The Wizzle War (16 page)

“Certainly,” said Maurice. “Is this also to be compliments of the house?”

Bruno checked The Coalition treasury, presently residing in his wallet. “No,” he sighed. “I think Wizzle will have to pay for this one.”

Maurice walked into the kitchen.

“What’s going on?” asked Boots nervously.

“Well, they’re waiting for their dinner and having some more champagne,” said Bruno. “I can’t tell if they like each other, though. Wizzle looks as if he likes her, but she looks kind of strange.”

“Wait till she tastes the
Boeuf Charlemagne
,” said Wilbur confidently. “What a sauce!”

Mr. Wizzle took another drink of champagne. He found it gave him courage. “I’m very glad that we could be here together tonight, Miss Peabody,” he ventured boldly.

Immediately she reached for her glass. Well, this was a fine state of affairs. The more charming Wizzle tried to be, the more she drank. Why didn’t she just tell him and go home?

Maurice slithered into the room. “More champagne, sir?”

“Good idea!” she said before he could answer.

Bruno kept on monitoring the room, Boots had a nervous eye on the clock, and Wilbur watched a waiter skillfully flame desserts at various tables. The minutes ticked away as Mr. Wizzle and Miss Peabody were served.

At last Maurice spirited away the dishes and the two diners sat at the table finishing the champagne. Miss Peabody’s thoughts were in turmoil. She was reasonably certain that she was disgusted with herself, but she could not seem to remember why. She looked across the table into Mr. Wizzle’s big, earnest and slightly glazed eyes. A low giggling sound began in her throat.

He looked at her. “Miss Peabody, is something the matter?”

She focused on his face. “Wizzle, you’re a perfect gentleman,” she said and then broke into hysterical laughter.

He looked at her uncertainly. “Miss Peabody, you’re a perfect lady.”

This struck her as even funnier, and she put her head down on the table for support as her laughter swelled again.

A smile cracked Mr. Wizzle’s confused face. He was not sure what was happening, but whatever it was it must be — laughable. That was enough for him. He cracked up, too.

In the waiters’ room Bruno’s eyes bulged. “
Hey!
They’re smiling! They’re laughing! They must be in love! Wilbur, you’re a genius!”

The three boys crowded around the screen.

“I wouldn’t call that love,” said Boots dryly. “I’d call that crazy.”

“We did it!” cheered Bruno.

Maurice came into the room.

“Did they order dessert?” asked Wilbur in suspense.

The waiter nodded. “They’re having
La Montagne
.”

Wilbur’s jaw dropped. “Ooh!
La Montagne
!”

Boots looked at him. “What’s that?”

“It’s chocolate and cream and nuts and cherries and brandy — and it’s the best-tasting thing in the whole world! I want some!”

Maurice smiled and went into the kitchen.

“I think we should go home,” said Boots. “They’re in love, so now we can split.”

“Everything has to be perfect,” said Bruno. “We’re staying here every minute to make sure they have the best time of their lives. Look! They’re smiling and chatting just like people! You know, when Miss Peabody smiles, she’s not half-ugly!”

“I’m going to ask Uncle Manfred if there’s any leftover
La Montagne
!” Wilbur rushed out.

“We can’t stay very late,” Boots insisted.

Bruno could smell victory within his grasp. “Patience, Melvin.”

By midnight Miss Peabody and Mr. Wizzle had finished their dessert as well as numerous liqueurs with their coffee.

“Wizzle,” said Miss Peabody, her words considerably slurred, “do you realize that I didn’t want to stay here with you?”

“No,” he said, laughing foolishly.

“I wonder why I wanted to go home,” she said thoughtfully. “Scrimmage doesn’t serve
La Montagne
.”

“Maybe there was a fight on TV,” he suggested.

“I hate TV.”

“Me too.”

“I like fighting, though.”

“I noticed.”

By this time Boots was frantic. “Bruno, Wilbur, let’s go! They could sit here for hours!”

Even Bruno was concerned. “You know, they look kind of strange. I mean, it’s okay to laugh and have a good time, but they’re all red and leaning all over the place and they look — weird. I wonder what’s the matter.”

Maurice supplied the answer. “I’ll tell you what’s the matter.
Monsieur
and
Mademoiselle
are very, very drunk. I trust that you have arranged to escort them home, as they are on the verge of — shall we say — passing out.”

“But they’re our teachers!” protested Boots in horror. “They’ll recognize us!”

