Next I grabbed on to the arm of the chair and inched my way up to the seat.
Whew! I was so tired, my whiskers were wilting, but I was only halfway to my goal!
Og sent me some encouraging BOING-BOINGs.
I rested for a few seconds, then reached up again, grabbed the edge of the desk, pulled myself UP-UP-UP and threw myself onto the desktop. Whew!
Og splashed excitedly.
After I caught my breath, I hurried over to the big book with the thick red cover.
Along the side, in big black letters it read: The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.
I felt a little shiver as I looked at the picture of the great man with his deerstalker hat.
“BOING-BOING-BOING!” Og called impatiently.
“Okay, okay, I’m going to open the book,” I squeaked back. “We’ll find out how to be detectives soon!”
I reached up to touch the edge of the top cover.
“Umph!” I pushed hard with both paws.
Nothing happened.
I pushed again—harder.
Nothing happened. Again!
“It’s very heavy, Og!” I squeaked, but I was so out of breath, I’m not sure he could hear me. “I wish there weren’t quite so many stories about Sherlock Holmes!”
When I failed to budge the cover the third time, I decided to try something else. I looked around the desktop and saw a pencil. Maybe I could use that to push the cover open.
I rolled it over to the book, propped it up under the cover and gave it a mighty push.
It pushed right back, I guess, and I fell backward. The pencil rolled off the edge of the desk. (I hate to think what would have happened if I’d rolled off the edge.)
As I tried to catch my breath, I heard Og splashing wildly.
“BOING-BOING-BOING-BOING-BOING!”
“I’m all right, Og,” I called to him. “But I can’t get the book open.”
I’m not one to give up easily, but I was exhausted and I knew it wouldn’t be long before school began. It hadn’t been a successful night, but it would be even worse if I got caught outside my cage.
So I slid down the side of the desk (much faster than when I’d climbed up). I raced across the floor and grabbed on to the long cord that hangs down from the blinds.
Then came that hard part where I had to swing back and forth, higher and higher, until I was level with the top of the table. I let go and slid across the table, past Og’s tank, right up to the door of my cage.
“I made it, Og!” I told my friend.
“BOING!” He sounded relieved.
I was planning on a nice doze when I got back in my cage. But when I closed my eyes and was about to drift off, I remembered Mrs. Brisbane saying, “A clue is information that helps you solve a mystery. Sherlock Holmes is very good at finding clues.”
I didn’t just remember her words; I could hear them in my tiny ears.
I jumped up and raced to the side of my cage. “Og! Mrs. Brisbane said to look for clues. Let’s see if we have any clues to what happened to her.”
I grabbed the tiny notebook Ms. Mac gave me long ago and the teeny pencil that goes with it. I keep it well hidden behind the mirror in my cage.
I opened it and began to write.
Clue 1: Mrs. Brisbane didn’t plan to be absent. The day before, she said, “See you in the morning.”
Clue 2: Mr. Morales didn’t know Mrs. Brisbane would be absent. He said they were trying to reach her. That’s why he took over the class until they could get a substitute. Whatever happened was unexpected.
Clue 3: Mrs. Wright said she was sure Mrs. Brisbane would be back tomorrow. But later in the day, Ms. Mac and Mr. Morales both said she might be out for a while. So the story changed as the day went on.
Clue 4: Aldo seems worried that something happened to Mrs. Brisbane. And that makes me unsqueakably worried, too.
My paw started shaking, so I quit writing.
I wondered if Sherlock Holmes was ever as worried as I was that morning.
Miss Swift unlocked the door to let Mr. E. in. He had on a button with a big smiley face, and his big cloth bag looked even fuller than it had the day before.
Once my fellow classmates arrived, Mr. Morales came in. His tie for the day had little red birds on it.
“Class, your families were all notified last night about Mrs. Brisbane,” he said. “As you know, Mr. E. will be taking over.”
My friends all looked perfectly happy, but I was not!
Principal Morales might have told all the families about Mrs. Brisbane last night, but nobody told me! Would Mr. E. be taking over just for now . . . or would it be forever?
I was so worried, I could hardly concentrate on our classwork that morning. Not that there was much. Mr. E. started off the day by having all the students share their jokes. That was their homework, after all.
My friends’ jokes were pretty funny.
Hurry-Up-Harry had a good one. “Why does a stork stand on one leg?” he asked. His answer: “Because if it raised both legs, it would fall down.”
And Rolling-Rosie made everyone groan when she asked, “What’s brown and sticky? A stick!”
Phoebe forgot to bring a joke. “But I know one,” she said. “What do you say to a crying whale? Quit your blubbering!”
Everyone seemed so happy, I began to think maybe nothing bad had happened to Mrs. Brisbane at all. Maybe she’d just gone on vacation.
But then I remembered her saying, “See you in the morning.”
I’ve learned enough about humans to know that they don’t leave on vacations without planning ahead.
Especially a human like Mrs. Brisbane.
HUMPHREY’S DETECTIONARY: Clues can make you WORRY-WORRY-WORRY.
5
The Case of the Afternoon Accident
The rest of the morning was a blur.
