The Spoon in the Bathroom Wall Read Free

cheerfully. “I can’t. I’ve got to go see my father!”
    Marthur was definitely perked up.
Eggs with legs.
She giggled on her way to the boiler room. Like magic, Marthur had forgotten her troubles—clanking pipes, her mangled name, and Dr. Klunk and Rufus. She had also forgotten about the king.

IV
    Marthur never saw her father much; he was so busy doing junk for Dr. Klunk. That made her terribly sad. Their hours rarely crisscrossed. But when they did, the Snapdragons made the most of it. After they gulped supper (in case he had to leave in a rush), Luther read aloud to Marthur (both without earmuffs). He read any story bit he could fit in before some more work came up, hollering over the scronk of the pipes.
    Sometimes he stopped reading and bellowed out of the blue, “What’s your dream, dear? Apart from wanting bacon, I mean. What’s your utmost fondest most preposterous outlandish wish?”
    Marthur would gaze at a picture on the wall. (With love, Luther Snapdragon tacked up all of her drawings.)
    â€œI want to be a teacher. Just like Ferlin. She makes things better for the kids at Horace E. Bloggins.”
    Marthur’s wish was always the same.
    â€œHow I love to hear that,” said her father every time. “It’s an unselfish dream—the very best kind.
    â€œHold fast to dreams,” Luther quoted at the top of his lungs while the pipes clanked, “’Cause when dreams go—well, they just go. A great poet wrote that.”
    Each time her father said the poem, it was a bit different. But he always got the gist.
    Â 
    Still thinking about the dancing eggs, Marthur danced through the door and into the boiler room.
    â€œHello, my sweetheart!” cried Luther Snapdragon above the hiss of the pipes. “Did you have a frabjous day?” (He enjoyed using odd words to entertain her.)
    â€œFRABJOUS!” hollered Marthur. Then they both laughed.
    â€œCan we read, Daddy?” Marthur asked.
    â€œI’ve only got time for the ‘hold fast’ poem, then it’s back to work.” Luther blasted out energetically, “Hold fast to dreams. ’Cause if dreams run, life is like having—uh—no sun! A great poet wrote that.”
    â€œI know,” Marthur yelled, “a
very
great poet!”
    â€œWhat’s your dream, dear?” Luther asked.
    â€œTo be a teacher. Just like Ferlin,” said Marthur. “Daddy, what’s
your
dream?”
    â€œFor your dream to come true. Well, gotta go!”
    Luther kissed her on the top of the head (in a hollow spot where she’d cut some gum out).
    â€œHold fast, my dumpling!”
    â€œHold fast, Daddy!”
    Â 
    Luther Snapdragon hadn’t been gone long when—
wham! wham! wham!
—a frightful pounding rattled the sweltering boiler room. Marthur had put her earmuffs on while she did her homework. But the racket was so loud, she still heard it. (And felt it.) Suddenly, a length of old pipe slumped like a log on a fire. She braced herself for the whole place to cave in.
    But nothing collapsed on her. The sound was coming from only one spot. Somebody was pummeling the door! (Luckily, she’d locked it.)
    â€œWho is it?” she yelled.
    â€œRufus, you doofus!”
    Marthur’s stomach dropped. What in the name of all that was horrible was
he
doing there? Why wasn’t he home? And why would he come to Marthur’s, of all places?
    May as well be the big bad wolf
, Marthur thought. She held her breath and waited for him to huff and puff and blow the whole place down.
    â€œWhat do you want?” She tried to sound brave, but her voice was shaking.
    â€œI WANT THOSE DANCING EGGS!”

V
    Marthur’s legs quivered like jelly. Her head spun. The dancing eggs were a secret between her and Ferlin!
    â€œWhat did you say? You want to dance?” she shouted at Rufus, hoping she’d heard him wrong.
    â€œIn your dreams, brain-o! I want