by Stan
Contents
1. Favorite and Least Favorite Things
2. Oh, How the Mighty Have Fallen
3. Soil Scouts
4. The Flag Is Up
5. A Distant Rumble
6. Trouble Ahead
7. The Evil Eye
8. The Beginnings of a Plan
9. Operation Revenge
10. Preparations
11. Why You Come See Bigpaw?
12. Familiar Voices!
13. Big Barking Dog
Excerpt from The Berenstain Bears Chapter Book: Maniac Mansion
1. Mansion Mishap
2. A Bad Lot
About the Authors
Back Ad
Copyright
About the Publisher
Chapter 1
Favorite and Least Favorite Things
Most of us have favorite things: our favorite color, our favorite TV show, our favorite ice cream flavor. Most of us have least favorite things as well, like too much homework, being grounded, and asparagus. And, of course, the folks in Beartown had their favorite and least favorite things.
The Bear Scouts’ favorite thing was earning merit badges. They had a whole slew of them on display in their secret chicken coop clubhouse at the edge of Farmer Ben’s farm. Their least favorite things were crooks and swindlers (although they sort of liked Ralph Ripoff, Beartown’s leading crook and swindler).
Ralph Ripoff’s favorite thing was cheating folks out of their hard-earned money; his least favorite thing was getting caught at it (and he’d been getting caught at it quite a lot lately).
Gramps’s favorite thing was carving monkeys out of peach pits; his least favorite things were Weasel McGreed and his underground gang of henchweasels. Though McGreed and his underground gang had been quiet lately, Gramps wasn’t so sure they’d been wiped out by the earthquake that the mighty and powerful Bigpaw had turned back on them.
Bigpaw had his favorite and least favorite things, too. His favorite thing was to sit on his mountain ledge and play on his giant tree-trunk banjo and sing. Bigpaw’s least favorite thing: mosquitoes. That’s right. Mosquitoes.
Chapter 2
Oh, How the Mighty Have Fallen
“Uh-oh,” said Scout Brother when he saw Ralph Ripoff setting up his little swindle table right there in the center of town near the police station. Brother and his fellow scouts had come to do some merit-badge research at the library, which was next to the police station.
“He’s been warned to stay out of town with those crooked games and tricks of his,” said Scout Fred.
“Looks like he’s selling something,” said Scout Sister.
“Let’s go see what it is,” said Scout Lizzy.
A small crowd had gathered around Ralph. The Bear Scouts joined the crowd. “Four-leaf clovers for sale!” cried Ralph. “Four-leaf clovers for sale! Get your four-leaf clovers here! One for a dime! Three for a quarter! Step right up and buy yourself a million dollars’ worth of luck for one thin dime!”
Brother stepped right up and said, “Here’s a dime, Ralph. I’ll take one of those four-leaf clovers.”
“What are you doing?” whispered Sister. “You know what a cheat Ralph is!”
“I know exactly what I’m doing,” said Brother, holding out his dime.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite cubs, the Bear Scouts,” said Ralph. “Here you are! One genuine four-leaf clover, guaranteed to bring you luck. Why don’t you get some for your friends? They’re three for a quarter, you know. Then you’ll have enough for the whole troop.”
“No thanks,” said Brother. “One will be enough for my purposes.”
“What purposes?” asked Sister.
Brother led the troop off to the side and looked closely at the four-leaf clover. “Just as I thought!” he said. “Leave it to Ralph to know how to make a three-leaf clover into a four-leaf clover!”
“A three-leaf clover into a four-leaf clover?” said Fred. “That’s impossible.”
“Not for Ralph,” said Brother. “Here, look.” The rest of the troop looked.
“Well, I’ll be!” said Sister.
“How about that!” said Fred.
Here’s how Ralph made three-leaf clovers into four-leaf clovers:
1. An ordinary three-leaf clover.
2. Split one of the three leaves down the center.
3. Round off the corners of the split leaf.
4. A guaranteed Ralph-style four-leaf clover.
“Ralph better get moving,” said Lizzy. “Somebody’s going for Chief Bruno.”