First, Mr. E. reached in his sack and pulled out a big rolled-up map. He tacked it on the bulletin board and taught my friends a game called Map Attack. I couldn’t really see what was going on because they stood in front of the map and blocked my view. It got very noisy, and the rest of the class seemed to have fun.
Next came Animal Addition. This time, Mr. E. pulled out finger puppets in different animal shapes and the class played some kind of adding and subtracting game. I don’t know why they needed fake animals when there were two perfectly good real animals in the room. But nobody seemed to notice Og and me.
My classmates enjoyed the game, but I thought the problems were a little easy for them. Especially for Small-Paul, who is a math whiz.
Then right after lunch, something odd happened.
The door opened and my friends all streamed in, talking and giggling as usual.
But when they were all in their seats, I noticed that one chair was empty. Were they playing the game they’d played yesterday?
“Who’s missing?” I squeaked loudly.
I guess I didn’t squeak loudly enough.
Luckily, Helpful-Holly also noticed that Harry was missing.
“Excuse me, Mr. E.?” she said.
“Yes, Holly?” he asked.
She pointed at Harry’s empty chair. “Harry didn’t come back from lunch.”
Mr. E. looked at the empty chair and scratched his head. “Oh,” he said. “Does anyone know where he is?”
I didn’t have any idea, and neither did any of my friends.
Holly’s hand shot up. “I’ll go look for him,” she said.
“I’m sure he’ll turn up in a minute,” Mr. E. said.
I don’t think Mrs. Brisbane would ever say that. She’d worked hard since the beginning of school to help Hurry-Up-Harry learn to be on time.
Mrs. Brisbane spends a lot
of time thinking up ways to help her students. Or at least she did.
I spent a lot of time thinking up ways to help Mrs. Brisbane. But how could I help her if she wasn’t here?
Mr. E. was trying to tell my friends how to play Word War when the door opened and Harry strolled in.
“Welcome back,” Mr. E. said. “Glad you can join us.”
“Thanks,” Harry said.
That was it! Did Mr. E. think it was fine for Harry to come to class whenever he felt like it?
The game began when Mr. E. wrote a word on the board. Then two students ran up and made a list of new words by adding letters to the beginning or end. They started with ate and wrote mate and hate, then hated, late, later, and slate.
Whoever came up with the most words won that round. I could tell my friends enjoyed being able to run in the classroom.
They got louder and louder as they cheered each other on as the game got more and more exciting.
Then Mr. E. wrote another word on the board: eat.
“I’ve got it!” Slow-Down-Simon shouted as he raced to the board.
“I know!” Be-Careful-Kelsey said as she ran up to the board.
Simon didn’t slow down.
Kelsey forgot to be careful.
The two of them rammed right into each other.
“Ow!” Simon yelled, holding the side of his head.
“Ow!” Kelsey shouted, clapping her hand over her eye.
Kelsey cried a little and Simon kept saying, “Ow! Owww!”
How many times had Mrs. Brisbane tried to think of ways to slow down Simon?
How many times had Mrs. Brisbane encouraged Kelsey to think before doing things? And now that Mrs. Brisbane was gone, look what had happened!
Mr. E. decided to send them to the nurse’s office.
“I could go with them,” Holly volunteered.
“I think they can manage on their own,” Mr. E. told her.
That was the end of Word War, thank goodness.
“What next?” Mr. E. said.
Helpful-Holly raised her hand. “It’s time to look after Humphrey and Og,” she said.
“Oh, right,” Mr. E. said.
Then Holly said, “Humphrey needs his veggies.”
“Did anybody bring veggies for the hamster?” Mr. E. asked the class.
The hamster. As if I didn’t even have a name.
“Oh, no!” Phoebe exclaimed. “I forgot. Sorry, Humphrey.”
I might have felt discouraged, except for the fact that six hands went up in the air. A lot of my friends had remembered to bring me a treat.
Just-Joey offered a piece of lettuce. Tall-Paul brought me a blueberry. Small-Paul brought sunflower seeds—my favorite. Rolling-Rosie had some yummy celery, and Holly offered a tiny bit of broccoli. Thomas gave me his carrot sticks again (which isn’t really a good thing because he should eat his veggies every day).
There were so many hamster-licious things to eat, I hid some of them in my cheek pouch and the rest in my bedding.
It’s always nice to save a little something for the future.
I was still busily nibbling when Simon and Kelsey came back.
Simon was holding an ice pack on the side of his head. Kelsey held an ice pack on her eye.
“Everything all right now?” Mr. E. asked.
They both nodded and took their seats.
“I think it’s story time,” Mr. E. said.
My ears twitched when he said that. Was he finally going to read the rest of that Sherlock Holmes story from the big red book?
My friends were on the edges of their chairs as well.
Mr. E. reached in his sack and pulled out a piece of paper, which didn’t look anything like a book.
“Let’s write our own silly stories,” he said.
I sighed. Was I ever going to hear the rest of “The Red-Headed League” and learn how a real detective works?
Mr. E. then asked the class to supply different words: nouns, verbs, words that describe things—oh, I didn’t know there were so many different words. He wrote each of them on the piece of paper. Then he made up a silly story using all those words.