“My dear fellow,” said Maurice, “I can assure you that, in their present state, those two young people would not recognize their own mothers.”

Bruno took out his wallet and checked The Coalition treasury. “We’ve got just enough for a taxi. I hope Wizzle’s got enough for the bill. Come on — let’s go collect them.”

As the loaded taxi made its way north along Highway 48 to Macdonald Hall and Miss Scrimmage’s, out the open window wafted the singing voices of Miss Peabody and Mr. Wizzle:
“It’s a long way to Tipperary …”

Mr. Wizzle was walking across the campus the next morning wondering why his head ached so abominably. He squinted into the sunlight. A large group of boys, led by Bruno Walton, was bearing down on him.

“Hey, Mr. Wizzle!” shouted Bruno. “Congratulations!”

The boys swarmed around him, shaking his hand and patting him on the back and arms.

“Gee, Mr. Wizzle, that’s great!”

“Congratulations!”

“You must be a very happy man!”

“What are you boys talking about?” Mr. Wizzle asked when the uproar had finally died down a little.

“We heard the good news!” exclaimed Bruno. “It’s just been announced across the road that you proposed to Miss Peabody last night — and she accepted!”

A large chorus of cheers went up from the crowd.

Mr. Wizzle gasped. He did? She did? Most of last night was just a blur to him, but how could he have forgotten something so important?

“Uh, thank you very much, boys,” he stammered, and took off on the run for his house.

Desperately he tried to recall what had occurred last night, but he drew a blank. All he could remember was waking up at
home in the morning, fully dressed, with all the money in his wallet gone. Had he been robbed?

Darting into the guest cottage, he began to pace the living room. He
should
remember doing something that would affect his life so drastically! Everything was so unclear!

Suddenly his head snapped up. Why was he standing here thinking cold, calculating thoughts? He was engaged to be married to the most wonderful woman in the world! He jumped up and danced a little jig, setting off a jack-hammer in his head. Well, nothing could spoil his day today. The whole world was bright and beautiful, and even going for an aspirin would be a wonderful experience.

* * *

Miss Peabody was walking through the hall of the dormitory on her way to the infirmary for something to settle her stomach when she came face to face with Cathy Burton and a delegation of girls.

“Here she is,” announced Cathy. “Here’s the bride!”

The Assistant Headmistress looked at her menacingly. “Burton, I’m in no mood for your nonsense. You wouldn’t believe how many laps I can assign when I’m feeling like this.”

“But we just heard the news!” insisted Cathy.

“What news?”

“That Mr. Wizzle popped the question last night and you accepted! Oh, we’re all so happy for you!” The girls began to sing “Here Comes the Bride.”

“Cut the noise!” barked Miss Peabody. Nonchalantly she
strolled back to her room, let herself in and shut the door. Once inside, she collapsed onto her bed.

Oh, no!
What had she done? Sometime in the midst of all that fantastic food and great champagne she had agreed to marry Wizzle! Now what was she going to do?

Outside the door stood Cathy and Diane, leaning and listening.

“Do you think she’s going to buy it?” whispered Diane.

“I don’t know,” said Cathy nervously. “I can’t hear anything.”

“Well, she didn’t exactly jump for joy when we told her,” said Diane. “I think she’ll call it off.”

“If she does,” promised Cathy, “I’ll kill myself!”

The girls waited outside for the better part of an hour and then went for breakfast.

Inside, Miss Peabody’s thoughts were still in a turmoil. If only she’d had the strength to hang up on him when he’d called, to kick him back across the highway when he’d come visiting, to refuse his presents, to say no when he’d offered to take her out — it was all her own weakness.

But that was impossible. She was a U.S. Marine. There was no such thing as weakness. If she hadn’t said no to Wizzle, it was because she hadn’t wanted to!

Right! She was in love with the man!

Granted, he did have a few faults. Granted, he was still a little soft and pudgy. But that only added to the challenge. She could whip Wizzle into shape in six months — a year at the outside. When she got through with him, he’d be the perfect man.

And the girls were right. He did look kind of cute behind those glasses.

* * *

Wedding fever hit Macdonald Hall and Miss Scrimmage’s. The big date was set and Miss Scrimmage’s sewing classes thrust themselves heart and soul into the task of making Miss Peabody’s wedding dress. Miss Scrimmage and the girls held a bridal tea, and Bruno and Boots got together with Coach Flynn and Mr. Fudge and threw a bachelor dinner. The Coalition set itself the task of raising money for a spectacular wedding gift, and students from both schools were giving from the heart.

