Mysteries According to Humphrey Read online

  “Sorry I don’t have time to read it to you,” he told us. “Too bad you can’t read it yourself.”

  Aldo probably knows me better than any of my human friends, but even he doesn’t know that I can read. It’s not easy for a small hamster to read a BIG-BIG-BIG book. That’s why I like it when Mrs. Brisbane reads to us. I decided I could wait until the next day to hear her read more of “The Red-Headed League.” But it was nice to know that Aldo liked Sherlock Holmes as much as I do.

  After Aldo left, the room was silent. Og didn’t splash. He didn’t even say “BOING!”

  What was he thinking about? We’re good friends, but Og will always be a mystery to me.

  Humans are also very mysterious to me. I’ve learned a lot about them, but there are still so many things I don’t understand. I took out the little notebook I keep hidden behind my mirror and started scribbling in it with my tiny pencil.

  Mysteries about humans:

  •Why do they keep odd and unpleasant pets like dogs and cats when they could have a very nice hamster . . . like me?

  •Why do they throw bits of leftover food away when they could store it like I do—in my bedding or in my cheek pouch?

  •Where are humans’ cheek pouches?

  •Why do humans laugh when they talk about poo? Especially my poo?

  Mysteries about frogs:

  •Why don’t frogs have fur? Or even hair?

  •Why can’t frogs act just a little bit more like hamsters?

  I wasn’t sure those mysteries would ever be solved.

  HUMPHREY’S DETECTIONARY: Even smart detectives like Sherlock Holmes can’t solve a mystery without a clue.

  2

  The Case of the Missing Mrs.

  I’m always excited for the start of a new day in Room 26. But the next morning, I could hardly wait to hear Mrs. Brisbane read more about Sherlock Holmes.

  I waited for the key to turn in the door and for Mrs. Brisbane to bustle into the classroom.

  I waited for the bell to ring and for my friends to arrive.

  I waited and waited and waited some more. In fact, I waited so long, the bell rang, but nobody came in.

  I knew it wasn’t Saturday. I never spend Saturdays at school because I go home with one of my classmates on the weekends. Sometimes I go home with Mrs. Brisbane. Either way, I have a hamster-iffic good time. (Og usually stays in Room 26 on the weekends, which must be lonely for him, poor frog.)

  “Og, something’s wrong!” I squeaked loudly to my neighbor.

  “BOING-BOING-BOING-BOING-BOING!” he replied. He sounded as worried as I was.

  I could see some of my friends’ faces looking through the window in the door.

  “Humphrey, let us in,” I heard Simon’s muffled voice calling.

  It was the only time in my life I wished I wasn’t a hamster so I could be big enough to open that door.

  Long after the bell rang, I finally heard some jiggling and joggling and the door swung open at last!

  But Mrs. Brisbane wasn’t the human opening the door. It was our principal, Mr. Morales. Behind him were my fellow students.

  “Come on in, boys and girls,” he said.

  Mr. Morales is the Most Important Person at Longfellow School because he’s in charge of everything. He was wearing a tie with tiny little question marks all over it. He has lots of interesting ties.

  “Take your seats,” he said.

  My fellow students were worried, too. I could tell, because they were quieter than usual. (I guess that was a clue.)

  “It looks as if Mrs. Brisbane is going to be late,” he said. “We’re trying to reach her now.”

  Mrs. Brisbane is NEVER-NEVER-NEVER late. This was a very piewhacking morning.

  “I’ll take attendance,” Mr. Morales said.

  Holly jumped up and offered to help.

  “Thank you,” he said to her. “But I think I can handle it.”

  Then he called out names and each student answered “Present” in return.

  Everyone was present except Mrs. Brisbane.

  Mr. Morales looked uneasy. “So, what do you usually do first in the morning?”

  Helpful-Holly raised her hand. “We had homework last night,” she said. “I can collect it.”

  “Thank you,” Mr. Morales said.

  Holly went up and down the aisles collecting the homework. How I wished I could get a look at those five mystery words!

