Read Online Go Jump in the Pool by Gordon Korman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Gordon Korman
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who on earth are Mary and Frank?”
* * *
Two shadowy figures dropped to the ground from the window of room 306 and hid in the bushes until they were sure that all was clear. Bruno and Boots, each carrying a large cardboard poster, dashed across the campus and the highway, scaled the wrought-iron fence and came to a halt under the familiar window. Bruno scooped up and threw a handful of pebbles and immediately Diane’s blonde head appeared.
“Come on up,” she called softly.
The two boys shinnied up the drainpipe and Diane helped them over the sill and into the room.
“We were expecting you,” she told them. “Cathy’s off raiding the kitchen. We like to entertain in style.”
The door opened and Cathy Burton appeared, wheeling a laden tea cart in front of her. “Hi, there,” she greeted them. “Good pickings tonight. Leftover roast beef, chocolate cake — help yourselves.”
All four devoted the next ten minutes to the kind of serious eating perfected by Wilbur Hackenschleimer. Bruno, who had been the first to start, was the last to quit.
Finally he said, “My compliments to room service. That was great. Now to business. These are the posters for our latest fund-raising plan. The idea is to enter every single contest you can find. All winnings go into the pool fund.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the five-dollar bill. “This is for our lottery tickets. Buy a winner.”
“I didn’t know they sold lottery tickets at the Museum,” Diane commented.
“They don’t,” said Cathy. “Everyone else is going to the Museum. We’re going shopping.”
Diane nodded in resignation. “I was afraid of that.”
“Tell me,” Boots asked, changing the subject, “did you girls get into trouble over those costumes?”
“No,” Cathy said airily. “We told Miss Scrimmage that you and Bruno talked us into it.”
Boots held his head and said nothing. Bruno laughed in appreciation.
“Well, we’d better get going. We’ll be back tomorrow night to pick up the ticket. What’s on the menu?”
“Liver,” said Diane with loathing.
“We have chicken on Mondays,” offered Bruno.
“Good,” said Cathy. “Tomorrow night we’ll visit you.”
“But —” Boots protested in horror.
“See you tomorrow,” said Cathy as she hustled them out the window and down the drainpipe.
* * *
“Sir, we have three new ideas for raising money, and we thought we’d better check them out with you.”
Mr. Sturgeon sat back in his chair and sighed. “Go on, Walton.”
“Well, sir,” began Bruno, “Gormley is having a fall fair next weekend. We’d like to go and enter Wilbur Hackenschleimer in the pie-eating contest. There’s a thirty-dollar prize and Wilbur would be a cinch.”
“He can eat more pies than they can bake,” Boots added.
Mr. Sturgeon had visions of himself sitting beside Wilbur in Emergency. Wilbur was having his stomach pumped. His parents had to be informed.
“I absolutely forbid it,” he said firmly. “I will not permit you to play games with another boy’s health.”
“Well then, sir,” Bruno went on, undaunted, “tomorrow night in the fifth race at Woodbine there’s a horse called Cloudy Sunshine. Elmer Drimsdale figured the odds, and sir, he just can’t lose! So would you take twenty dollars of the pool money and bet it for us?”
“I most certainly will not!” Mr. Sturgeon exclaimed.
“But, sir! He’s a long shot! We’ll profit —”
“That will be quite enough, Walton. And you too, O’Neal. This money was paid to you in good faith by people who believed they were helping a pool fund. You cannot misappropriate it for purposes of gambling. I do not approve of gambling.”
“Oh, well then,” stammered Bruno, “we’ll just have to think of something else.”
Mr. Sturgeon stood up. “You said three ideas,” he pointed out. “Yet you have mentioned only two. What is the third?”
“Oh, you’d hate it, sir,” said Boots
* * *
Two shadowy figures dropped to the ground from the window of room 306 and hid in the bushes until they were sure that all was clear. Bruno and Boots, each carrying a large cardboard poster, dashed across the campus and the highway, scaled the wrought-iron fence and came to a halt under the familiar window. Bruno scooped up and threw a handful of pebbles and immediately Diane’s blonde head appeared.
“Come on up,” she called softly.
The two boys shinnied up the drainpipe and Diane helped them over the sill and into the room.
“We were expecting you,” she told them. “Cathy’s off raiding the kitchen. We like to entertain in style.”
The door opened and Cathy Burton appeared, wheeling a laden tea cart in front of her. “Hi, there,” she greeted them. “Good pickings tonight. Leftover roast beef, chocolate cake — help yourselves.”
All four devoted the next ten minutes to the kind of serious eating perfected by Wilbur Hackenschleimer. Bruno, who had been the first to start, was the last to quit.
Finally he said, “My compliments to room service. That was great. Now to business. These are the posters for our latest fund-raising plan. The idea is to enter every single contest you can find. All winnings go into the pool fund.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the five-dollar bill. “This is for our lottery tickets. Buy a winner.”
“I didn’t know they sold lottery tickets at the Museum,” Diane commented.
“They don’t,” said Cathy. “Everyone else is going to the Museum. We’re going shopping.”
Diane nodded in resignation. “I was afraid of that.”
“Tell me,” Boots asked, changing the subject, “did you girls get into trouble over those costumes?”
“No,” Cathy said airily. “We told Miss Scrimmage that you and Bruno talked us into it.”
Boots held his head and said nothing. Bruno laughed in appreciation.
“Well, we’d better get going. We’ll be back tomorrow night to pick up the ticket. What’s on the menu?”
“Liver,” said Diane with loathing.
“We have chicken on Mondays,” offered Bruno.
“Good,” said Cathy. “Tomorrow night we’ll visit you.”
“But —” Boots protested in horror.
“See you tomorrow,” said Cathy as she hustled them out the window and down the drainpipe.
* * *
“Sir, we have three new ideas for raising money, and we thought we’d better check them out with you.”
Mr. Sturgeon sat back in his chair and sighed. “Go on, Walton.”
“Well, sir,” began Bruno, “Gormley is having a fall fair next weekend. We’d like to go and enter Wilbur Hackenschleimer in the pie-eating contest. There’s a thirty-dollar prize and Wilbur would be a cinch.”
“He can eat more pies than they can bake,” Boots added.
Mr. Sturgeon had visions of himself sitting beside Wilbur in Emergency. Wilbur was having his stomach pumped. His parents had to be informed.
“I absolutely forbid it,” he said firmly. “I will not permit you to play games with another boy’s health.”
“Well then, sir,” Bruno went on, undaunted, “tomorrow night in the fifth race at Woodbine there’s a horse called Cloudy Sunshine. Elmer Drimsdale figured the odds, and sir, he just can’t lose! So would you take twenty dollars of the pool money and bet it for us?”
“I most certainly will not!” Mr. Sturgeon exclaimed.
“But, sir! He’s a long shot! We’ll profit —”
“That will be quite enough, Walton. And you too, O’Neal. This money was paid to you in good faith by people who believed they were helping a pool fund. You cannot misappropriate it for purposes of gambling. I do not approve of gambling.”
“Oh, well then,” stammered Bruno, “we’ll just have to think of something else.”
Mr. Sturgeon stood up. “You said three ideas,” he pointed out. “Yet you have mentioned only two. What is the third?”
“Oh, you’d hate it, sir,” said Boots
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