The happiest person of all was definitely Miss Scrimmage. She had not had very much say in the running of her school during Miss Peabody’s regime, and the wedding offered her a fantastic opportunity to take charge of the situation. She had always felt that her young ladies were being groomed for just such social undertakings, and the planning and execution of a wedding seemed heaven sent.

The engaged couple went along much as before, having afternoon tea with Miss Scrimmage, the occasional dinner with the Sturgeons and long walks together in the evenings. Mr. Wizzle sang a lot, and Miss Peabody smiled a little more when she assigned laps. The two had asked to be released from their contracts so that they could start work on a blueprint for their own school, which they planned to open the next fall. This pleased Miss Scrimmage, Mr. Sturgeon and, definitely, The Coalition.

Mr. Sturgeon viewed the whole thing with a feeling of unreality. He voiced it to his wife one morning after breakfast.

“Can you believe, Mildred, that in less than one week’s time Wizzle and Peabody will be married on the south lawn of our campus, weather permitting?”

“I’m so happy for those two young people,” she smiled. “Young love is so sweet.”

The Headmaster chuckled over his toast. “I wish I knew how that unlikely union came to pass. There is certainly no accounting for the taste of some people.”

“Now, William, that’s unkind. Oh, I’m so looking forward to the wedding.”

“I’m not,” said the Headmaster. “Miss Scrimmage wouldn’t let me hire a caterer. Her girls are doing the whole affair. Do you know what that means? We’re having Scrim-food, Mildred — Scrim-cakes, Scrim-punch and Scrim-wiches. My stomach may never be the same.”

“I’m sure it will be very nice,” Mrs. Sturgeon said stoutly.

“We’ll see,” he replied skeptically. “Anyway, I don’t think anyone will be as happy as our students. They’ve been trying to get rid of Wizzle since day one.”

“William, I expect you to be perfectly charming at the wedding. After all, you’re the host. And you are giving the bride away.”

“What?”
Mr. Sturgeon tipped over the jar of grape jelly. “Under no circumstances —”

“Oh, didn’t I mention that, dear? Miss Scrimmage and I thought it would be a nice idea.”

“But, Mildred, Miss Peabody and I are not on good terms!”

“Oh, that’s all forgotten, William. This is a wedding.”

“Oh, all right,” he grumbled. “I wonder who’s going to give Wizzle away. Walton, probably.” He chuckled.

“Now, dear —”

* * *

The big day dawned warm and sunny. The ceremony was scheduled for 3:30, so the girls spent the morning busily arranging flowers and decorations at the site, right in front of Mr. Wizzle’s cottage. Some of the boys had already started setting up long rows of folding chairs on either side of the red carpet that was to be the bridal aisle.

Mr. Wizzle, however, was not in his cottage to witness the flurry of activity for his wedding. At seven o’clock that morning he had appeared on the Sturgeons’ doorstep, a foolish grin on his face, eyes red from lack of sleep, completely dressed in his striped trousers, cutaway coat and boutonniere. Mrs. Sturgeon had fed him breakfast and listened to his nervous, ecstatic babbling with compassion. When he showed no signs of leaving, Mr. Sturgeon had summoned Coach Flynn, the best man, and entrusted Wizzle to his care.

“What am I going to do with him?” Flynn had asked in bewilderment.

“That’s entirely up to you. Perhaps a movie or two. Just see to it that he’s away from here until it’s time for the wedding.”

Even Bruno Walton was up early on the momentous day.

“This afternoon’s the one time I’m not going to complain about wearing a tie,” he announced, rubbing his hands together in glee. “Just think — in less than twelve hours Wizzle and Peabody will be on their honeymoon and we’ll never have to worry again!”

Boots was nervous. “Bruno, I don’t know about all this.
Maybe Mr. Wizzle and Miss Peabody aren’t getting married because they want to — they may be getting married because The Coalition set them up. And that would be wrong.”

“No way,” said Bruno with firm conviction. “We wouldn’t have paired them off if they weren’t perfect for each other.”

“Yeah, but —”

“Look,” said Bruno, “there are only two things that are important here — Wizzle’s happy and
I’m
happy. Have you ever seen me so happy?”

Boots laughed. “You’re impossible, you know that?” He threw a calculus textbook, but Bruno ducked. The book struck a shelf, bringing down half a dozen other books onto the bureau and floor. Grinning, Boots moved to pick them up.

“Forget it,” laughed Bruno, grabbing his roommate by the arm and leading him out the door. “Let’s go help them set up the chairs.”