  Everybody turned in a homework sheet except for one person: Forgetful-Phoebe. When Holly passed by her table, Phoebe blushed and said, “Oh, no! I forgot it! I’ll bring it tomorrow.”

  As helpful as Holly is, she sometimes gets carried away. That’s when I call her Too-Helpful-Holly. She frowned and said, “You were supposed to bring it today.”

  Mr. Morales stepped forward. “It’s okay, Holly. We’ll straighten things out when Mrs. Brisbane gets here,” he said.

  Whew! I was GLAD-GLAD-GLAD to hear him say that Mrs. Brisbane was coming.

  Just then, the phone in the classroom rang. Mr. Morales said, “Oh,” and then, “I see,” and finally, “Very well,” while my classmates were completely quiet.

  Mr. Morales hung up the phone. “Boys and girls, Mrs. Brisbane won’t be here today,” he said. “A substitute is on the way to take care of the class.”

  The last time I’d had a substitute teacher was when Ms. Mac was here. But I didn’t know she was a substitute, because I didn’t know much about school when I first arrived. I’ve certainly learned a lot since then!

  Mr. Morales seemed a little confused about what to do next and he kept looking at his watch.

  “Read to us—from ‘The Red-Headed League’!” I squeaked loudly.

  My classmates all giggled when they heard me.

  Mr. Morales walked over to my cage. “Oh, so you want to take over the class, Humphrey?” he said.

  I jumped on my wheel and spun it fast.

  “Maybe Humphrey thinks we should do some exercise,” Mr. Morales said.

  That made my classmates giggle even more.

  Rosie made her wheelchair spin in a circle. “I love to spin, too,” she said, and everybody laughed.

  Just then, the door to the classroom opened and a young man rushed into the room.

  The first thing I noticed about him was his red hair. (I think Sherlock Holmes would have noticed that, too.)

  I also saw that he was wearing round glasses, and on his shirt was a big button with writing on it that said Give Peas a Chance.

  I love any veggies, including peas, so this human and I definitely had something in common.

  He had a big cloth bag slung over his shoulder, sort of like Santa Claus. It was lumpy and bumpy and way too big for a lunch bag!

  Mr. Morales stepped forward and shook his hand. “Welcome. I’m the principal,” he said. “Mr. Morales.”

  “Hi,” the young man said. “Ed Edonopolous.”

  The principal turned to the class and said, “Here’s your substitute for today. I expect you to give him your full attention.”

  Mr. Morales left and Mr. Edonopolous gave us a friendly smile. “Hi, kids,” he said. “I know Edonopolous is a mouthful, so you can call me Mr. E.”

  There were a few giggles and Slow-Down-Simon repeated the name out loud the way I’d heard it: “Mystery!”

  Mr. E. smiled and nodded. “Mystery! That’s a good one. Hey, you know my name, but I don’t know yours. I’m going to come up and down the aisles and you tell me who you are.”

  He walked around the students’ tables, one by one, asking, “What’s your name?”

  He high-fived each student and said something like, “Cool shirt,” or, “Glad to know you,” or, “Awesome.”

  “My nam
e is Holly and I collected the homework this morning,” Too-Helpful-Holly said when Mr. E. got to her. “It was our mystery words sheet. I put it on the teacher’s desk. Only one didn’t get turned in.”

  “Uh, thanks,” Mr. E. said.

  “I’m Sophie and I really like your pin. I like to wear pins with sayings, too,” Stop-Talking-Sophie said. “Do you remember where you got it?”

  Mr. E. didn’t remember where he got it. Sophie kept on talking until he said, “I think I’d better give the rest of the class a chance.”

  He moved on to the next table.

  “I’m Thomas T. True,” Thomas said. “My dad’s a detective. Like Sherlock Holmes!”

  “Not,” I heard Just-Joey mutter.

  Mr. E. turned toward the class. “What’s the problem?” he asked.

  “He told me that his dad’s an airplane pilot,” Just-Joey said.

  “So?” Thomas said. “He can be both.”

  “He told me that his dad’s a ship captain,” Small-Paul grumbled.

  Mr. E. just laughed. “Sounds like a talented father.” Then he moved on again.