“Let me have your notebook, Fred,” said Brother. Fred handed it to him. Brother opened it to a blank page and wrote a short note. He pushed through the crowd, tore off the note, and handed it to Ralph.
This is what the note said:
“Good grief!” said Ralph. “I must leave you good folks. A personal catastrophe has called me away. My houseboat has broken loose and is roaring down the river.”
It was a lie, of course. Lies flowed from Ralph’s lips like water from a tap. Ralph did live in a houseboat, but it was stuck in the mud so deep that it would have taken a tugboat to pull it loose.
Ralph folded up his swindle table, stuffed his fake four-leaf clovers into a plastic bag, and made a fast getaway. The scouts followed.
“I want to thank you chaps,” said Ralph as the Bear Scouts caught up and fell into step with him.
“Really?” said Brother.
“Absolutely!” said Ralph. “Your timely warning may have saved me considerable inconvenience—perhaps even a night in the hoosegow.”
“What about embarrassment?” said Brother.
“Embarrassment?” said Ralph.
“Yes,” said Brother, “the embarrassment of trying to sell those poor, pitiful, fake four-leaf clovers.”
“Brother’s right. You couldn’t fool a fire hydrant with those four-leaf clovers,” said Sister as they passed a fire hydrant.
“Or a gumball machine,” said Fred as they passed a gumball machine in front of Biff Bruin’s Pharmacy.
“Or Grizzly Gus’s flannel pajamas,” said Lizzy as they passed the Gus place, where Mrs. Gus was hanging out the wash.
They’re right, thought Ralph as he looked out over the town. The whole town seemed to be mocking him: the fire hydrants, the gumball machines, the flannel pajamas. Also the houses, stores, and garages. Even the birdies in the trees seemed to be laughing at Ralph’s pitiful effort to sell those fake four-leaf clovers.
Ralph slowed to a stop. He sat on the curb. It was as though he were a balloon and suddenly the air had gone out of him. The scouts were taken aback. They weren’t used to seeing Ralph in such a condition. They were used to seeing him striding along in his green plaid suit, straw hat, and spats, twirling his cane, always prepared to pick a pocket, cheat an orphan, or rob a widow. It almost seemed as if suddenly the rain had started to fall up, as if fleas had dogs, as if pigs could fly.
Ralph was mumbling something. The scouts moved in close to hear. “It’s over,” he was saying.
“What’s over?” asked Fred.
“My career. I’m finished,” said Ralph. “Mighty Ralph Ripoff—winner of the Swindler of the Year Award, king of pickpockets, master of the sleeve card—is down to selling phony four-leaf clovers.”
He sighed. “You have no idea how bad it’s been. I just seem to have lost my touch. Why, I tried to pick a pocket the other day and all I got for my trouble was a mousetrap.”
“What about that shell game?” asked Brother. “You know, the one where you have three shells and you move ’em around real quick and there’s a bean under one o
f them.”
“Ah, yes. The old shell game.” He laughed bitterly. “My hand used to be quicker than the eye. But, alas, no more. I was working it the other day. Not only did the sucker pick the right shell, but when I picked it up there was a mouse under it eating the bean.” Ralph shook his head. “No, I’ve got to face it. I’ve lost my touch. But even worse: I’ve lost my confidence. And when someone in my line of work loses his confidence, then it’s time to . . .”
“LOOK FOR A REGULAR JOB!” shouted the scouts as one.
“A regular job?” said Ralph.
“That’s right,” said Brother. “A regular, honest job.”
“Hmm,” said Ralph. “What sort of job?”
“You could be a clerk in a store,” said Sister.
“Interesting idea,” said Ralph. “I could give the wrong change and pocket the difference.”
“Or checkout bear at the supermarket,” said Lizzy.
“Uh-huh,” said Ralph. “Think of all the coupons I could steal!”
