Doctor Proctor's Fart Powder (19 page)

And with that the professor drove his motorcycle and sidecar out of the cellar and through the high grass, stopping in front of them. There was a
brown, worn leather suitcase in the sidecar.

Nilly and Lisa stood up.

“Where are you going?” Nilly asked.

“Where do you think, my fartonaut assistant?” the professor asked, beaming under his hockey helmet and motorcycle goggles.

“You're going to Paris,” Lisa said. “You're going to try to find Juliette Margarine.”

“Wish me luck,” Doctor Proctor said. “And lock the cellar and keep an eye on my house until I get back.”

“Good luck,” Nilly said.

They walked ahead of the motorcycle and opened the gate.

The professor revved the engine and it gave a satisfying growl.

“And if you go through Sarpsborg … ,” Lisa said.

“Yes?”

“Then you can say hello to my second best friend.”

And the last rays of sunlight shone on the pear tree, on Nilly's red hair, on Lisa's smile, and maybe on a tiny tear as Doctor Proctor's motorcycle and sidecar drove away down Cannon Avenue.