Trouble According to Humphrey (10 page)

“Help!” I squeaked.

I heard the muffled voices of Art and Paul.

“Maybe he’s in here!”

“How’d he get out of his cage?”

“I don’t know … he just did!”

“Hurry, please!” I squeaked, because I was hanging from the bridge by one paw and I was getting TIRED-TIRED-TIRED. The cool waters of Lake Patel would have seemed inviting to Og, but hamsters are not especially fond of swimming. In fact, we’re desert creatures, a fact I never knew until Richie did a report on hamsters.

“I hear him!” Art shouted.

There were sounds of footsteps as Art and Paul rushed into the room.

“Oh, no! The train fell off the bridge again,” Art exclaimed.

“There he is!” said Paul. He raced forward and I dropped into his hands as gently as falling into a nice warm pile of bedding.

I must admit, I was quivering and shivering a bit, but I relaxed as Paul stroked me with his finger. “It’s okay, Humphrey. You’re safe now.”

I looked up and saw Art staring at his train layout: the bridge, the lake, the train cars lying in a heap. “I don’t understand why it always falls off. And how’d he get the train going in the first place?”

“How’d he get out of his cage?” Paul asked.

These were not questions I was about to answer.

Holding me in his hands, Paul kneeled down to inspect the train layout. “Wow, this is awesome! Did you do this all by yourself?”

“Yep.” Art sounded proud. “And I have lots more I want to do.”

“So that’s what you’re always doodling. It’s really cool.”

“Thanks.”

“About that bridge …,” said Paul, handing me to Art.

“It looks okay,” Art replied. “But every time, the cars tumble off the edge. Gee, Humphrey could have been hurt. The fall could have killed him. Or he could have drowned!”

“He’s safe now,” Paul reminded him.

“I’m a loser,” Art said quietly. “I’m sorry, Humphrey.”

“No problem,” I squeaked softly. But it was a problem. I’d been one whisker away from plunging into—yikes—a lake! (Believe me, hamsters should NEVER-NEVER-NEVER get wet.)

Paul got down on his hands and knees, examining the bridge. “I think I see the problem.”

“You do?” Art knelt down next to Paul.

“You don’t have the same number of each sized support on each side. See? They look almost alike, but they’re slightly different sizes.”

Art did. “That’s weird. It looks even.”

“It’s just enough to throw the train off. I’m pretty sure that’s the problem if you measure them. Let’s get Humphrey back in his cage and we can work on it.”

“You really think you can fix it?” said Art.

“You
can fix it,” Paul replied. “It’s all a matter of measurement.”

“See, numbers are always my problem!” Art pretended to smack himself in the forehead.

“They aren’t just squiggles on paper?”

“I get the point,” Art admitted. “Can you stay awhile longer?”

“Sure. I can stay.”

Luckily, when the boys put me back in my cage, they brought it into Art’s room so I could watch what they were doing.

“I’ll measure the supports and count them to make sure we have the same number of each.” Art got out a ruler and went to work.

“We’ll need two of each size,” said Paul. “And I think you have a problem with this curve over here.”

“I have accidents there all the time,” said Art.

“The turn is too sharp for the length of the engine. We’ll need to extend it,” said Paul. “I’ll help you figure out the angle.”

I crawled into my sleeping hut for a nice long doze. I woke up when I heard a train whistle. By the time I was out of my hut, the train was climbing toward the bridge. I gulped as it chugged along the top, remembering how high it was when I’d been riding in that car.

“Keep your fingers crossed,” said Paul as the train approached the downward slope of the bridge.

I must admit, though I’ve done some brave things in my short life, I closed my eyes. I couldn’t stand the sight of that train plunging off the tracks again.

I waited for the crash but instead I heard the guys cheering. When I opened my eyes, Art and Paul were high-fiving each other. “We did it!” said Art.

“Way to go,” said Paul.

Mrs. Patel appeared in the doorway, smiling. “What’s going on in here?” she asked.

“Paul helped me fix the train,” said Art.

“Art did all the work,” said Paul.

“That’s great! But how about the math?”

“We studied for a while,” Paul said.

“I don’t quite get it yet. Could you—I mean, would you help me some more?” Art asked Paul.

“Sure,” Paul quickly replied.

“Tell you what. I’ll call your mom and see if you can stay for dinner,” Art’s mom suggested. The boys thought it was a great idea.

“First, maybe you could clean up in here?” Mrs. Patel suggested.

Soon, Art’s train layout looked neat and the extra track was put away.

“We’d better take Humphrey back to the living room,” said Art, picking up my cage.

“Say, how’d he get out of that thing, anyway?” asked Paul.

“Maybe I wasn’t paying attention when I closed it,” said Art. “But it’s not the first time. Miranda got in a lot of trouble when Humphrey got out the last time. She might not get to take him home again.”

Never, ever again? My whiskers wilted when I heard that news.

Paul seemed surprised. “Miranda? That doesn’t sound right. Let me check that lock.”

Art put the cage down and Paul bent over and checked my cage door. I shivered a bit because Paul was one smart kid. He might actually uncover the secret of my lock-that-doesn’t-lock.

“Looks fine to me,” he said, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

But I only felt relieved for a while. After I was back in the living room and the boys were off studying, I wasn’t thinking about trains or numbers or even the fact that I had narrowly escaped a disastrous accident.

