Shoebag Returns Read Online Free Page B

an Army brat,” said Stanley. He watched Josephine grab a butter ball from another passing tray.
    Then the gong bonged for lunch: ONE TWO THREE .
    Instantly Stanley heard the thunder of Miss Rattray’s feet marching down the hall, Plonk, Plonk, Plonk. He saw the high-held head, the large black frame spectacles, the long and sturdy body. Behind her, children from the Lower School followed. Behind them, the Upper School girls.
    And, of course, scattered among them were the Betters in their red and white socks, wearing their red and white buttons!
    “I must go,” Stanley shouted into the phone.
    “Good-bye, sweetie!” his mother said. “Remember, time does really heal all wounds.”
    “And time flies very fast,” said his father, “because so many people are trying to kill it! … Good-bye, son!”
    Stanley called to Josephine Jiminez, “Look out! Hide the roll! Hide the butter!”
    Josephine thrust the roll into the pocket of her blazer with one hand, the other held the butter.
    “Happy Sunday morning, Josephine,” Miss Rattray called out. Patsy Southgate, the Lower School Better, trailed behind her, pulling up her one red sock, looking smug, ignoring Josephine and Stanley. The Betters could look right through you, Stanley thought to himself. Nobody had attitude like a Better.
    Miss Rattray stuck out one of her large hands as she approached Josephine. Quickly, Josephine slipped the butter ball to Stanley.
    “Happy Sunday morning,” Josephine sang out and shook the outstretched hand.
    Miss Rattray let go of Josephine’s hand, noticed something on her own hand, but carried on bravely with a handshake for Stanley. “Happy Sunday morning, Stanley.”
    “Happy Sunday morning,” he answered, feeling her large fingers squash the ball of butter.
    “What … on … earth?” Miss Rattray pulled her buttered hand back and stared down at it. “What … is this!”
    “Butter,” Josephine said. And then she giggled. “We’re butter.”
    But it was not a joke Miss Rattray appreciated. Her face was dour. Her sticky hands fluttered as the Betters pulled Kleenex from their pockets to offer to her. “You two are grounded,” Miss Rattray told Josephine and Stanley, “until further notice. Immediately after you finish eating, go to your rooms!”

Nine
    “D OES YOUR SMILE SMELL ?” a young boy on television asked. He wore dark glasses, and his teeth were very white.
    Everyone in the recreation room of the Lower School shouted back at him.
    “NO! DOES YOURS?”
    Then there were silly giggles from the small viewers, gathered around the TV. This was their favorite commercial.
    Sunday was the only day they could watch television, and only for two hours after Sunday dinner.
    “Chew Great Breath!” said their beloved TV spokesboy, while dancing packages of gum circled around him humming the Great Breath song.
    Why should your smile smell like death?
    Why should you wake up with bad breath?
    Chew chew chew and you’ll get through
    Chew chew chew, Chew Great Breath!
    “YOU CHEW IT!” everyone shouted. “WE CAN’T CHEW GUM!”
    Shoebag could not believe his eyes, or his luck.
    Chased by the yellow cat from the kitchen to the recreation room, he thought he was a goner until he leaped up on the piano, and slid in between a black key and a white one. While one girl grabbed the cat to hug, another shushed everyone so they could hear (of all people!) Gregor Samsa!
    Shoebag’s antennae bristled with joy.
    There was his old friend and ex-roach, the very one who had come to Shoebag’s rescue so many times back when Shoebag was that tiny person named Stuart Bagg.
    Shoebag remembered playing in a park, swinging in a swing, having his own pencil box, a pair of brown boots, a blue wool scarf. Oh, he had liked wearing clothes!
    When Stuart Bagg had needed a pal, Gregor Samsa had been there for him. … And now, shouldn’t Shoebag be there for Stanley Sweetsong? Hadn’t he already promised to be his pal? Wasn’t that a good