Willie drove Sludge and me to

Perry’s Pancake House.

“Sniff around outside, Sludge,” I said.

“Look for the joke book.”

“I’ll help Sludge,” Willie said.

I went inside the pancake house.

It looked good, it smelled good.

I walked up to a waiter.

“I am looking for a small joke book

titled Joke Stew,” I said.

The waiter looked mad.

“A girl was just here

looking for it,” he said.

“She was wrapped in feathers.

Said she was a detective.

She put up LOST JOKE BOOK signs

everywhere.

Here. There. Up and down the street.

But we have no joke book.

I know who lost it.

Yesterday this boy came in.

I served him mushyberry pancakes.

He knocked the syrup bottle

over everything.

The pancakes, the menu, the table.

Ugh!

I scooped up all the sticky stuff

and dumped it in a bag.

I handed the bag to him.

I told him that somewhere out there

a hungry family of ants or flies

would love this sticky, icky mess.”

The waiter was getting madder.

I, Nate the Great, knew that I

had to leave the pancake house

without eating.

I did not want to do that.

But I went outside.

Sludge and Willie were standing there.

“We didn’t find the joke book,” Willie said.

“We looked in front.

Then Sludge went out back.

He found garbage cans.

He looked in them.

Isn’t that the wrong place to look

for a joke book?”

“Well, a good detective knows

that sometimes the wrong place

is the right place,” I said.

“Smart dog,” Willie said.

Willie, Sludge, and I got into the limo.