Evening Star Newspaper, January 25, 1942, Page 77

2 é@%fiwy /) st K W% Bill sent an uneasy glance over his shoulder. I thought I heard someone!*’ eye, completely deserted. The books slumbered on their shelves and the eves of seven presidents gazed bleakly from the walls. The very air was freighted with a sad and musty silence. Yet a closer scrutiny would have brought to light a solitary scholar — a woebegone youth in his teens, dipping dis- piritedly into a stout volume of faded brown. Bill Newcomb had forgotten to turn in his considered opinion of Samuel Johnson. It was this neglected task which held him now, long past the usual hour of release,” and was keeping him from a date with Marty Thayer in the back room of Mrs. Moody's grocery, the place of the moment for Carterville’s younger set. His thoughts wandered from the coffee shops of the eighteenth century to Mrs. Moody’s infinitely more interesting rendez- vous, with its new twentieth-century juke box. He dwelt, for a time, on Mrs. Moody's particularly toothsome potato salad, and her flaky wedges of blueberry pie i 1a mode. The whole crowd would be there. Marty might even have gone there with somebody else. He emitted a self-pitying sigh. Then he stretched, yawned, and scratched the back of his head. Only half a page to go — but a neat finish, somehow, was so hard. He permitted a bored gaze to wander about the room. It was at this point that his eye fell on the bronze bust of Curtis A. Hibbert — gracing a fluted column back of the main desk. It was inevitable that Bill Newcomb should have brooded over this displeasing object; old Curtis was directly responsible for his presence here. Bill's English teacher was a reasonable man, but old Curtis, principal of Carterville High, was not. It was old Curtis who would not stay in his office and tend to his own affairs, who made a practice of pouncing into a person’s classroom at the worst possible moment. Bill considered the bust critically. It sure did look like the old guy. Looked like an old walrus. So did old Curtis. Ought to be in a zoo instead of a school — the old walrus' Bill’s smile broadened as a wonderful idea took shape in his mind. It was not an idea that needed any great thought or complicated maneuvering. Its virtue lay in its simplicity. When Bill had put his name and room num- ber on a hastily completed theme, he had merely to pick up the bronze bust and slip it under his coat. Old Curtis — in replica, at least — was on his way. THE scHooL library seemed, to a casual THE 200 had been laid out, with great en- thusiasm, several years before; but since that time it had become a sort of stepchild of the town fathers. It now boasted a fairly respect- able aviary, several peevish monkeys and one moth-eaten old lioness, but most of the cages were standing empty. Page Four Bill started something he couldn’t finish. But it almost finished him by Josephine Bentham Iliustrated by Earl Cordrey Bill found a cage for Mr. Hibbert right away, and had no difficulty getting Mr, Hibbert into the cage unobserved. There was no one at the zoo at this hour but a non- descript colored man, languidly clipping the hedge around the keeper's cottage. Tomorrow morning, though, bright and early, people would be coming in droves. He was telling Marty Thayer all about it a few minutes later. “And they absolutely can't miss it! Because there it is in a cage right alongside of the monkeys!” He became aware suddenly that his hearty laughter had found no echo. Marty was eye- ing him in consternation. “Oh, my goodness!" she cried. ““We've got to get right over there right away! Oh, Bill, we've got to get right over to that z00'™’ She was already on her way to his car. He hurried after her. **‘Wait a minute! You mean that thing — you mean it’s worth anything?” HOH. My! Of course it is! It's supposed to be a work of art or something! I suppose it's worth thousands of dollars!” Bill pushed the old car up to forty —its best. “'I still think you're kidding me!” he said desperately. *‘You must be!” *“No, I'm not! Oh, Bill, if you'd only been here last year — then you'd have known! Why, they had this famous sculptor — did you ever hear of Bellamy Davis?"” " “Well, he's a famous sculptor, and he went to college with Mr. Hibbert. So he got the idea of sculping a bust — "’ *Oh, my gosh!"’ moaned Bill. *““‘Well, he made this bust of Mr. Hibbert and gave it to the school. They had a cere- mony about it. All the faculty and students were there and we sang America and Old Carterville Forever, and Mr. Davis made a speech, and Mr. Hibbert too. That bust was supposed to be something pretty wonderful!” “But how was anybody to know? It cer- tainly didn't look like anything wonderful! Why didn’t they put a sign on it?” He was still holding forth as they jumped out of the car. Marty ran on ahead. ““You said right next to the monkeys, Bill —" “Yes. Sure! It’s in there — " “Here?"” . “Sure!” He stared into the cage. ‘“Why, I'm abso- lutely positive that was the one! I — Marty! Do you suppose —” “Oh, Bill! You might have got mixed up! You might have put it in another one!” But the faint hope faded away. Mr. Hib- bert’s bust had completely disappeared. A search of all the cages confirmed it. They knocked timidly at the door of the keeper's cottage, but he knew nothing of any foreign object in any of his cages. TW-1-25-42