The Vandemark Mummy Read Online Free Page B

President Blight. Phineas perked up.
    They looked like impossible twins, dressed exactly alike in blue blazers over gray flannels, with striped ties. They looked like Schwarzenegger and DeVito, except the tall twin was much older than the short twin, who looked about Phineas’s age—overdressed, if those were really tasseled loafers on his feet, seriously overdressed, but a kid like Phineas.
    â€œCome on,” Althea said, interrupting his thoughts. “The truck’s out behind.”
    In the parking lot, a medium-size moving truck was backed up to the cellar door, and four men waited beside it. As Phineas and Althea came around the corner, they saw their father step up to talk with the movers.
    â€œIf Dad’s in charge—” Phineas said.
    â€œWe’d better,” Althea agreed. They went to stand just behind their father. The rest of the greeting committee stood back, watching what would happen. The head mover passed Mr. Hall a clipboard, holding a thick wadof papers. “Ah,” Mr. Hall said, and looked down at the clipboard in his hand, as if he’d never seen one before in his life.
    â€œI can check the containers off,” Phineas offered. They’d moved a couple of times in his life, and he was familiar with the process. “You and Althea can show them where to put the things, and make sure they’re handled properly.” Phineas and his mother were the efficient ones. When anything needed to be done efficiently they stepped forward to take charge.
    â€œIsn’t is nice when you have your children to help you out?” Mrs. Batchelor’s voice asked. “Yes, nice,” a male voice answered, “to have helpful children when you need help.”
    Phineas ignored them.
    â€œWe don’t have any,” Mrs. Batchelor said. “No,” the male voice which had to be her husband’s agreed, “we don’t.”
    Which was lucky for the kids, Phineas thought.
    â€œThe blind are leading the blind here,” Mrs. Batchelor said.
    â€œLet’s go home, I’ve got better things to do than . . .” he answered.
    Phineas carefully didn’t look up from his clipboard. If he had, he might have laughed. The two of them were so obvious about what they were up to—it was like “Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood,” Phineas thought, like Lady Elaine talking with King Friday the Thirteenth, he thought—and laughed out loud.
    By the end of an hour, almost everyone had left. Phineas didn’t blame them. There wasn’t much to see: First,the movers had to learn how to get to room 015, then the driver maneuvered the truck into the right position, then they set up the ramp. Finally they pulled open the rear doors. Once people had peered inside the truck—just lots of boxes, some coffin-size, some crate-size—they went away. Only the reporter, who up close turned out to be a young woman, the bearded Dr. Simard, and the rich kid and his father remained to watch the first crate carried out of the truck.
    The two movers who were carrying it stopped in front of Phineas so that he could check off the sticker number. They protested when he looked at it from all sides to see if the box had any signs of damage. “Kid, this is heavy. Besides, it was all packed up when we got there. Packed sometime just after Noah’s Ark landed, if you want my opinion. Anything wrong with the packing has nothing to do with us.”
    â€œJust checking,” Phineas said, and proceeded to do so. He didn’t expect to find anything, no crushed ends or things falling out of holes. These were wooden crates, solidly built. “Do you know where to take them?”
    â€œYes, sir.” The man was making fun of him.
    Phineas didn’t take offense.
    It took another hour to unload the truck. Dr. Simard hung around, trying to look, Phineas thought, like he mattered. Phineas stayed put with his clipboard and pen, methodically