Macdonald Hall #7: The Joke's on us

Traffic Jam

A car horn honked. A truck geared down in a roar of machinery. Air brakes whooshed.

Mr. Sturgeon opened one eye and punched his pillow. Where were all these traffic noises coming from? At Macdonald Hall one usually woke to birds singing, crickets chirping, and occasionally the soothing sound of rain on the roof. The noise from highway 48 seldom penetrated to the Headmaster's little cottage on the south lawn.

There was a loud blast from an air horn.

Mr. Sturgeon vaulted out of bed, stubbing his sore toe and yelping in pain. His wife sat up abruptly. "William! What is it?"

He peered through the Venetian blinds and gasped. "A traffic jam," he replied in wonder. "On Route 48?"

"No, on our driveway."

She joined him at the window. Long lines of cars, trucks, and vans led off the highway and up the circular drive to the Faculty Building. There the traffic was forced onto the narrow lane that

serviced the south lawn. A sharp left looped around the pool building and disappeared from view. But the Sturgeons could make out the tops of transport trucks above the dormitory roofs way over on the north side of the campus. Beyond there, finally, the traffic merged back onto the highway.

Mrs. Sturgeon gawked. "How odd! Why on earth would all the cars come onto our private road?"

The Headmaster's brow clouded. "Unless my eyes deceive me, Mildred, those are detour signs out on the road. Someone has deliberately diverted Route 48 through Macdonald Hall."

She frowned. "But who would want to do that?"

Mr. Sturgeon limped to the closet and shrugged into his red silk bathrobe. "I think we may safely assume that our practical joker has struck again."

"The Phantom!" she exclaimed.

The squealing of brakes under their window made them both jump.

"Please don't use that nickname, Mildred. It glamorizes gross misbehavior the likes of which I have never seen. When I get my hands on that so-called Phantom, he will indeed wish himself a ghost!" He stepped into his slippers.

"But I thought running the school had become a 'no-brainer,'" she put in. "Surely you must know who this person is."

"I have my suspicions," the Headmaster replied, limping out of the room.

"My goodness," she called. "Just after you complained that things were so predictable, here we are in the midst of chaos!"

"I didn't know when I was well-off!" he snapped over his shoulder, and pounded down the stairs.

Stumping along with his cane, he burst out the front door just in time to see Mr. Fudge running toward him. The Dormitory 3 Housemaster was waving his arms in agitation.

"Mr. Sturgeon! There are cars on the campus!"

"Your powers of observation are keen as ever, Fudge," said the Headmaster ironically. He stormed over to his rosebushes where a sign was balanced on the top branches:

DETOUR

A large brown feather was neatly taped to the cardboard. Similar signs stood all along the parade route, guiding bewildered motorists through the maze.

The Headmaster's eyes darted to Route 48, where the notice on a big sawhorse declared: ROAD CLOSED USE BYPASS

"I want these signs removed," ordered Mr. Sturgeon, "starting with the ones in the street. Get some of the students to help you. Quickly!"