sleep. He watched in dismay as Elmer set up an elaborate tripod supporting a high-powered telescope. "Aren't you going to bed?" he asked.

"On a clear night?" Elmer replied, as if Bruno had suggested the impossible. "On a clear night I can scan the whole sky." 

"Why in the world would you want to do that?"

"I'm an astronomer," Elmer explained. "My world is the heavens, the universe, the vastness of intergalactic space . . . Now if you'll excuse me, my telescope is a little out of focus."

"You are a little out of focus," said Bruno sourly. 

"Ah," said Elmer, squinting into the eyepiece and turning two knobs on the side, "it's coming clearer. Yes, I see it — the horsehead nebula!" 

"Mmm-hmm," grunted Bruno. Instead of contemplating the universe, he was concentrating on the problem of getting out through the window with Elmer so firmly established there. 

Elmer was providing a running commentary. "Look! Can it be? Yes — the crab nebula! Caused by an exploding star millions of years ago!" 

"Mmm-hmm," Bruno repeated. He tiptoed through the room gathering up some of Elmer's more recognizable possessions — the skull of a rodent, a signed membership in the Toronto Horticultural Society and a corked test tube bearing the label: Drimsdale, Test 3-A, Sept. 15/80. Now how am I going to get out of here? Bruno thought. I'll never get past the house master at the main doors. 

Elmer was still raving about the crab nebula and was even starting to sketch it when Bruno opened the door. "Bruno, this is fabulous! I've never seen such a clear night!" The door shut silently. In a second Bruno was knocking on the door of 205.

"Who is it?" demanded Perry Elbert.

"Me. Bruno."

"You! Go away," groaned Perry. "I refuse to open the door."