Doctor Proctor's Fart Powder Read Free Page A

that was making its way up Cannon Avenue.
    â€œInteresting,” Nilly heard a jovial, accented voice say. “There’s a new Commandant on the street.”
    Nilly turned around. A tall, thin man was leaning against the wooden fence of the house next door. His white hair was just as long and unkempt as the grass in his yard. He was wearing a blue coat like the one the wood shop teacher at Nilly’s last school had worn, and he was also wearing something that looked liked swim goggles. Nilly thought he was either a Santa Claus who’d lost weight or a crazy professor.
    â€œWas I bothering you?” Nilly asked.
    â€œQuite the contrary,” the bushy-headed man said.“I came to see who was playing so well. The sound brought back wonderful memories of a boat trip on a river in France many, many years ago.”
    â€œA boat?” Nilly asked.
    â€œPrecisely.” The man closed his eyes dreamily, facing the sun. “A riverboat that was carrying me, my beloved, my motorcycle, and a bunch of goats. The sun was just starting to set, the wind was picking up, the water was a little choppy, and then the goats started bleating so vigorously. I’ll never forget the sound.”
    â€œHi,” Nilly said. “I’m Nilly. I’m not sure what to say to that.”
    â€œNo need to say anything,” the man replied in his accent. “Unless you want to say something, of course.”
    And that’s how Nilly met Doctor Proctor. Doctor Proctor wasn’t Santa Claus. But he
was
kind of crazy.

The First Powder Test
    â€œI’M DOCTOR PROCTOR,” the professor said at last. His accent was guttural, making his voice sound like a badly oiled lawnmower. “I’m a crazy professor. Well, almost, anyway.” He laughed a hearty, snorting sort of laugh and started watering his unmowed lawn with a green watering can.
    Nilly, who was never one to say no to an interesting conversation, set down his trumpet, ran down his front steps and over to the fence, and asked, “And just what makes you so sure that you’re almost crazy, Mr. Proctor?”
    â€œ
Doctor
Proctor. Did you ever hear of a professor trying to invent a powder to prevent hay fever but ending up inventing a farting powder instead? No, I didn’t think so. Quite a failure … and pretty outrageous, isn’t it?”
    â€œWell, it depends,” Nilly said, hopping up to sit on the fence. “What does your farting powder do? Does it keep people from farting?”
    The professor laughed even louder. “Ah, if only it did. I could probably have found someone to buy my powder, then,” he said. Suddenly he stopped watering the grass and stroked his chin, lost in thought. “You’re on to something there, Nilly. If I’d made the powder so it kept people from farting, then people could takeit before going to parties or funerals. After all, there are lots of occasions when farting is inappropriate. I hadn’t thought of that.” He dropped the watering can in the grass and hurried off toward his little blue house. “Interesting,” he mumbled. “Maybe I can just reverse the formula and create a non-fart powder.”
    â€œWait!” Nilly yelled. “Wait, Doctor Proctor.”
    Nilly jumped down from the fence, tumbling into the tall grass, and when he got up again, he couldn’t see the professor—just his blue house and a side staircase that led down to an open cellar door. Nilly ran to the door as fast as his short legs could carry him. It was dark inside, but he could hear clattering and banging. Nilly knocked hard on the door frame.
    â€œCome in!” the professor yelled from inside.
    Nilly walked into the dimly lit cellar. He could vaguely make out an old, dismantled motorcycle with a sidecar by one wall. And a shelf with various Mickey Mouse figurines and a mason jar full of a light green powder, with a label in big letters that read DR.