All About Max, page 6
“Sort of,” said Mojo. “She comes around once in a while.”
“Anyway,” Moxie said, “what if she’s not so stupid after all? What if she’s right?”
“Hadn’t you better think about this some more?” said Mojo. “You might be doing something really, really stupid.”
“And who’s going to like you better than us?” asked Moxie.
The two dogs jumped up and applied more doggy love to Max’s chin.
Before Max had a chance to reply, Moose appeared at the back door, grinning as he saw all the jumping and slobbering going on. As soon as the dogs saw him, they ran over and started leaping all over him as well.
“I see you’ve all been having a good time, boys, but could I interest you in some supper?” he said. “Like to stay for supper, Max. Generally, I’m sorry to say, you’ll just be foraging around in the kitchen for your meals. But how does pizza grab you? Unfortunately, it’s a pizza with broccoli. That’s our vegetable du jour. You can always pull out the broccoli, if you like. I’ll look the other way.”
Max loved pizza and oddly enough actually loved broccoli. It was usually just what he ordered. But how did a kindergarten graduate get off using a fancy phrase like “du jour”. Who did Moose think he was, anyway? What a moron!
Still, Ballyhoo manners were Ballyhoo manners.
So, “Thanks,” said Max.
After the dogs had eaten and Moose and Max had had their pizza watching the news on Moose’s small television set, Moose settled down to read.
“You can watch TV, if you want, Max, before you run back to your room,” he said. “Won’t bother me long as you don’t blast my ears off.”
But before Max turned on the set, he thought he ought to finish his conversation with Moxie and Mojo. What if he ran away, and nobody cared, and he ended up in a rotten orphanage, or picking pockets on the street and going to jail with no one to come bail him out? He had to know what the dogs thought. When he was certain Moose was deep in his book, Max got down on the floor with the dogs.
“So have you two thought about what I said,” he asked in a low voice. “Have you thought about it at all?”
“Sure we have,” said Moxie. “And we think you’re an idiot.”
“Both of you?” asked Max.
“Of course both of us,” said Mojo.
“What about trash and toilets,” asked Max.
“So what about it?” said Moxie. “Think about what dogs do. You know what I mean, the places dogs sniff and all that. It’s where we get our news. So what’s so bad about toilets, anyway? Dogs even drink out of them, don’t they?”
“I guess so,” said Max, who was sure that Sir Launcelot and Lady Guinevere would never do anything as crude as drinking out of toilets. At least he’d never seen them do it. Could it be that they had actually done that and he just never knew it?
“And how about having to wait on all those loony, wrinkled old people who live in that building?” Max went on. “Old people give me the creeps.”
“Have you been around lots of old people?” Mojo asked.
Max hesitated. “Not exactly. But I’ve seen lots of them.”
“Seeing and being around aren’t exactly the same thing,” said Moxie. “Maybe they’re not as bad as you think.”
“Besides,” said Mojo, “maybe later you’ll be given something else to do besides toilets, trash, and old people, won’t you?” said Mojo.
“But Mrs. Fiddle, the cook, thinks Delilah’s not coming back,” said Max. ‘’She’s the one who’s in charge of somebody called Snitch, who does that kind of stuff.”
“Thinks she’s not coming back, but doesn’t know it,” said Moxie. “You’d better wait and see, hadn’t you?”
“How about that saying, ‘Out of the frying pan, into the fire,” said Mojo.
“Not to mention we don’t want you to go. Please say you won’t?” said Moxie.
“Please! Please! Please!” both dogs said. Then they put their chins on the floor by Max’s feet and looked up at him soulfully.
“I’m only just thinking about it. Okay?” said Max.
Moose looked up from his book. “Is that you talking to the boys?” he asked.
Max shrugged. “Yeah. I was. So what?’
“So nothing,” said Moose. “But it almost sounded as if you thought they were talking back to you.”
“Well, they were,” said Max, and thrust out his chin defiantly. “In case you want to know, I can talk to animals.”
“Is that a fact,” said Moose. “Hmmm.” He returned to reading his book, and that was it.