“You could work in the forest with my dad, chopping down trees,” said Brother.
“In these clothes?” said Ralph, standing up and dusting himself off. Somehow the air had gotten pumped back into Ralph’s balloon. “Look, friends, I appreciate your concern. I really do. But I have to look at myself in the mirror every day just as everyone else does, and I don’t think I could handle the shame of it.”
“The shame of what?” asked Brother.
“The shame of a regular, honest job,” said Ralph. He reached into his pocket and took out the plastic bag of fake four-leaf clovers. “I can let you have the whole bunch real cheap.”
“Ralph,” said Sister, “you’re impossible.”
“I try to be,” said Ralph. And off he went, twirling his cane.
Chapter 3
Soil Scouts
The scouts headed back to the library, where they had some important merit-badge work to do. They had been disappointed when Professor Actual Factual suggested that they try for the Soil Conservation Merit Badge next. “Soil conservation?” they’d complained.
“I know it doesn’t sound as exciting as some of the other merit badges you’ve earned,” the professor had said. “But soil conservation is very important. We can’t afford to lose it.”
“Lose what?” asked Sister.
“The soil,” said Actual Factual.
“The soil?” said Sister. “How can we lose the soil? It just lies there.”
“Not always,” said the professor. “As a matter of fact, we’re losing soil every day. It’s washing off the riverbanks into the river. We’re losing it off the mountainsides.”
“Is that why we’re having all those landslides in the mountains?” asked Fred.
“Exactly!” said the professor. “I’m working on the riverbank problem. I’m trying to find out if there are any plants that can hold the soil when the big rains come.”
“How is it going so far?” asked Sister.
“It’s trial and error—mostly error. But I’m making progress,” said the professor. “I plant little patches of different kinds of plants, wait for a big rain, then go see which plants hold their ground.” The scouts thought about that for a moment. “I know it doesn’t sound very thrilling,” he said. “But science isn’t all great inventions and wonderful theories. Science is mostly hard work. Trying this, that, and the other until you find something that works.”
“We understand, professor, and we’d like to work with you on the river,” said Brother.
“Right,” said Fred. “I can work on my stone-skipping—I’m up to three skips.”
“And we can bring our bathing suits,” said Sister.
“And I can touch base with my friends the frogs and the dragonflies,” said Lizzy.
“Ah, but you won’t be working on the river helping me save the riverbank soil,” said the professor. “You’ll be working high in the mountains saving mountain soil.”
“Oh,” said Brother.
“That’s right,” said Actual Factual. “You’ll be doing original research, testing which plants can hold that thin mountain soil in place. It’ll be a real challenge. Working in the mountains is difficult at best. It’s going to take some real study. The library would be a good place to start. Well, what do you think? Will you do it?”
The scouts huddled for a moment. Then Brother, who often spoke for the scouts, said,
Chapter 4
The Flag Is Up
Ralph had just been putting on a show for the scouts. All that strutting and cane twirling had been a front. As soon as the scouts headed back to the library, the spring went out of his step and the twirl went out of his cane. Even the forest animals knew Ralph wasn’t himself as he shuffled along the path to the river. It wasn’t until he got close to the riverbank where his houseboat was moored that he quickened his step.
Except that “moored” wasn’t exactly the right word. “Stuck” was the right word. The backwater where Ralph kept his houseboat was so filled with soil that had washed from the riverbank that it had turned to mud.
But it wasn’t the sight of his stuck-in-the-mud houseboat that caused Ralph to quicken his step. It was the flag on his mailbox. It was in the up position, which meant there was mail in the box. And you never knew with mail. It could mean anything. It could mean that one of his big-time swindler friends needed his help on some scheme to sell gold bricks or fake diamonds. Or it could mean nothing.
