Googol Boy and the peculiar incident of the Great Quiz Trophy by John Michael (good short books .TXT) 📗

saved me! Oi’m free... Oi’m free as a chickadee. Tank yah me good sir!”

“Don’t mention it,” responded Ezekiel as he picked himself off the ground and brushed the dust off his clothes.

“Oi will mention it, in fact Oi’m mentioning it roight now. Oi must give yah sometin’ in return to express me gratitude.”

“Well to be honest, I have everything that I need. I’ve got my brabbensack restaurants, I’ve got a large healthy family, I’ve even got a canary that sings to me the whole day long.”

“Ah, dat’s grand... yah lead a charmed life... there’s a lot ter be said aboyt de bond between a man and his canary, but surely there must be sometin’ dat yah need. Tink man! Tink!”

Ezekiel pulled on his ear and thought long and hard. “No... I can’t really think of anything... I’m as right as rain.”

That’s when the little man’s face became flustered and he became quite animated. “Seamus O’Penny always repays his debts and one good turn deserves another, Oi must reward yah. There’s more than one way ter peel a potato! Ter be sure, there must be some pot of gold at the end of de rainbow that’ll tickle yah fancy!”

“Okay, okay Seamus... calm down.” He was starting to admire the little fellow’s persistence.

“Wait... what did you just say?”

“Oi said Potato.”

“No, the other thing.”

“Pot of gold?”

“Yes, that’s it!”

“Pot of gold?” scoffed Seamus. “Now don’t be gettin’ all greedy on me... yah just pulled me out of a rabbit ’ole, nuttin’ more!”

“No, no... I’m starting this thing called the Great Quiz and you saying ‘pot of gold’ reminded me that I’ll be needing a trophy.”

“Oh, it’ll be a trophy yah’ll be needing will it?”

“Yes a trophy... not that it needs to be made of gold or anything,” laughed Ezekiel.

“By St Patrick, Oi don’t like yah chances of dat!”

“I guess you were right little fella... there was something that I needed after all.”

“Well, it seems that today will be yah lucky day it will be!” proclaimed Seamus as his eyes lit up. He then bent down, reached into his golden sack and pulled out a large trophy that was almost as big as he was.

And what a trophy it was! It had an elongated urn shape with a scrolled loop handle on each side and was set on a heavy octagon base adorned with harps and ukuleles. The body was exquisitely decorated with a shamrock pattern set against a matted backdrop and the top was finished off with vertical and spiralled gadrooning.

Ezekiel stood there dumbstruck. “Well, tickle my boots! Where did you...? How did you...?”

“Oi’m a silver smith,” responded Seamus, “well Oi used ter be a cobbler but, if de truth ter be told, there’s naw money in cobblin’ dees days.”

“That is one splendid trophy Seamus... you did a wonderful job!” declared Ezekiel.

“Ah ter be sure, Oi don’t want ter toot me own horn but yah are roight, it is a bonny piece of silverware. Now, yah take grand care of dis trophy... it brings de luck of the Oirish to those who hold it,” proclaimed Seamus and then, with a wink and spring in his step, he was gone just like that.

“And that’s the fable of the Great Quiz Trophy!” declared the principal.

“Well... that has to be one of the most captivating fables that I ever did hear,” replied the short policeman.

“Yes,” added the tall policeman. “I can see now why someone would want to filch it!”

“Yes, those filchers are always going to filch,” added Mr Ditherington.

“There’s no doubt about that,” agreed the policeman. “Now, if you will sir... you will need to read and sign the police report.”

“Of course,” replied the principal. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure, not that this is a pleasurable scenario. No, not at all. What I mean is I am happy to oblige but wish for us to have met under more fortunate circumstances. I think that it was Aristotle who once said, or was it Plato? Nevertheless, it was once said that he who commits a crime is more wretched than the one who suffers it. Did I say that we are living in unfortunate circumstances? Most certainly, I think I did... On n'y peut rien. Please follow me into my chamber, where we shall see to the nuances of this most regrettable dilemma... so without further ado, please sergeant do come in.”

“Oh sir... no... no... I’m not a sergeant, not as yet. Still waiting to earn my extra stripe. I’m a senior constable.”

“And I’m a probationary constable,” added the short policeman.

“Ah yes... very good. Most certainly... that is the very embodiment of persistence and diligence in making your mark on the world through lecture and advice and being able to advance through the tedious drudgery of... ”

Suddenly, some rustling in the bushes distracted the principal, and the groundskeeper appeared from behind the hedge with a rake in one hand. He had caught sight of Barney and me and he looked angrier than a bulldog chewing on a mouthful of wasps. We tried to camouflage ourselves against the half-dead shrubbery which was behind us but it was no use − Red had seen us with his beady little eyes and he wasn’t amused. Bummer!

"Well, what has we here?” he hollered. “Ain’t this a fine dandy snickerdoodle! Seems like things are gettin’ more an’ more cattywampus!”

“What are you two young rapscallions doing here?” interjected the principal.

“Sorry Mr Ditherington, we must have missed the bell,” I stated.

“I founds them hiding in the sticks, they needs some thwacking if yer ask me,” yelled the groundskeeper as he scratched his forehead, causing some flakes of skin to drift down onto his overalls.

“Yes... thank you for your help Red.”

“I’lls be happy to be doin’ the thwacking,” he said gleefully as he outstretched his rake.

“No... it’ll be fine thank you. No thwacking today, I’ll take it from here.”

The groundskeeper looked disappointed and, seeing that his thwacking proposal had been rejected, left in a huff, hunched over and muttering to