shell.
Not only was his family gone, but in an instant he knew the source of the foul odor.
It was Zap! Cooks’s conversation was with the Zap man, the much feared world-class fumigator.
ZAP ZAPS COCKROACHES DEAD!
ZAP … FOR THINGS THAT DON’T DESERVE TO LIVE!
Shoebag would never forget those heartless slogans.
As fast as his six legs could carry him, he fled under the door of the Changing Room.
He must try to become Bagg again, only suddenly Shoebag felt himself falter. His tiny legs collapsed under him. He struggled for breath. With great effort he dragged himself back under the door to the hall.
“Just do that little room where the computer was!” Cook was shouting at the Zap man.
“I did the little room!”
“What you did was the Changing Room!” the cook answered.
Shoebag fastened himself against the light socket near the hall floor. He fell off it immediately, dizzy from the poisonous dose of Zap he had been exposed to in the Changing Room.
Shell-side down, legs up, he struggled for the strength to flip over, and flee.
“Close the kitchen door, Cook!” the Zap man called out. “I’m getting ready to zap the varmints!”
“I just step on them!” Shoebag heard Cook say, and he wiggled his antennae weakly, in protest.
Nineteen
I T HAD BEEN TEN days since Stanley Sweetsong had seen Bagg. Sometimes he wondered if his pal had been only a mirage. Mr. Longo talked about optical illusions in science: sheets of water that seemed to appear in deserts. Tricks of the eye, aided by imagination.
Had Stuart Bagg been such a thing? Could a mirage leave behind a Hootie & The Blowfish T-shirt?
Now the October days in Pennsylvania had turned cold suddenly. But it was always nice and toasty in the Music Room. And thanks to Bagg the Music Room was not just warmth and rhythm. At certain times its operas and concertos masked the meetings of the underground Butters.
The girls and Stanley Sweetsong gave one another the secret handshake with thumbs-up and touching.
“Ahoy!” they chorused. “We’re Butter!”
Josephine Jiminez called the meeting to order.
“Attention everyone!” said Josephine Jiminez. “We will now have roll call. Ethel Lampert, a founding member, will take charge.”
“Sweetsong!”
“Here!”
“Jiminez!”
“Here!”
“Greenwald!”
“Here!”
On and on down the list, all of their yellow Butter badges were pinned under the lapels of their blazers. The one yellow sock each member wore was also hidden, under a regulation white sock.
After roll call, Stanley Sweetsong stood and addressed the gathering.
“As you know we are secret secret!” He yawned and rubbed his eyes.
“We are not sleepy sleepy, however,” said Josephine Jiminez. “Did you have another of your nightmares, Vice President Sweetsong?”
“Yes. I dreamed again that there was a fourth tank in Mr. Longo’s Science Room, and I was in it.”
“Pull yourself together, Vice President Sweetsong! We have club business to attend to!” Josephine Jiminez said.
Stanley Sweetsong straightened his shoulders and blinked his eyes, continuing. “The rumor is that C. Cynthia Ann Flower suspects that the Butters still exist!”
“Ha!” snorted Millie Greenwald. “She can’t believe she’s not Butter!”
“Butters are better than Betters!” the club members chorused. “Betters cannot believe they’re not Butters!”
“We have to be on guard,” said Stanley Sweetsong.
“I would like to put that tarantula in C. Cynthia Ann’s bed!” said Cleo Kanowitz.
“That poor tarantula is suffering enough in that stuffy tank!” Stanley said. “I would like to set him free. And the African frog, too, and the king snake! … No wonder I have bad dreams!”
Josephine Jiminez gave Stanley Sweetsong the elbow and said impatiently, “Make the major announcement.”
“The major announcement,” said Stanley Sweetsong, “is that Miss Rattray has asked an actor to come for Career Day.”
“An actor!?” Cleo
Not only was his family gone, but in an instant he knew the source of the foul odor.
It was Zap! Cooks’s conversation was with the Zap man, the much feared world-class fumigator.
ZAP ZAPS COCKROACHES DEAD!
ZAP … FOR THINGS THAT DON’T DESERVE TO LIVE!
Shoebag would never forget those heartless slogans.
As fast as his six legs could carry him, he fled under the door of the Changing Room.
He must try to become Bagg again, only suddenly Shoebag felt himself falter. His tiny legs collapsed under him. He struggled for breath. With great effort he dragged himself back under the door to the hall.
“Just do that little room where the computer was!” Cook was shouting at the Zap man.
“I did the little room!”
“What you did was the Changing Room!” the cook answered.
Shoebag fastened himself against the light socket near the hall floor. He fell off it immediately, dizzy from the poisonous dose of Zap he had been exposed to in the Changing Room.
Shell-side down, legs up, he struggled for the strength to flip over, and flee.
“Close the kitchen door, Cook!” the Zap man called out. “I’m getting ready to zap the varmints!”
“I just step on them!” Shoebag heard Cook say, and he wiggled his antennae weakly, in protest.
Nineteen
I T HAD BEEN TEN days since Stanley Sweetsong had seen Bagg. Sometimes he wondered if his pal had been only a mirage. Mr. Longo talked about optical illusions in science: sheets of water that seemed to appear in deserts. Tricks of the eye, aided by imagination.
Had Stuart Bagg been such a thing? Could a mirage leave behind a Hootie & The Blowfish T-shirt?
Now the October days in Pennsylvania had turned cold suddenly. But it was always nice and toasty in the Music Room. And thanks to Bagg the Music Room was not just warmth and rhythm. At certain times its operas and concertos masked the meetings of the underground Butters.
The girls and Stanley Sweetsong gave one another the secret handshake with thumbs-up and touching.
“Ahoy!” they chorused. “We’re Butter!”
Josephine Jiminez called the meeting to order.
“Attention everyone!” said Josephine Jiminez. “We will now have roll call. Ethel Lampert, a founding member, will take charge.”
“Sweetsong!”
“Here!”
“Jiminez!”
“Here!”
“Greenwald!”
“Here!”
On and on down the list, all of their yellow Butter badges were pinned under the lapels of their blazers. The one yellow sock each member wore was also hidden, under a regulation white sock.
After roll call, Stanley Sweetsong stood and addressed the gathering.
“As you know we are secret secret!” He yawned and rubbed his eyes.
“We are not sleepy sleepy, however,” said Josephine Jiminez. “Did you have another of your nightmares, Vice President Sweetsong?”
“Yes. I dreamed again that there was a fourth tank in Mr. Longo’s Science Room, and I was in it.”
“Pull yourself together, Vice President Sweetsong! We have club business to attend to!” Josephine Jiminez said.
Stanley Sweetsong straightened his shoulders and blinked his eyes, continuing. “The rumor is that C. Cynthia Ann Flower suspects that the Butters still exist!”
“Ha!” snorted Millie Greenwald. “She can’t believe she’s not Butter!”
“Butters are better than Betters!” the club members chorused. “Betters cannot believe they’re not Butters!”
“We have to be on guard,” said Stanley Sweetsong.
“I would like to put that tarantula in C. Cynthia Ann’s bed!” said Cleo Kanowitz.
“That poor tarantula is suffering enough in that stuffy tank!” Stanley said. “I would like to set him free. And the African frog, too, and the king snake! … No wonder I have bad dreams!”
Josephine Jiminez gave Stanley Sweetsong the elbow and said impatiently, “Make the major announcement.”
“The major announcement,” said Stanley Sweetsong, “is that Miss Rattray has asked an actor to come for Career Day.”
“An actor!?” Cleo
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