Macdonald Hall #7: The Joke's on us

A No-Brainer

William R. Sturgeon, Headmaster of Macdonald Hall, limped down the stairs of his cottage, leaning on a wooden cane. Settling himself at the kitchen table, he peered between the ruffled curtains and harumphed at the cloudy fall morning.

"Barely Labor Day, and it's already freezing."

His wife set a cup of coffee in front of him. "Good morning to you, too, William," she said brightly.

"I should have retired last year," Mr. Sturgeon went on, as though no one had spoken. "We could be in Florida now, lying on the beach. We've earned it."

Mrs. Sturgeon laughed. "You loathe the beach, William. You always get sand all over your tie."

"Very funny," grumbled her husband. "But the fact remains that there's nothing for me at Macdonald Hall anymore."

His wife looked distressed. "How can you say such a thing? This is your school!"

"It would run perfectly well without me," he insisted. "Everything that happens here is automatic. For example, I ran into Elmer Drimsdale yesterday and automatically congratulated him on winning the Summer Science Fair. I had no proof that he even entered!"

"But of course he did," Mrs. Sturgeon put in soothingly. "And of course he won first prize." "That's my point exactly," said the Headmaster. "I knew that. I know everything. I know

Peter Anderson struggled in summer school; I know Sidney Rampulsky broke at least one bone during vacation; I know Walton and O'Neal have already paid a visit to their friends over at Miss Scrimmage's school. There's no challenge, Mildred. My life has become, as they say, a 'no- brainer.'" He sighed. "And then there's this medical condition."

His wife cracked an egg hard enough to pulverize it. "It's an ingrown toenail, William. Your 'medical condition' is not exactly life threatening."

Mr. Sturgeon squared his shoulders stubbornly. "That's easy to say when it's on someone else's foot. It happens to be extremely painful."

"You're such a baby," she accused. "Why don't you just call up the doctor, and schedule the surgery?"

Her husband set his jaw and said nothing. "And how dare you reduce our boys to guesses and accusations?" his wife went on. "You have no proof that Bruno and Melvin were off-campus last night."

The Headmaster smiled mirthlessly. "I don't have any proof that the sun will rise tomorrow, but I expect to see it. I'm surprised we haven't heard from Miss Scrimmage to complain about the intruders."

"Now, that's just silly — "

Ding-dong.

Mrs. Sturgeon hurried to the door. "Don't get up, dear. I'll see who it is." "I know who it is," he grumbled.

There were voices in the hall, and then his wife reappeared with Miss Scrimmage in tow. "Look, William. We have company."

"Miss Scrimmage — what a surprise. How may I help you?"

Miss Scrimmage removed her white gloves and feathered hat, sat down at the table, and accepted a cup of coffee. "Mr. Sturgeon," she began, "alas, this is not entirely a social call."

"Ah," said Mr. Sturgeon noncommittally.

"Indeed. Last night, three of your students broke into my school and terrorized my poor defenseless girls. Fortunately, I was able to subdue them with a bowl of Cream of Wheat."

Faint indications of a smile tugged at the Head master's lips, but overall he remained stern. "How resourceful of you."

"And so," Miss Scrimmage went on, "I must insist that you identify the guilty parties, and mete out the appropriate punishment."