Max had never had anyone not making fun of him when he said he talked to animals, or call him a liar as Pencival did, or just pretend they believed him the way his parents had, although he knew all along they hadn’t and just thought it was “cute”. Hadn’t he overheard them say this to their friends?
As Moxie and Mojo seemed to drift off to sleep, Max carefully got up to go and turn on the television. But as he stood, he somehow backed into the bookshelf behind him and knocked off a file folder on the bottom row
Some papers slid out of it, and as he started to push them back, the top one caught his eye.
The big, bold print on it was hard not to read even at a quick glance, which was all he got of it before quickly sliding it back into the folder.
Max couldn’t believe what he thought he’d seen. It didn’t seem possible that Moose could have picked this up at a yard sale like that Bible. The name in fancy print on it was Marmaduke Aloisius Smith. Marmaduke was Moose’s real name, so this must have something to do with him.
Max looked over at Moose, deep in his ratty old paperback, and decided he’d better not pull the paper back out of the folder to take a closer look at it. It couldn’t be for real, anyway, for if it was, what was Moose doing being a handyman at a place like Measley manner, bowing and scraping in front of those vipers, the Measley girls? He’d have to be some kind of moron to do that. That piece of paper had to be a fake.
Still, the fact that Mojo and Moxie were so clearly crazy about him was a lot of points in his favor. This was something Max definitely intended to look into further.
If he didn’t run away first, that is!
Chapter IX
In which Max starts his new job under Snitch, an expert at cleaning pots and pans, among other things, and whom Max definitely does not adore.
A fter Max returned to his cellar room, he unpacked his suitcases, carefully hanging his Ballyhoo jacket on two nails. He had no idea why the Measley’s had wanted him to take good care of it. But then there were a lot of things he couldn’t figure out about that crazy place where he’d landed, most of them miserable. His gold medal for rescuing the kitten was still in his jacket pocket, and he decided he might as well leave it there. After all, that medal and his Ballyhoo jacket were the things that meant the most to him.
After he’d unpacked and put away everything he owned in the beat-up chest of drawers, or hanging on the nails, he finally ventured into his “private bathroom” next door. With unpainted concrete floor and walls, it was as dank and damp and malodorous as Max expected it would be. He spent the least possible time he could there before returning to his room. Too tired to bother with pajamas, he fell into the cot in his underpants.
But once there, with it’s lumpy pillow, and only a scratchy old army blanket filled with moth holes to pull over himself, all he did was toss and turn with all the horrors of that day going round and round in his head.
He knew now absolutely he would have to run away, but he also knew it was much easier said than done. And now he’d even found out there were the two “goons”, Digger and Dork, guarding Measley Manor. What if they caught him? Running away was going to be difficult enough as it was. Now he had to worry about being caught in the act doing it. Running away was definitely not going to be a walk in the park. And if he ever did do it, it would have to be in the dead of night.
Round and round and round all these grim thoughts spun in Max’s head at dizzying speed, before he finally fell into a restless sleep. But it seemed as if he had barely closed his eyes before there was a loud banging on his door. There wasn’t even enough light coming through the window so he could see his watch.
But the person banging on the door apparently didn’t think it necessary to wait for anyone in the room to issue an invitation to enter. Max heard the person kick the door, which then flew open, banging against the wall behind it. Someone thumped across the floor and turned on his light.
Who, or more accurately, what stood there was a boy, probably around sixteen years old. He was of medium height, but thickset, and with a face that more closely resembled a flat, pie tin than anything else. His hair of some nondescript pale color, was clipped short and stood out from his head like the quills of a porcupine. Over thick lips, and a nose flat spread out as if the owner might have once fallen on it and it never returned to any reasonable size, were topped by pale blue eyes the color of dishwater.
“Okay, you little turd,” said this apparition, “you might’s well get it into your swelled head that you ain’t on bankers’ hours no more. You got to get up now ‘cause you got work to do. And no use puttin’ on any o’ your high an’ mighty airs an’ fancy names. Mz. Measley tol’ me all ‘bout that. Long as Delilah ain’t here, I’m boss, and you’re workin’ under me. You got that?”