The story made no sense at all, but my friends liked it.
The door suddenly burst open and standing there was Mrs. Wright. Her fingers were on her whistle, which made me nervous.
Luckily, she didn’t blow it.
In one hand, Mrs. Wright held a clipboard.
“It’s Mrs. Wright!” Mr. E. said. “Right?”
“Mr. Ednopop . . . Ednolopopolopolis,” Mrs. Wright said. “I’m co-chairperson of the School Safety Committee. I understand there’ve been injuries in the classroom.”
“A little accident,” he said. “Kids will be kids.”
Mrs. Wright shoved the clipboard toward him. “You will have to fill out an accident report. Their parents will be notified.”
“It was just an accident,” Mr. E. said.
“There were injuries on school property,” she said. “A report must be filed.”
Mrs. Wright took a few more steps into the classroom and looked around. “I also had a report of a student wandering the halls after the lunch bell rang. Was that one of yours?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Mr. E. said. “Was it?”
“The hallways should be empty after the bell rings,” Mrs. Wright said. “I’ve put a copy of the rules under the accident report.”
She fingered that silver whistle around her neck. “The report is due in the morning.”
I was REALLY-REALLY-REALLY worried that she was about to blow the whistle.
Instead, she turned and walked out the door.
I was glad to see her go. But I was also glad to see that someone was concerned about my classmates besides Og and me!
In the afternoon, I dozed through some other kind of game, but I woke up when I heard Mr. Morales’s voice.
It’s always important to listen to what the principal has to say. I darted out of my sleeping hut and saw him in front of the class, holding a piece of paper.
“Class, I just received a note from Mrs. Brisbane that she wanted me to share with you all,” he said.
“Did you hear that, Og?” I squeaked at the top of my lungs. “A note from Mrs. Brisbane!”
Og splashed wildly, so I guess he heard.
“The note says, ‘Dear class, I miss you all and I miss Longfellow School. I miss being home, too. But the good news is that they say I’ll be up on my feet and dancing before long! It’s funny to think that this all came about because of Humphrey. Please listen to Mr. E. and make me proud of you. Your teacher, Mrs. Brisbane.’”
This all came about because of Humphrey.
Was it really my fault that Mrs. Brisbane was gone?
If she’s going to be up on her feet, she must be sitting. But where is she?
Why would she leave her class to go dancing? I’d never seen her dance before.
I wasn’t just piewhacked. I was super-duper piewhacked.
After Mr. Morales left, Holly’s hand shot up. “Mr. E., where is Humphrey going this weekend?”
“I give up,” Mr. E. answered. “Where is he going?”
Holly explained how I go home with a different student each weekend.
“Okay,” Mr. E. said. “So who wants to take Humphrey home?”
Every single student raised a hand. Every one!
“Mr. E.!” Holly said. “You have to get written permission from the parents.”
Sometimes, I think Holly will grow up to be just like Mrs. Wright. That’s not a bad thing, unless she also gets a whistle.
Just then the bell rang, ending the school day.
Some of the students rushed out to cat
ch the school bus. Others crowded around Mr. E., begging to take me home.
“Whoa!” he said. “Calm down. I’m sure Humphrey will be fine on his own this weekend.”
Sorry, but I would not be fine without tasty treats and clean water and a poo cleanup!
A red-haired woman hurried into the classroom looking worried. She saw Kelsey with the ice pack on her eye and gave her a hug.
It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to figure out that she was Kelsey’s mom.
“Are you okay?” she asked, moving the ice pack. “The nurse called.”
“Yes,” Kelsey said. “Sort of.”
“Wow, you’re going to have a black eye,” her mom said.
“Mom, could we bring Humphrey home for the weekend?” Kelsey asked.
I rushed to the front of my cage to hear what Mrs. Kirkpatrick had to say.
“Humphrey? Oh, little Humphrey! Well, sure. Why not? He’ll help take your mind off your eye,” she replied.
Mr. E. came over and introduced himself and said he’d be very grateful if she’d take me home. “I think we need some kind of written permission,” he said.
“In the middle drawer!” I shrieked. “That’s where she keeps the forms.”
Mr. E. didn’t understand, of course, but Mrs. Kirkpatrick just wrote on a plain piece of paper, and before I knew it, Kelsey was carrying my cage out of Room 26.
“Sorry, Og! I mean, bye! I mean, have a nice weekend!” I shouted.
“BOING-BOING!” he said. It was a slightly sad sound.
I always feel guilty when I go away for the weekend and leave Og behind.
But that Friday, I felt absolutely rotten. After a few days without Mrs. Brisbane, he would probably be extra lonely this weekend.
HUMPHREY’S DETECTIONARY: A mystery: why are some people, even teachers, pawsitively clueless about how to care for a hamster?
6
The Case of the Baffling Ballerina
In the car, Mrs. Kirkpatrick wanted to hear about how Simon and Kelsey bumped heads.
But Kelsey just wanted to talk about me!
“I can’t believe it,” she said. “I’ve wanted to bring Humphrey home since the first day of school.”
Mysteries According to Humphrey Page 4