They slammed the door behind them. On the bureau a heavy physics text slipped and came to rest on top of the remote control button of Elmer’s earthquake machine.

Across the campus the empty guest cottage began to vibrate silently.

* * *

At exactly half past three that afternoon, under a brightly shining sun and clear blue sky, Miss Scrimmage’s top music student began the opening chords of the “Wedding March.”

Down the red carpet came Miss Peabody on the arm of Mr. Sturgeon. Her gown was satin and lace, gleaming richly in the brightness of the day. She had refused to wear the
veil, dismissing it as stupid and useless, but Cathy and Diane had persuaded her to wear her hair loose, and she looked younger and prettier than ever before.

They approached the altar where Mr. Wizzle, bolstered by Flynn, stood waiting. She shot him a dazzling smile and a very sweet “Stand up straight, Wizzle” before taking his arm and approaching the Justice of the Peace for the ceremony.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered …”

Near the front, Boots nudged Bruno. “Hey, do you hear something? Kind of like a low humming sound?”

“Shhh,” said Bruno, smiling blissfully. “This is the happiest moment of my life.”

In the front row Miss Scrimmage bawled uncontrollably into a scented lace hanky. Mrs. Sturgeon held her hand and dabbed at her own eyes with a tissue. Mr. Sturgeon sat at the edge of his chair, as though trying to disassociate himself from his wife and Miss Scrimmage. Now that he had done his part and delivered the bride, he was heartily wishing himself elsewhere. He noted with grim amusement the wide smiles of pleasure on the faces of the almost one thousand students.

Pete Anderson was squirming in his seat ecstatically. This was it — the end of those tests!

Beside him, Mark beamed with happiness. Soon he’d have his newspaper back. And the Lines Department could be disbanded.

Next, Sidney. When Wizzle and Peabody were gone, maybe everyone would forget about his little accident in Miss Scrimmage’s gym.

Elmer was pleased. As soon as Wizzle left, he would begin
experiments in biology, chemistry, nuclear physics, mineralogy, mechanics and cryogenics. And yes, he’d focus his telescope and chart the positions of Io, second moon of Jupiter! There were great days ahead!

Chris Talbot was daydreaming along the same lines. Soon he’d have his art supplies back!

Wilbur was basking in twin blessings. He could be Hackenschleimer again, and he could re-stock the food supplies in his room. Yes, there was a big shopping trip in the near future. How long had it been since he’d last tasted peanut butter?

Cathy and Diane gripped hands and watched the service raptly. Cathy did not intend to breathe again until Wizzle and Peabody were officially pronounced man and wife. Then and only then would she believe this miracle could be happening!

Boots was looking at Bruno rather than the wedding. Oblivious of everything but the drama at the altar, Bruno sat on the edge of his chair, his face glowing pink with pleasure. Oh, well, thought Boots, he was entitled. After all, this was Bruno’s wedding more than it was anybody else’s. Idly, he wondered again what that low humming sound might be.

After the bridal couple had exchanged vows, the Justice of the Peace announced, “If there is any man present who can state just cause why these two people should not be joined in matrimony, let him speak now or forever hold his peace.”

The silence that followed was broken by a clatter as several shingles toppled from the roof of the guest cottage. The Justice of the Peace wheeled, frowned at the falling shingles and turned back to the bride and groom. “I now pronounce you
man and wife.”

A great sigh rose from the spectators.

Crack!
Everyone turned and stared. The front window of the guest cottage had smashed into a million pieces.

Crack! Crack!
Another window shattered, too, and shingles began toppling from the roof in all directions. A low roar wafted over the crowd. Everyone gasped as the chimney seemed to disintegrate in slow motion. The bricks crumbled, bounced off the roof and rained to the ground in a series of dull thuds.

“
It’s the Great Lakes–St. Lawrence Lowlands fault line!” bellowed Mr. Wizzle. “Run!” He grabbed his bride and tried to lead her away from the scene. But she was not to be moved and gazed at the house in puzzled fascination.

All eyes were on the cottage, watching the wood frame walls. They almost seemed to move with the low vibrating sound.

Mr. Sturgeon jumped to his feet. The shingles were raining down in a steady stream.

There was a mighty bang as the front door, frame and all, burst from the house and shot forward.

“Heads up!” bellowed the bride. She picked up her new husband by the lapels of his coat and moved him out of harm’s way. The mangled door and frame crashed to rest right where he had been standing.