انتقام کوتوله های حیاط فصل 08

Revenge of the Lawn Gnomes - Chapter 8

The gnome’s smile had vanished.

Its mouth stood open wide, as if trying to scream.

“Hey—!” I choked out.

“What’s wrong?” Dad called. “Is it broken?”

“Its smile!” I cried. “Its smile is gone! It looks scared or something!”

Dad jumped down the steps and ran over. Moose and Mr. McCall joined him.

Mindy walked slowly in my direction, with a suspicious scowl on her face. She probably thought I was playing another joke.

“See?” I cried as everyone gathered around me. “It’s unbelievable!”

“Ha-ha! Good one, Joe!” Moose burst out. He punched me in the shoulder. “Pretty funny.” “Huh?” I lowered my eyes to the little figure.

Hap’s lips were curved up in a grin. The same silly grin he always wore. The terrified expression had disappeared.

Dad let out a hearty laugh. “Good acting job, Joe,” he said. “You really fooled us all.” “Maybe your son should be an actor,” Mr. McCall said, scratching his head.

“He didn’t fool me,” Mindy bragged. “That one was lame. Really lame.”

What had happened? Had I imagined that open mouth?

Mr. McCall turned to Buster. “Listen, Jeffrey,” he started. “I’m serious about that dog of yours. If he comes into my garden again…” “If Buster goes over there again, I promise we’ll tie him up,” Dad replied.

“Aw, Dad,” I said. “You know Buster hates to be tied up. He hates it!”

“Sorry, kids,” Dad said, turning to go inside. “That’s it. Buster gets one more chance.” I bent down to pet Buster’s head. “Only one more chance, boy,” I whispered in his ear. “Did you hear that? You only get one more chance.” I woke up the next morning and squinted at the clock radio on my night table. Eight A.M. Tuesday. The second day of summer vacation. Excellent!

I threw on my purple-and-white Vikings jersey and my gym shorts and ran downstairs. Time to mow the lawn.

Dad and I had an agreement. If I mowed the lawn once a week all summer, Dad would buy me a new bike.

I knew exactly which model I wanted, too. Twenty-one gears and really fat tires. The coolest mountain bike ever. I’d be able to fly over boulders!

I let myself out the front door and raised my face to the warm morning sun. It felt pretty good. The grass shimmered, still covered with dew.

“Joe!” I heard a loud bellow.

Mr. McCall’s bellow. “Get over here!”

Mr. McCall leaned over his vegetable patch. An angry red vein throbbed in his forehead.

Oh, no, I thought as I edged toward him. What now?

“I’ve had it,” he roared. “If you don’t tie that dog up, I’m calling the police! I mean it!” Mr. McCall pointed to the ground. One of his casaba melons lay in the dirt, broken into jagged pieces. Melon seeds were scattered everywhere. And most of the orange fruit had been eaten away.

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. I didn’t know what to say. Lucky for me, Dad showed up just in time. He was on his way to work.

“Is my son giving you some gardening advice, Bill?” he asked.

“No jokes today!” Mr. McCall snapped. He scooped up the broken pieces of melon and shoved them in my dad’s face. “See what your wild dog has done! Now I have only four melons left!” Dad turned to me. His expression grew stern. “I warned you, Joe! I told you to keep the dog in our yard.” “But Buster didn’t do this,” I protested. “He doesn’t even like melons!”

Buster skulked around behind the flamingos. His ears drooped flat against his head. His tail hung low between his legs. He looked really guilty.

“Well, who else could have done it?” Mr. McCall demanded.

Dad shook his head. “Joe, I want you to tie Buster up in the back. Now!”

I saw that I had no choice. No way I could argue.

“Okay, Dad,” I mumbled. I shuffled across the lawn and grabbed Buster’s collar. I hauled him to the corner of the back yard and sat him next to his red cedar doghouse. “Stay!” I commanded.

I rummaged through the garage until I found a long piece of rope. Then I tied Buster to the tall oak tree next to his doghouse.

Buster whimpered. He really hates being tied up.

“I’m sorry, boy,” I whispered. “I know you didn’t eat that melon.”

Buster pricked up his ears as Dad came around back to make sure I had tied the dog up. “It’s just as well that Buster is tied up today,” he said. “The painters are starting on the house this afternoon. Buster would only be in their way.” “Painters?” I asked in surprise. Nobody told me that painters were coming. I hate the smell of paint!

Dad nodded. “They’re going to paint over that faded yellow,” he said, pointing to the house. “We’re having the house painted white with black trim.” “Dad, about Buster…” I started.

Dad held up a hand to silence me. “I have to get to work. Keep him tied up. We’ll talk later.” I watched him make his way to the garage.

This is all Mr. McCall’s fault, I thought. All of it! After Dad drove away, I stamped angrily into the garage and grabbed the lawn mower. I pushed the mower around the side of the house and into the front yard. Mindy sat on the front steps, reading. I rammed the mower forward.

“I hate Mr. McCall!” I exclaimed. I shoved the mower around a flamingo. I felt like slicing off its skinny legs. “He is such a jerk. I’d like to smash the other four stupid melons!” I cried. “I’d love to wreck them all so Mr. McCall will leave us alone!” “Joe, get a grip,” Mindy called, peering up from her book.

After I finished mowing, I ran into the house and grabbed a large plastic bag for the grass clippings. When I came back out, Moose was sprawled on our lawn. Several brightly colored plastic rings lay scattered on the grass around him.

“Think fast!” he cried. He hurled a blue plastic ring at me. I dropped the bag and leaped for it.

“Nice catch!” he said, scrambling to his feet. “How about a game of ring toss? We’ll use the gnomes’ pointy hats.” “How about using Mindy’s pointy head?” I replied.

“You are so immature,” Mindy said. She stood and walked to the door. “I’m going to find some place quiet to read.” Moose handed me a few rings. He flung a purple one toward Hap. The ring slid neatly around the gnome’s hat.

“What a throw!” he exclaimed.

I took a ring and spun around like a discus thrower. I tossed two yellow rings at Chip. They slapped against the gnome’s fat face and slipped to the grass.

Moose chuckled. “You throw like Mindy. Watch me!” He leaned forward and hurled two rings. They settled neatly around Chip’s pointy hat.

“Yes!” Moose cried. He flexed his bulging muscles. “Super Moose rules again!”

We tossed the rest of the rings. Moose beat me. But only by two points—ten to eight.

“Rematch!” I cried. “Let’s play again!”

I dashed over to the gnomes and gathered up the rings. As I pulled a handful from Chip’s hat, I stared into his face.

And gasped.

What was that?

A seed.

An orange seed about half an inch long.

Stuck between the gnome’s fat lips.