The Smoky Corridor

45

Mr. Crumpler and his new janitor, Captain Cornpone, had cleared the cafeteria and the wood shop and had entered the infamous smoky corridor when he noticed an open door.

The DuBois woman’s classroom.

“This way!” he said, and they stepped inside.

“Hello, Mr. Crumpler,” said the history teacher, who had the same sort of Southern drawl as the new mop pusher.

“Your door. Has it been open long?”

“Not very.”

The classroom was full of students. Two desks, however, were suspiciously empty.

“Is there some sort of problem?” asked Ms. DuBois.

“Yes!” said Mr. Crumpler. “I am looking for a dog. Have you seen one?”

Ms. DuBois rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “A dog? Hmmm …”

Some of the kids giggled.

“Oh, you mean that sweet little pooch who just jumped out our window?”

“What?”

“Heavens, I almost forgot. See, we had the window open—this old room gets stuffy sometimes—and all of a sudden, out of nowhere, the cutest little doggy you ever did see comes scootin’ through that door, zips up the center aisle, and with a hop, skip, and a jump leaps out the back window.”

“You let him get away?”

“Why, we barely knew he was here before, zip, he was gone.”

“Which way did it go?”

“Heavens, I couldn’t say.”

Mr. Crumpler narrowed his eyes. “Who sits in those two seats?”

“The two empty desks?”

“That’s right.”

“Nobody. I believe that is why they are empty.”

The children looked ready to giggle again.

So Mr. Crumpler gave them his glare. The one that said, I’ll see you all in detention hall if you so much as breathe!

That shut ’em up.

“If the dog returns, call the office!”

“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Crumpler straightened his tie and strode out the door.

When he hit the hall, he wasn’t sure, but he thought he might’ve heard children tittering behind him.

No. That was impossible.

The children feared Carl D. Crumpler far too much to laugh at him behind his back.