Don't You Know There's a War On? Read Free

“go join the army.”
    Anyway, the door being shut, I went back down to the basement and tried to think what to do—other than leave. That’s when I noticed another door, half the size of an ordinary door. It was set into a wall maybe three feet off the ground. No regular door handle, either, just a latch. Right below were these garbage cans.
    I shoved the cans to one side and tried the door. It wasstuck, so I used two hands to yank. Pop! It opened! Set into a shaft was a large, tall box with ropes attached to its top. Two more ropes dangled in front of it. A broken dinner plate was lying on the bottom.
    What I’d found was a dumbwaiter.
    Now, in case you didn’t know, dumbwaiters aren’t “dumb” like in “stupid,” but “silent.” They were small elevators used for sending food and stuff from one floor of a house to another. Or they hauled garbage to the basement, which explained how come there were garbage cans down there.
    Soon as I understood what I’d found, I got thrilled. See, I figured I could get into the box, pull on the ropes, and get into the house above.
    Then I thought, Whoa down! I was chasing Nazi spies. Going up could be dangerous. But right off I said to myself, Hey, Howie, what’s more important, math test or spy nest?
    Being patriotic, I climbed into the box.

5
    LET ME TELL you something, that dumbwaiter wasn’t just tight, it stunk to high heaven. I had to sit with my head against my pulled-up knees, fingers of one hand squeezing my nose while my other hand grabbed hold of the rope dangling in front of me. When I jerked the rope down, the dumbwaiter, with me in it, went up.
    Now, I have to admit, I worried what would happen if, you know, the ropes broke or the box got stuck. But guess what? Didn’t happen. Every time I yanked the rope down, she went up-sa-daisy.
    Sure, there was some squeaking. Nothing loud. And whenever I stopped—and it was hard work, so I stopped tons—it stayed put.
    Now, soon as I moved out of the basement, everything went dark. Super dark. Then, going higher, I saw light seeping through cracks. I kept pulling the rope, coming to a stop only when— bam! —I slammed against something.
    In front of me was this square line of light. It looked like a door, so I pushed at it. Wouldn’t give. I pushed again. When it still wouldn’t budge, I squirmed around, got on my knees. With my body behind me—all seventy pounds—Ishoved. The door burst open so quick I plopped onto the floor.
    I was lying there trying to catch my breath when I heard a voice.
    â€œThis teacher,” I heard Dr. Lomister saying—because I could be at the North Pole and I’d still know his voice—“this Miss Gossim, she must be immediately fired.”

6
    NOW, TO UNDERSTAND this story, you have to know right off that, far as I was concerned, the only thing worth going to school for was this Miss Gossim. Veronica Lake? Betty Grable? Lana Turner? Pretty nifty movie stars. But to me, nothing compared to Miss Gossim.
    Miss Gossim was what we called a dilly, a dish, an angel-cake package with tutti-frutti icing on top. Full of smiles too. With frilly blond hair, blue-gray eyes, plus lipstick-red lips. There may have been dirt in the world—wasn’t a speckle on Miss Gossim. I mean, she wasn’t just clean, she glowed. A regular flower. Like the kind which myclass visited on a Brooklyn Botanic Garden field trip.
    â€™Course, she could be strict. No gum chewing. If you were caught chewing, you had to stick the gum on your nose. No note passing. Caught passing a note and she’d read it out loud to the whole class. No writing on your desk neither. Do that and you had to stay after school and get it off. Least her rules made sense, not like Lomister’s.
    And Miss Gossim liked to laugh a lot. She had one of those laughs that made you join in. Or she said things like “Oh, let’s forget