Read Online Trouble According to Humphrey by Betty G. Birney - Free Book Online Page A

here!”
    “How’d he get out of his cage?”
    “I don’t know … he just did!”
    “Hurry, please!” I squeaked, because I was hanging from the bridge by one paw and I was getting TIRED-TIRED-TIRED. The cool waters of Lake Patel would have seemed inviting to Og, but hamsters are not especially fond of swimming. In fact, we’re desert creatures, a fact I never knew until Richie did a report on hamsters.
    “I hear him!” Art shouted.
    There were sounds of footsteps as Art and Paul rushed into the room.
    “Oh, no! The train fell off the bridge again,” Art exclaimed.
    “There he is!” said Paul. He raced forward and I dropped into his hands as gently as falling into a nice warm pile of bedding.
    I must admit, I was quivering and shivering a bit, but I relaxed as Paul stroked me with his finger. “It’s okay, Humphrey. You’re safe now.”
    I looked up and saw Art staring at his train layout: the bridge, the lake, the train cars lying in a heap. “I don’t understand why it always falls off. And how’d he get the train going in the first place?”
    “How’d he get out of his cage?” Paul asked.
    These were not questions I was about to answer.
    Holding me in his hands, Paul kneeled down to inspect the train layout. “Wow, this is awesome! Did you do this all by yourself?”
    “Yep.” Art sounded proud. “And I have lots more I want to do.”
    “So that’s what you’re always doodling. It’s really cool.”
    “Thanks.”
    “About that bridge …,” said Paul, handing me to Art.
    “It looks okay,” Art replied. “But every time, the cars tumble off the edge. Gee, Humphrey could have been hurt. The fall could have killed him. Or he could have drowned!”
    “He’s safe now,” Paul reminded him.
    “I’m a loser,” Art said quietly. “I’m sorry, Humphrey.”
    “No problem,” I squeaked softly. But it was a problem. I’d been one whisker away from plunging into—yikes—a lake! (Believe me, hamsters should NEVER-NEVER-NEVER get wet.)
    Paul got down on his hands and knees, examining the bridge. “I think I see the problem.”
    “You do?” Art knelt down next to Paul.
    “You don’t have the same number of each sized support on each side. See? They look almost alike, but they’re slightly different sizes.”
    Art did. “That’s weird. It looks even.”
    “It’s just enough to throw the train off. I’m pretty sure that’s the problem if you measure them. Let’s get Humphrey back in his cage and we can work on it.”
    “You really think you can fix it?” said Art.
    “You
can fix it,” Paul replied. “It’s all a matter of measurement.”
    “See, numbers are always my problem!” Art pretended to smack himself in the forehead.
    “They aren’t just squiggles on paper?”
    “I get the point,” Art admitted. “Can you stay awhile longer?”
    “Sure. I can stay.”
    Luckily, when the boys put me back in my cage, they brought it into Art’s room so I could watch what they were doing.
    “I’ll measure the supports and count them to make sure we have the same number of each.” Art got out a ruler and went to work.
    “We’ll need two of each size,” said Paul. “And I think you have a problem with this curve over here.”
    “I have accidents there all the time,” said Art.
    “The turn is too sharp for the length of the engine. We’ll need to extend it,” said Paul. “I’ll help you figure out the angle.”
    I crawled into my sleeping hut for a nice long doze. I woke up when I heard a train whistle. By the time I was out of my hut, the train was climbing toward the bridge. I gulped as it chugged along the top, remembering how high it was when I’d been riding in that car.
    “Keep your fingers crossed,” said Paul as the train approached the downward slope of the bridge.
    I must admit, though I’ve done some brave things in my short life, I closed my eyes. I couldn’t stand the sight of that train plunging off the tracks again.
    I waited for the crash but