I was thinking about Miranda and the trouble I’d caused her. Mrs. Brisbane had said there would be “consequences for her carelessness.” Miranda was suffering the consequences, but the carelessness was all mine.

Paul ended up staying for dinner
and
spending the night
and
studying with Art on Sunday. In the afternoon, Art’s dad told them he thought they needed a break and the three of them went into Art’s room to work on the train layout. They were in there a LONG-LONG-LONG time. Finally, they came out with big smiles on their faces.

“Humphrey, we have a surprise for you,” said Art. He opened the door to my cage.

Surprises are sometimes nice things, like birthday parties or an especially juicy strawberry. Surprises can also be scary things, like being snowed in and hungry, or strange things, like suddenly having a frog as a next-door neighbor. So as Art carefully picked me up and took me out of my cage, I had a queasy, uneasy feeling all over.

With Mr. Patel and Paul following him, Art carried me down the hallway to his room.

“It’s all finished!” he said.

I peered over the edge of Art’s hand. The train layout was amazing! The town now had streets and even streetlights, along with the houses and trees. Between the red-and-white tent and the big wheel were an elephant and a clown. It looked like a real town, although I could have done without the lake or the dark tunnel.

“Everything’s working now,” Art said. “So we thought you’d like a real train ride.”

Sometimes humans imagine that they know what you’re thinking.
I
was thinking I could skip riding a train ever again!

“We tested it with a weight to make sure that the car won’t tip over with you in it,” said Paul.

“Maybe Humphrey doesn’t want a ride. Did you think of that?” asked Mr. Patel.

Art placed me in the open car. “He’s the one who had the idea in the first place.”

Paul pushed the switch and said, “All aboard!”

I clenched my paws along the side of the car as the train started chug-chugging down the track and around the wide curve, past the town, the general store and the tall pine trees. The train picked up speed just as it entered the tunnel. It was dark, but I didn’t mind this time. In fact, I would have been happy to stay in the tunnel forever, as long as I could avoid that bridge. All too soon, it was light again and the train began its climb.

As soon as it hit the straight bridge, it picked up speed again. I tried not to look down, but I couldn’t help taking a peek. Lake Patel was right below me, looking dangerously wet. At least Paul and Art and Mr. Patel were there to catch me—I hoped! All of a sudden, the train dropped and headed down the incline. I closed my eyes tightly. The speed of the train created a strong wind in my fur. When I opened my eyes, the train had almost reached the bottom of the incline and it hadn’t tumbled off the tracks! I was safe.

The train veered around another curve, around the
back of Lake Patel. Whee! This was one fun ride! Suddenly, the train began to slow DOWN-DOWN-DOWN.

“Coming into the station,” Paul announced.

“Don’t stop now!” I squeaked. “One more time around!”

“I think he likes it,” said Art. Boy, he was really paying attention now! So around I went, not once, not twice, but three more times. It was thrilling, chilling and I was perfectly willing to keep going around forever. But Art’s dad said it was time to stop or I might get sick.

I must admit, when the train stopped, I felt a little strange. Once I was back in my sleeping hut, my head stopped spinning and I began to write in my notebook, trying to find the words to describe my wild ride.

My brain kept going round and round that track all night. The next morning, when we got back to school, I couldn’t wait to tell Og about my exciting adventure. But as soon as I saw Miranda come into class, I was squeakless because of that hurt look in her eyes every time she glanced at my cage.

The look that had my brain hurting.

The look that made me remember the Trouble all over again.

My mind was a million miles away until it was time for math and Paul came into the room. I realized that while Art and Paul had studied hard for the test, I had not.

The test was HARD-HARD-HARD! My friends wrote and stared at their papers and stared at the ceiling, erasing and sighing. Seth sat amazingly still, glancing over at my cage now and then. Miranda did more erasing than writing, which was strange for her. Paul wrote quickly while Art seemed to struggle. He kept running his fingers through his hair, but his eyes were right on his paper.

Art was paying attention. But did he understand the math?

At last, Mrs. Brisbane called time and collected the papers. When Paul got up to leave, he whispered something to Art. Art nodded his head.

“I will mark these during lunch,” said Mrs. Brisbane. “I know you’re all anxious to get your grades.”

When it was finally time for lunch my friends raced out of the room.

I, on the other paw, stayed inside, watching our teacher grade the papers and feeling about as worried as a hamster can feel.

Mrs. Brisbane worked quickly. Sometimes she smiled. Sometimes she frowned and made a lot of marks on the paper. Sometimes she shook her head.

I was gnawing my toes, wondering what grades my classmates were getting, especially Art.

When lunch was over and my friends were all settled, Mrs. Brisbane said, “Class, I’m not quite finished. If you’ll take out your social studies books and read the chapter on how communities are organized, starting on page seventy-five, I’ll keep on grading. All right with you?”

Mandy sighed loudly. Mrs. Brisbane ignored her.

“How many more do you have to grade?” Heidi asked.

“Heidi … what are you supposed to do before you talk?”

Heidi raised her hand.

“Thank you. I think I’ll be finished by the time you’ve all read the chapter.”

I don’t have a social studies book, so I continued to watch Mrs. Brisbane and nibble at my toes. Og dove into the water for a long, splashy swim. He was probably worried about the tests, too.