Macdonald Hall #7: The Joke's on us

Living on the Edge

When Mr. Sturgeon limped home for lunch on Saturday, he found his wife staked out on the porch of their small cottage.

"Well?" she asked anxiously.

The Headmaster smiled serenely. "I had a brisk and busy morning, thank you. What's for lunch?"

"That's not what I mean," said Mrs. Sturgeon, annoyed. "I want you to tell me that you weren't too hard on those poor boys."

The Headmaster breezed past her, dropped his cane in the umbrella stand, and settled himself at the kitchen table. "I dispensed punishment, which, as you will recall, is my job."

"But don't you think the boys have suffered enough?" she pleaded. "They were trapped in holes, tangled in nets, tied up like criminals. They were filthy

and shivering with cold and fear. Poor Elmer Drimsdale was almost in tears."

"If they had stayed in their beds," said her husband implacably, "none of that suffering would have taken place. Our rule book does not state, 'Lights-out is at ten; you might consider going to sleep if you have absolutely nothing better to do.'"

His wife frowned. "Well, I certainly hope you're not picking on the boys because you can't seem to catch up with this Phantom of yours."

"The Phantom is another matter entirely. I will catch him soon enough. And when I do, you will know the true meaning of punishment."

"You're awful." Mrs. Sturgeon placed a steaming bowl of soup in front of him. "And you were certainly awful to poor Miss Scrimmage last night. How could you leave her in the tree for almost an hour?"

The Headmaster set his jaw. "My students were still in booby traps set out by her barbarians.

Until our boys were safe, it made no difference to me if she were hanging by the neck!" "What on earth might have possessed the girls to do it?"

Mr. Sturgeon shrugged. "Perhaps the traps were meant for that horrible dog. Or maybe they thought it might protect them from their voodoo curse. I have given up trying to understand those so-called youngladies from across the road. They are all as mentally stable as their Headmistress."

"Well, I've just spoken with her," said Mrs. Sturgeon coldly. "She says that she has been phoning your office and that you will not respond to her calls."

"That is untrue," the Headmaster defended himself. "I dispatched a memo by third-class mail asking if I had the honor of addressing the right-side-up Miss Scrimmage or the upside-down Miss Scrimmage."

A giggle escaped Mrs. Sturgeon, but her expression remained severe. "I'd like to see you display this type of humor where your sore toe is concerned."

A boyish grin broke through the Headmaster's stern exterior. "Mildred, the sight of Miss Scrimmage whipping through the air in that booby trap was the most stupendous thing I have ever witnessed. If my sore toe were to spread up my leg, through my torso, and into my brain and kill me, I would die a happy man for having seen it!"

***

Boots O'Neal stepped out of the back entrance of the Faculty Building carrying an armload of chalk erasers. He picked up two and began to pound them until his whole body was enveloped in a cloud of yellow dust. He backed away, snorting and sneezing.

"Gesundheit," called Sidney, who was picking up litter with a pointed stick. "Ow!" he added, missing a gum wrapper and jamming the sharp spike into his sneakered foot.

"Hey," called Boots, "how about we swap? I'll go on garbage and you guys can do the erasers." "In your dreams," came a low grumble from Wilbur, who was sweeping leaves from the steps.