In this case, it meant nothing. Because the only thing in his mailbox was this month’s copy of Swindler’s Magazine. Ralph didn’t even bother to open it. It would just have the same tired ads for loaded dice, marked cards, and sucker lists of widows and orphans. What Ralph needed wasn’t loaded dice, marked cards, and sucker lists. What Ralph needed was to regain his confidence! It didn’t help that Squawk, his pet parrot, was welcoming him home with an unwelcome greeting.
“Get an honest job!” squawked Squawk. “Get an honest job!”
Ralph had had a long, hard day and wasn’t about to take any guff from a parrot. “Why, you little birdbrain,” he snarled, and threw his Swindler’s Magazine at Squawk. The magazine missed, thwacked against the wall, and fell to the floor. It so happened that it fell to the floor open to an article that caught Ralph’s attention. Lost confidence? said the article in big bold letters. Try hypnotism!
“Hypnotism! Of course!” said Ralph. He picked up the magazine and sat in his easy chair. “Who needs shell games and sleeve cards? I’ll give them the evil eye! I’ll hypnotize those suckers out of their money!”
As he began to read, there was a loud thunk at the door. He got up and opened it. There was a knife stuck in the door. It pierced a note in a familiar hand. The note said: There will be a meeting in my office at three o’clock sharp. It was signed McGreed.
Ralph had suspected that Weaselworld had survived the earthquake. Now he was sure. He put the magazine in his pocket and headed for the secret entrance to McGreed’s underground empire.
Chapter 5
A Distant Rumble
The library was a big disappointment. There were lots of books about plants, but there wasn’t a single book about plants that like to grow on mountainsides. Mrs. Goodbear, the librarian, tried to help. She even called the Bear County Library in Big Bear City. Its card catalog was computerized. But all that got them was a faster “Sorry, we don’t seem to have a thing on that subject.”
“Now what?” asked Sister as they left the library.
“Beats me,” said Brother.
“I’m beginning to see what Actual Factual meant by ‘original’ research,” said Fred.
“We could ask Actual Factual,” said Lizzy.
“No,” said Brother. “We’re going to earn this badge on our own. What we need is a plant expert—somebody who knows all kinds of stuff about plants.” Brother stopped in his tracks. “And I know just the expert! We all do!”
“We do?” said Sister.
“Who is it?” asked Fred.
“I’ll give you a hint,” said Brother. “It’s somebody who makes the best chocolate chip cookies in Beartown and is married to a grouchy old guy who carves monkeys out of peach pits.”
“Gran, of course!” shouted the rest of the troop. They headed across the town square with Brother in the lead.
Gran really was an expert. There were as many different kinds of plants in Gran’s front yard—and her backyard, too—as you’d find in a seed catalog.
As the scouts headed out of town toward Gramps and Gran’s, the Great Grizzly Mountains came into view. “Hold it,” said Lizzy. “I hear something.” Lizzy was so tuned in to nature that she could hear a mosquito burp a hundred yards away. “It’s a sort of rumbling sound way off in the mountains,” she said.
“Maybe it’s one of those landslides the professor is worried about,” said Fred.
“Which means,” said Brother, “that we’d better get moving with our research.” The troop hurried on.
It was a rumbling sound, all right. But it wasn’t a landslide. It was Bigpaw doing his favorite thing: singing. Bigpaw was the gigantic throwback to prehistoric cavebears whom Actual Factual and the Bear Scouts had discovered on a fossil hunt. A “living fossil” was what the professor had called him. His rumbling voice was as big as the rest of him, and his singing did sound sort of like a landslide from a distance.
Singing was Bigpaw’s favorite thing. He liked nothing better than to sit on his mountain ledge, strum his tree-trunk banjo, and sing. He didn’t sing well. But he more than made up in enthusiasm what he lacked in talent. But just when Bigpaw would get going on his favorite thing, his least favorite thing would come and sting him on the nose.
That’s why Bigpaw hated mosquitoes. Bigpaw would try to sing through the mosquito attacks by brushing the insects away. But sometimes he got so angry that he bopped himself on the nose. One time he bopped himself so hard he almost knocked himself off the ledge.