Max, barely awake, was too stunned to do any more than nod.
“My name is Snitch, like you been told,” said the boy, but I’ll be expectin’ you to call me Mr. Snitch. You got that?”
“Y...y...yes,” stammered Max.
“Yes, what?” snapped Snitch.
“Yes...Mr....Mr. Snitch,” replied Max.
“That’s more like it, you little turd,” said Snitch. “Now, I expect you’ll be needin’ to go to the terlit, so I’ll wait here for you. And be quick ‘bout it.”
Max did not need a second advisory. He quickly climbed out of his cot, and grabbed the jeans and shirt he had hung on the nails not holding his jacket and dress trousers. Nasty as the “terlit” was, he had no intention of dressing under the watchful eye of Mr. Snitch.
Nor did he have any interest in staying any longer than was necessary in that miserable washroom. He was back in his room in no more than few minutes. But that was long enough for Snitch to have taken his jacket off the nails it hung on, and was trying to shove his bulging shoulders into it.
“You get that off!” Max shouted, not even taking time to think.
“Get that off, what, you little snot?” Snitch shot back, still trying to shove his arms into a jacket that there was no way in the world he could actually fit into.
“Get that off, Mr. Snitch!” said Max.
“Who says so?” said Snitch.
“Miss Ruby and Miss Pearl say so,” said Max. “They told me to keep the jacket looking nice.”
“What for?” said Snitch, suddenly hesitating before trying to shove any further.
“I don’t know,” said Max. “They didn’t say.”
“I think you’re lyin’,” said Snitch.
“Then ask them and see,” said Max.
Snitch shrugged. “I’ll just do that, you little weasel.” He pulled the only arm out from the jacket that he’d been able to squeeze into, and slammed the jacket onto the nails. Unfortunately, out from the pocket fell Max’s gold medal.
Snitch lost no time in snatching it up. “What’s this?”
“A medal I won...I won it at...school for...for boxing,” said Max, who had not been trading lies with Pencival for years for nothing. He had become an expert at it.
“Huh!” snorted Snitch. “If it’s for boxin’, what’s a cat doin’ on one side?”
“That’s not a cat,” said Max. “It’s...it’s a tiger.”
“How come a little weasel like you got a medal for boxin’?” said Snitch. “You musta been boxin’ a midget.”
“That’s all you know,” said Max. “Anyway, you’d better put it back in the pocket. The...the Measley’s wouldn’t like you taking it.”
“They know ‘bout it?” asked Snitch.
“Sure they do,” said Max. After all if you’ve lied about one thing, no reason not to lie about it all.
“Aw, who wants it anyway? Probably made o’ tin,” said Snitch, and shoved the medal back into the jacket pocket.
“It happens to be gold, for your information,” said Max, and then instantly regretted saying it when he saw the sly look come over Snitch’s face.
“Well, la da da,” said Snitch. “Maybe it is and maybe it ain’t. But you ain’t gettin’ gold medals for what you’re gonna be doin’ now. You got that, you little dirt bag?”
“Yes,” said Max
“Yes, what?” said Snitch.
“Yes, Mr. Snitch,” said Max.
“That’s more like it,” said Snitch. He picked up a bucket filled with bottles, rags, and brushes he’d parked outside Max’s door, and handed it to Max. “You take this and follow me. We start off in the kitchen cleanin’ up from last night’s meal.”
Marching up the cellar hall, he clumped up the stairs, with Max stumbling along with the bucket behind him.
When they reached the kitchen, they were greeted with a pile of dirty pans and bowls heaped in the sink. There were stacks of dishes on the counter, as well, but they at least looked if they had been rinsed.
“All right, you little toad,” said Snitch, “Now I’ll just make myself a cup o’ tea ‘n’ sugar, and some buttered toast n’ jelly for me breakfast, and watch to see if you know what cleanin’ up dirty pans and dishes is all about.”
So sitting with his big boots up on the kitchen table, Snitch did exactly that, all the while advising Max on how to scrape and scrub just about every pot and pan and bowl and dish he picked up. Max could have figured it all out by himself. He’d hung around Mrs. Pinkerpon in their penthouse kitchen enough times that he hardly needed instructions. But Snitch apparently saw no reason not to offer them anyway.
