CHAPTER 18

obble, gobble, gobble. An enraged Mr. I.M. Greedyguts, breathing fire, zipped through breakfast in his office at a record pace: a stack of lamb chops, six scrambled eggs, hash browns, and croissants were washed down with a family-sized bottle of Coca-Cola, and were followed by two chocolate éclairs topped with three scoops of strawberry ice cream. “I’m so upset this morning,” he said, glaring at Jacob Two-Two’s parents, “that I’ve lost my appetite.”

“I can see that,” said Jacob Two-Two’s father.

“You don’t understand,” said Mr. I.M. Greedyguts. “I woke up with my stomach rumbling, because I had to go without a decent dinner last night.”

“Why, Monty,” said an aggrieved Miss Sour Pickle, “how could you?”

“Sorry. Forgot. Don’t know what I was saying. But now I’m bound to suffer from indigestion for the rest of the day.”

“No wonder,” said Jacob Two-Two’s mother.

Mr. I.M. Greedyguts belched twice, farted once, and then pointed a finger thick as a sausage at Jacob Two-Two. “All because this hoodlum,” he said, “this criminal born and bred, sneaked out of his bed after midnight last night, phoned the police, and was responsible for a SWAT team hitting Miss Sour Pickle’s apartment.”

Miss Sour Pickle wiped tears from her eyes. “There I was in my nightie,” she said, “when they broke down my door.”

“This poor, dedicated woman,” said the dreaded Mr. I.M. Greedyguts. “This dear soul could have died of a heart attack, and that stinker, your son, would have been guilty of cold-blooded, premeditated, first-, second-, third-, or fourth-degree murder. How about that?”

“I didn’t do it,” said Jacob Two-Two. “I didn’t do it.”

“Liar, liar, liar!” shouted Mr. I.M. Greedyguts, banging his fist against his desk.

“Now hold on a minute,” said Jacob Two-Two’s father.

“If Jacob Two-Two says he didn’t do it,” said his mother, “he didn’t do it.”

“You would say that, being his mother,” said Mr. I.M. Greedyguts.

“Our children were brought up to tell the truth, no matter what,” said Jacob Two-Two’s mother.

“Fiddlesticks,” said Miss Sour Pickle. “Stuff and nonsense. I expect you to pay for my new door, and the treatment prescribed by my doctor to deal with my state of shock.”

“And what did your doctor prescribe?” asked Jacob Two-Two’s father.

“A round-the-world cruise,” said Miss Sour Pickle, “where I could kick up my heels on long nights, dancing the boog-a-loo, the boogie-woogie, the conga, and the tango, and, of course,” she said, smoothing her tartanplaid skirt, “improve my knowledge of geography.”

“But I didn’t do it!” said Jacob Two-Two. “It was somebody pretending to be me.”

“Blah blah blah,” said Mr. I.M. Greedyguts. “You will stay in after school for the next two months to wash blackboards, clean toilets, sweep the schoolyard, and perform other necessary chores.”

“But what if he’s innocent?” asked Jacob Two-Two’s mother.

“Furthermore,” said Mr. I.M. Greedyguts, looking directly at Jacob Two-Two’s father, “I expect you to punish him in a proper manner at home. If you don’t own a strap, I can lend you mine. Wham, wham, wham!”

“Look here,” said Jacob Two-Two’s father, “We don’t need your advice about how to bring up our children.” Then, turning to Jacob, he said, “Jake, would you leave the room, please. I would like to have a word with your esteemed headmaster.”

Jacob did as he was asked.

“A round-the-world cruise,” sang out Miss Sour Pickle, “where I could dance the cha-cha-cha, the jig, the fox-trot, the can-can, the polka, the lindy-hop, and rock ’n’ roll by the light of the silvery moon with the man of my dreams.”

Mr. I.M. Greedyguts blushed.

“Look here, Miss Sour Pickle,” said Jacob Two-Two’s father, “if you are intent on a round-the-world cruise, you had better start saving your pennies, because I wouldn’t even consider paying your taxi fare to the ship. As for you, Greedyguts, let me tell you Jacob may be many things, but stupid isn’t one of them. Has it ever occurred to you that if he were to make such a phone call he is far too bright to have given the police his name?”

“All the evidence points to your son as the guilty party.”

“Okay,” said Jacob Two-Two’s father, “let’s say, for the sake of argument, that Jacob did make that phone call, not that I’m admitting it for a minute … but weren’t you ever a mischievous little boy?”

“Why, when I was a shining morning face, I never played with anything but educational toys. I didn’t read comic books, or even waste time watching hockey games on television.”

“Which have become increasingly violent,” said Miss Sour Pickle in a disapproving voice, “setting a bad example.”

“The report I brought home from school every month had a gold star pasted to it. I was a Queen’s Scout. I won the Junior Red Cross Hygiene Badge. I never ate with my elbows on the table, or peed on the toilet seat, or stuck out my tongue at the school headmaster behind his back.”

“I caught your son at it,” said Miss Sour Pickle to Jacob Two-Two’s father.

“And, as an adult, I’m proud to say, I have never indulged in bad language, tobacco, or hard liquor. I don’t even jaywalk. I floss my teeth every morning without fail. And now, if you don’t mind, I am a very busy headmaster. Case dismissed.”

“Before I’m through with you, Greedyguts, you’re the one who may be dismissed.”

“Oh, yeah. What for?”

“For not being qualified to have children entrusted to your care.”

“Ha ha ha. Ho ho ho. You just happen to be looking at a man who will shortly be featured on the cover of Ginsburg’s, Canada’s National Magazine, named Outstanding School Headmaster of the Year. And now, will you please leave my office at once?”

“I will,” said Jacob Two-Two’s father. “But you’ll be hearing from me.”