  When he got to my side of the room, he finally noticed Og and me.

  “Whoa,” he said. “These are some funny-looking students.”

  I heard some giggles, but I wasn’t laughing. I can see how you might call Og funny-looking, but not a handsome Golden Hamster like me!

  Mr. E. leaned in and looked right at me. “What’s its name?”

  “Humphrey!” I squeaked loudly. “And I am not an it!”

  “Whoa,” he said again. “I think he’s talking. What is he—a rat?”

  It was clear that this teacher didn’t do his homework when it came to animals. Imagine, mistaking me for a rat!

  Luckily, my friends all shouted out, “Hamster!”

  “His name is Humphrey,” Holly added.

  Mr. E. said, “Cool.” Then he turned to Og. “I know this is a frog—right? What’s its name?” he asked.

  “BOING-BOING-BOING!” Og twanged loudly. He probably doesn’t like being called an “it” either.

  “His name is Og,” Rolling-Rosie explained.

  “Og the Frog,” Mr. E. said. “I like it.”

  He was quiet for a few seconds as he looked around the room. “You know, I was still sleeping when I got the call to come over here, so I don’t know what your teacher’s plans were today,” he said. “Why don’t you tell me what you want to do?”

  My friends looked surprised. I’m sure I looked surprised, too.

  Hurry-Up-Harry waved his hand and Mr. E. called on him.

  “I’d like to go home!” he said.

  Everybody laughed. It was a funny thing to say. But I don’t think Mrs. Brisbane would have laughed.

  “I understand,” Mr. E. said. “But I don’t think that’s going to happen. Hey, I know . . . why don’t we sing a song to help me remember your names?”

  Everybody seemed to like the idea of a song.

  I was amazed at what happened next. Mr. E. pointed at a student. The student stood up and said his name and then the teacher made a little rhyming song with the name. He took parts of each name and added things to it, like “banana fana” and “fee fi fo.” After a few names, the whole class joined in.

  The song made my friends giggle, but it was very confusing to me. After he’d finished the whole class, Rosie raised her hand and asked if they could do my name.

  I can’t remember it all but it ended with:

  Fee fi mo Mumphrey,

  Humphrey!

  Bumphrey-Mumphrey-Fumphrey—whoa! How was this going to help him remember our real names?

  Og’s name sounded even stranger: Bog, Fog, Mog.

  I don’t know what Og thought, but I was in a bit of a fog myself! I was still thinking about Mumphrey and Mog when the bell rang for recess.

  As soon as my classmates were gone, Mr. E. picked up his big sack and looked inside. “Let’s see,” he mumbled. “What next? Maybe this.”

  Then he glanced over at Og and me and chuckled. “I don’t know why I’m talking out loud when I know you can’t understand me.”

  Og piped up first. “BOING-BOING.”

  “You are WRONG-WRONG-WRONG!” I squeaked, wishing with all my might that Mr. E. could understand me.

  He didn’t notice. He was too busy rummaging around in that big cloth sack.

  Suddenly, he stopped and smiled. “Okay. I’ve got it!”

  That’s all he said.

  I thought I’d pretty well figured out humans in my time as a classroom hamster so far. But Mr. E. was a real mystery to me.

  When my friends were back in their seats, Mr. E. announced that it was time for math.

  Some of the students groaned, until the teacher reached into his bag and pulled out a basketball.

  “We’re going to play a game,” he said. “It’s called Mathketball!”

  My friends looked puzzled. I didn’t blame them.

  “Of course, we could just have a math quiz,” Mr. E. said. “If you’d like.”

  “No!” the students all yelled. “Mathketball!”

  Mumphrey. Mog. Mathketball—all mystery words. I was learning a whole new language today.

  First, Mr. E. threw the ball to Slow-Down-Simon. “Quick! Four plus four.”

  Simon caught the ball and said, “Eight!”

  “Great,” Mr. E. said. “But in Mathketball, instead of saying the answer, you bounce it.”

  Simon looked confused for a second and then he understood. He bounced the basketball one-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight times.

  “That’s it,” Mr. E. told him. “Now throw it back.”

