Sugar Creek Gang Set Books 7-12 by Paul Hutchens

Author:Paul Hutchens [Hutchens, Paul]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-8024-8194-8
Publisher: Moody Publishers
Published: 1997-08-25T04:00:00+00:00

“The very first day …”

“Can’t you hurry?” Mom said behind me. “We’re expecting the call right this minute!”

“I’ve got to hurry,” I interrupted Poetry. “We’re expecting a long-distance call. My cousin Wally has got a new baby sister and—”

“Oh, all right then,” Poetry said, “if you don’t think my poem is important—”

“But it is,” I said. “It’s—why, it’s even funny. But I have something even more important to quick tell you. It’s about a letter which somebody just shoved into our—into our—” I suddenly sneezed because of the smell of the sulfur that was in the room after Mom had lit a match. I always sneezed when somebody lit a match near me.

“I hope you don’t have a cold,” Poetry said, “because you’re supposed to come over to my house and sleep tonight. That’s why I called you up. Mother says for you to stay at our house while your mother is away at your cousin Wally’s house.”

Well, that sounded good. So in spite of the fact that I wanted to tell Poetry about the letter in my pocket and also Poetry wanted to finish his poem about our new teacher, Mr. Black, and also mainly because Mom wanted me to stop talking, I turned and asked her, “Can I stay at Poetry’s house tonight?”

“Certainly,” she said. “I’ve already planned that for you. Now, will you hang up?”

“I’ve got to hang up,” I said to Poetry, “but I’ll be over just as soon as I can. Mom says I can.”

“Bring the letter with you,” he said, “and bring your father’s big long flashlight. There’s something very important we have to do tonight.”

Boy, oh, boy, when Poetry said to bring Dad’s flashlight and that there was something very important we had to do, my imagination started to fly in every direction. Poetry and I had had some of the most exciting experiences at night when I had my dad’s long flashlight with me. Once we’d caught a bank robber who was digging for treasure down by the old sycamore tree not far from Poetry’s house.

“Sure I’ll bring the flashlight,” I said, “and the letter too. It’s the craziest letter I ever read. It says I’m a roughneck and that all the Sugar Creek Gang are roughnecks and—”

“Hey—” Poetry cut in, saying real saucily to somebody, “Hang up! This line is busy!”

Maybe I’d better explain to you that we had what is called a “party line,” and about a half dozen families all used it but had different rings. Anybody who wanted to could listen to anybody he wanted to, just by lifting up his own telephone receiver. But that is called eavesdropping and is considered very impolite and a breach of etiquette and everything.

I knew what Poetry meant, for I’d heard the sound myself. Somebody somewhere had lifted a telephone receiver and was listening to us.

And then Mom came across the room to where I was and said very politely into our telephone, “Hello, Poetry. We’ll bring Bill over in the car after a while.

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