Free Chocolate Fever by Robert Kimmel Smith Page B

Kimmelfarber.
    “Because I have clear and delicate skin, like my mother.”
    “Is that so?” Mrs. Kimmelfarber said. “And who told you that, pray tell?”
    “My father.”
    “Ah,” said Mrs. Kimmelfarber, “exactly. Now you are sure you didn’t observe this phenomenon before this morning?”
    “If that means did I see them,” said Henry, “no, I didn’t.”
    “Well, then,” she said, “you, Henry Green, stand right where you are. And class,” she said, turning to face the room, “you will continue to look at your books until I return. In perfect silence,” she added as she went out into the hall.
    Henry stood, as told, while the class looked at him. Mrs. Kimmelfarber walked the few steps down the hall to Mr. Pangalos’ room. She looked through the doorway and waited until Mr. Pangalos glanced in her direction. Catching his eye, she waved him out into the hallway.
    “Listen, Phil,” she began earnestly, “I want you to take a look at a kid—”
    “For heaven’s sake, Dolores,” said Mr. Pangalos, “I’m right in the middle of Americus Vespucci!”
    “Who has little brown spots all over his arms.”
    “Little brown spots? You got me out here for little brown spots?”
    “I thought, maybe, measles?”
    “Oh, no,” said Mr. Pangalos.
    “Chicken pox?”
    “Hmm,” said Mr. Pangalos. “I’d better take a look.”
    The two of them turned Henry to the light near the window, right in the corner where the potted plants were growing on the window ledge. Mr. Pangalos poked and prodded and even took his eyeglasses out of his pocket and put them on. “Freckles,” he said finally. “Just freckles.”
    “Are you sure?”
    Mr. Pangalos’ round nose twitched, and he sniffed the air. “Chocolate?” he said. “Have they brought the chocolate milk upstairs already?”
    “Forget the milk,” she cried. “Look! Now he has them on his face !”
    “Oh, no!” said Henry.
    “Oh, yes!” said Mrs. Kimmelfarber.
    “Oh, my,” said Mr. Pangalos. “And they weren’t there before?”
    “No. Two minutes ago that boy’s face was as clear as day. And now. . . .”
    Henry felt as if his heart were about to drop into his shoes. He swallowed hard and stared at the two teachers, who were staring at his face.
    “Little brown spots all over,” said Mrs. Kimmelfarber. “And I see more of them coming out even as we speak.”
    A tear, just one, welled up in Henry’s right eye and began to trickle down his cheek, running slowly in and out of the little brown spots.

Chapter 4
    Pop!
    DIRT BREEDS GERMS, Nurse Molly Farthing would often say, and germs have a nasty way of making healthy people ill. Naturally, the infirmary of P.S. 123 was always spotless because Nurse Molly Farthing wouldn’t have it any other way. And naturally, as Mrs. Kimmelfarber and Henry rushed through the door that morning, she made both of them go back and wipe their feet on the mat. “And don’t bring any of your cocoa in here,” Nurse Farthing added. She sniffed the air loudly.
    “Cocoa?” said Mrs. Kimmelfarber.
    “Don’t think I don’t smell it,” Nurse Farthing said.
    “Please, Nurse Farthing,” said Mrs. Kimmelfarber, “we have an emergency on our hands. This is Henry Green. He’s breaking out in a rash of some sort.”
    “So I see,” said Nurse Farthing. She sat Henry down in a chair and turned on a bright light. Pushing her spectacles down to the tip of her nose, she bent close to Henry and looked him over. “It’s a rash all right,” she said at last. “Peculiar. Looks like little brown spots all over.”
    “Exactly,” Mrs. Kimmelfarber said. “But what is it?”
    “Have you ever had measles?” Nurse Farthing asked.
    “Yes,” said Henry, “when I was five.”
    “Chicken pox?”
    “When I was three and a half.”
    “Then I would say you have an unidentified rash. And frankly, I don’t like the look of it.”
    Henry, who up until now was merely frightened, began to feel terrified. Nurse Farthing laid