When Max, his hands raw and red, finally finished the last pan, he said,
“Am I going to get anything to eat?”
“Anything to eat, what? You talkin’ to me?” said Snitch.
“Am I going to get anything to eat, Mr. Snitch?” said Max.
“Same thing as me,” said Snitch. “I left you a piece of toast, and I guess you must o’ learned how to pour y’r own tea, and don’t need no lesson from me. But be quick ‘bout it. We got to start takin’ out the garbage and start in on the rooms.”
The piece of toast Max had was by then stone cold, without any benefit of the butter or jelly liberally applied to Snitch’s three pieces, and the tea was just as cold and, of course, with no sugar. And while Max stuffed down this sumptuous feast, Snitch stood at the door tapping his foot to let Max know he was using up valuable time.
“Now we start in the rooms, partikerlarly the bathrooms,” said Snitch, once he had supervised Max lugging three sacks of garbage out the back door and dumping them into the garbage bin. This, of course, was done with benefit of Snitch issuing instructions on exactly how garbage should be dumped.
Just as Max was dumping the last load, he saw a truck driving up, and
two men climb out. They were both wearing dark blue overalls and with some kind of badges on their chests.
“Watchdogs arrivin’, I see,” said Snitch. “That’s Digger ‘n’ Dork, lest you ain’t been told yet. You better steer clear o’ them if you know what’s good for you.”
This coming from Snitch almost made Max laugh. In his opinion, it was Snitch himself he’d like to steer clear of.
Then, as they were leaving the kitchen, Mrs. Fiddle and Mitzi arrived.
“Got it all cleaned up like usual, Mrs. Fiddle,” said Snitch.
“Thank you, Snitch,” replied Mrs. Fiddle. “Did Max help you out?”
“Oh, yes, he did a little,” said Snitch. “He got a lot to learn ‘bout cleanin’ though. But not to worry. I’ll be teachin’ him.”
Mitzi just grinned as she brushed by Max. “Told you so,” she said. “Have fun Ballybooboo boy!”
Max at that moment wasn’t sure which one he hated most, Snitch or snotty Mitzi Fiddle. Well, they might just as well know, he was not going to stick around Measley Manor long enough to find out.
Chapter X
In which Max is introduced by Mr. Snitch into the fine art of bathroom cleaning, which includes sinks and tubs and “terlits,” and meets an actual old person.
“N ow, this here’s Mrs. Dumpty’s room,” Snitch said. “I’m guessin’ Moose told you ‘bout their crazy names. But don’t you go talkin’ ‘bout them gold medals an’ fancy jackets. It’s none o’ their business, and they’re not interested anyhow. So you just keep your trap shut. You got that?”
“Yes,” said Max.
“Yes, what, you dumbbell?” said Snitch.
“Yes, Mr. Snitch,” said Max.
“An’ don’t you forget it,” said Snitch, and knocked on Mrs. Dumpty’s door.
“Who is it?” a sweet voice called out.
“It’s y’r cleanin’ crew, Mrs. Dumpty,” said Snitch in a voice quite different from the one he used on Max.
“Come right on in,” sang out Mrs. Dumpty.
Snitch entered, with Max and his bucket trailing behind.
Seated on a big armchair in the corner he saw a little lady dressed in a pink shirt, slacks and stocking feet.
“Where’s Delilah,” asked Mrs. Dumpty.
“Oh, she’s off havin’ to see some relations,” said Snitch. “I’m in charge whilst she’s gone,” he added, his chest visibly swelling.
“And who is this young man with you?” asked Mrs. Dumpty.
“He’s to be my helper,” said Snitch. “Don’t know a thing ‘bout cleanin’,
but I’ll be learnin’ him what’s what. Never you fear.”
“Does he have a name? asked Mrs. Dumpty.
“It’s Max,” said Snitch, which was the first time he had called him anything but a little turd and other such names. Max had been beginning to think Snitch didn’t even know his right name.