  The teacher caught the ball and threw it to Be-Careful-Kelsey. “Ten minus five,” he said.

  Kelsey bounced the ball one-two-three-four-five times.

  “Great,” Mr. E. said. “Now throw it back.”

  Kelsey dropped the ball and it bounced across the floor.

  “Careful,” Mr. E. said as he scooped it up.

  Just-Joey caught the ball next and when Mr. E. said, “Twelve plus three,” Joey bounced it one-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight-nine-ten-eleven-twelve-thirteen-fourteen-fifteen times. I know because I counted!

  Then the ball went to Paul G. “Six plus five,” Mr. E. said.

  Tall-Paul bounced it one-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight-nine-ten times. Then he stopped.

  “One more time!” I squeaked. I guess he didn’t hear me.

  Mr. E. gave him another chance, which was nice, and Tall-Paul got the problem right.

  As the game went on, the pace went faster and faster. As it got more exciting, it also got louder and louder.

  And then . . . the door to Room 26 swung open. Standing in the doorway was Mrs. Wright.

  Mr. E. looked pretty surprised when he saw her. Maybe he noticed her whistle. I certainly did.

  “Hello?” he said. It was more a question than a greeting.

  “You’re the substitute for Mrs. Brisbane?” she asked.

  “Yep. I’m Mr. E.,” the substitute said.

  Mrs. Wright looked puzzled. “Mr. E.?” she asked. “That’s your name?”

  Mr. E. laughed. “My name is Edonopolous, but Mr. E. is fine with me.”

  Mrs. Wright frowned. I guess Mr. E. wasn’t fine with her.

  “And you are . . . ?” Mr. E. asked.

  “Mrs. Wright,” the PE teacher answered.

  To my GREAT-GREAT-GREAT surprise, Mr. E. laughed. “Mrs. Wright? I guess you’re never wrong!”

  Some of my classmates giggled, but Mrs. Wright wasn’t the giggling type. She stepped into the classroom and looked around.

  “Is that basketball the property of Lon
gfellow School?” she asked.

  The substitute shook his head. “Nope. I brought it from home.”

  That didn’t seem to please Mrs. Wright at all. “You’re probably not aware that basketballs are only allowed outside on the playground. No ball-playing in the classroom,” she said. “And only official Longfellow School equipment is allowed.”

  “Really?” Mr. E. seemed surprised.

  “Really,” Mrs. Wright said. “I’m the chairperson of the Committee for School Property. There are safety issues with having a ball in the classroom. And by the way, the noise level in this classroom is unacceptable. I could hear you all the way down the hall.”

  “We were doing math,” Mr. E. said. “Right, class?”

  My friends all nodded.

  Mrs. Wright fingered the whistle and I braced myself for an unsqueakably loud noise. Luckily, none came.

  “That’s funny,” she said. “I thought you were playing basketball.”

  Mr. E. smiled and looked at my classmates. “What were we playing?”

  “Mathketball!” my friends all answered.

  Mrs. Wright frowned even more, if that’s possible. “Perhaps you can do math more quietly in the future,” she said. “Of course, I’m sure Mrs. Brisbane will be back tomorrow.”

  I crossed my paws and hoped that she was right.

  Oh, how I hoped that she was right.

  Because school with Mr. E. was making me VERY-VERY-VERY piewhacked!

  (That means “confused.”)

  HUMPHREY’S DETECTIONARY: It’s not easy to solve the mystery of a missing person. Especially if you miss that missing person a lot!

  3

  The Case of the Mystifying Mr. E.

  After Mrs. Wright left, Mr. E. said, “We’ve had enough Mathketball for today. But if I’m here again tomorrow, we’re going to have a Word War!”

  My friends seemed excited about that, but I was worried. Wasn’t Mrs. Brisbane coming back tomorrow? Where was she? What was wrong?

  I had no clue.

  I was ready for a nap, but right away, Mr. E. started another game called “Who’s Missing?”

  First, he picked Daniel to sit with his back to the classroom. Then, all the other students had to run around and switch places at their tables, except for one. He silently led Forgetful-Phoebe to the cloakroom to hide.