Mr. McCallister’s voice boomed. “Your assignment for tomorrow is on page 66, problems 1 through 24—”
The bell rang. “Class dismissed for recess.”
Mark said to the teacher after everyone left, “Me and Kenny are going to stay in and do our homework.”
“Me too,” said Fred.
The room was silent until Fred got stuck on number 9. “Why does he have to give such long assignments?” he said.
“I don’t know,” Mark replied. “I feel like putting gum in his seat.”
“You gotta be kidding!” said Kenny.
“There’s nothin’ to be afraid of. The most he can do is send us to the office.”
“Yeah, then we’ll be in hot water.”
“Look. He won’t know who did it. There’s three of us, and he wouldn’t expect us to do something like that, anyhow.”
“I—I don’t know. He is the teacher—”
“C’mon, stop worryin’ about it.”
There was no sense in arguing with him. They put a blob of bubble gum in the teacher’s seat and then continued their homework.
Mr. McCallister entered the room and sat down. When he went to stand up, his pants stuck to the seat as if glued. He shouted at the class. “Who did this?”
The class hushed. No one answered.
“OK. But if I ever catch whoever put the gum on my seat, that person is going to be very sorry.”
“Your arithmetic assignment for tomorrow is on page 69, problems 1 through 28—”
Ding-a-ling! “Class dismissed.”
On the way out to recess, Mark said, “Ooh, I hate these assignments. Anyone got a pencil?”
“What for?” Kenny asked.
“I’m goin’ to write ‘McCallister stinks’ on the front of the school!”
“Better not. He got pretty shook yesterday.”
“Aw, it was nothin’. C’mon!”
Mark borrowed a pencil from Fred and wrote “McCallister” in large letters.
“Here, Kenny. You write the last word.”
“Me?” Kenny asked, then after seeing the shaming look on Mark’s face, he began to write.
Nothing was heard about the writing until Friday morning, when over the PA system came the principal’s voice threatening to suspend “whoever put that black mark on our school.” Kenny shuddered.
After school Mark had another idea. “Hey Fred! Hey Kenny! Come here.”
“Hey, I’ve got it now. We go down to Gimbel’s Department Store—” He paused and looked to see if anyone was near. “And we rip off some stuff—you know, little things that nobody’ll notice.”
“OK!” said Fred. “Set the time!”
“Tonight,” Mark said in a suspenseful tone, “at seven o’clock sharp.”
“I’m scared,” said Kenny in a small voice.
“You little baby!” Mark screamed. “You’re goin’ to do it, or I’ll floor you.”
Kenny’s eyes looked frightened. There was an awful silence.
“Seven o’clock!” Fred repeated, and ran home.
About seven o’clock that evening the three boys gathered at the department store. “Are you sure nobody’ll notice?” Kenny asked.
“Naah,” said Mark confidently. But his face showed a glimpse of fear.
They entered the store, silently, and walked toward the toy section. They waited until no one was looking, and then Kenny took a toy car, Fred took a comb, and Mark took two batteries for his transistor radio. Then they quietly sneaked out past the guards. They were done!
After a few minutes Mark looked at Kenny proudly and said, “Aha! That wasn’t so hard, was it, you chicken?”
Reluctantly, Kenny went home.
“Kenny, what’s that in your pocket?” his mother asked him.
“I don’t know.”
“You do too, and you know it; now tell me: what do you have in your pocket?”
“None of your business anyway!” By now Kenny’s voice was quivering.
“Now listen here, son. I just asked you a question.” There was a pause.
“Answer me, or there’s going to be a war!”
He just looked down. Finally, as if from under a dozen blankets, he mumbled, “A toy car.”
“Where’d you get it?” His mother was a little more mild.
“Gimbel’s.”
“Where’d you get the money?”
“Mark.”
Kenny couldn’t sleep that night. His conscience kept him awake until 2 a.m. Finally he got up and sneaked out of the house. He walked to the department store, which was still open. He walked right in and placed the car neatly back on the shelf, then walked out.
It was the right thing to do, he thought. It made him very happy to think he had returned what he had stolen. He ran home because he was so joyful.
CRASH! Kenny had collided with something in the middle of the road, but what was it?
“Hey! What’s the idea, you little punk?” It was Mark!
“I—I didn’t mean to—”
“Yeah, you turned us all in, didn’t you? Huh?” He slapped Kenny across the face.
“I just put back the car I stole,” he stammered, “it wasn’t right—”
“Ha! You little baby, always worryin’ about what’s ‘wight’ and ‘wong’!”
Fred spoke. “Take it easy on the poor kid. He’s only a baby.”
“Shut up!” said Mark, then stared at Kenny.
Kenny began again. “I tried it once, and it wasn’t worth it. So I put ’er back.”
“So you’re goin’ to turn us all in, huh?”
“No,” said Kenny calmly, “I think I’ll let you learn the hard way.” He turned and walked off. He was not seen by them again until Monday morning as he was washing the handwriting off the school.