Shoebag Returns Read Online Free PDF Page A

reason to go forth?
    Shoebag could have been a smudge on the sole of a Doc Marten, if Stanley Sweetsong had not taken pity on him.
    Now Stanley Sweetsong was off in his room, grounded by Miss Rattray, with only the Doll Smasher for company.
    “Gregor Samsa!” Miss Rattray’s girls were shrieking so loudly the yellow cat fled, tail between its legs.
    Shoebag felt that old tingle under his shell as he remembered the formula for change, which Gregor had told him to say.
    The timing was perfect, too, for Drainboard, Under The Toaster, and Shoebag’s two brothers, Radio and Garbage Pail, had moved into the computer down by the kitchen.
    Shoebag doubted that Cook had ever invited them to live there, though Under The Toaster swore she had.
    Shoebag did not want to live inside a Macintosh, no matter how dark and safe it was, for Shoebag thrived on action and the sounds of people.
    He would have to wait for Wednesday night, when the formula worked best.
    Meanwhile, he would try to remember all the things he would need to know when he went forth changed to a tiny person.
    He would need to know how to walk upright again and how to go down slides. How to swing and how to play computer games. How to lick an ice-cream cone and how to avoid bullies. How to eat those wiggling white worms called spaghetti.
    Possibly, he would need a television schedule, too.

Ten
    T HE BLACK MASK THEATER was darkened for this Sunday matinee.
    The Cast of Characters did not usually perform on Sunday, but Stanley and Josephine were not allowed to watch TV in the Recreation Room.
    “All because of a butter ball!” Josephine grumbled.
    “It was not the butter ball that made Miss Rattray angry,” Stanley said. “It was making fun of the Better Club. You never should have said, ‘We’re Butter.’”
    “Do you want to see If You’re Not In, You’re Out, or don’t you?” Josephine asked him. “It’s your opportunity to get in for nothing.”
    “It’s gloomy in here,” said Stanley. “I would rather let some light in. It’s such a nice day out!”
    “But we’re in!”
    “We’re in, all right. We’re in trouble, too.”
    “Miss Rattray will get over it. She always forgives, particularly on Sundays. Hand me Monroe, the Kewpie doll. The curtain is about to go up.”
    “Do you know what they call you, Josephine? They call you the Doll Smasher.”
    “Because they are jealous.”
    “What I heard is that you are jealous. Jealous of the Betters.”
    “I don’t smash the Betters’ heads in my play. I smash the heads of the dolls who aren’t good enough to get in the club.”
    “So I heard,” said Stanley. “And none of them are good enough!”
    “Then how could I be jealous?”
    “I’m jealous,” Stanley admitted. “I am not used to being told I cannot be in a club.”
    “Get used to it!” Josephine said. “Curtain going up.”
    But Stanley had heard all about her play, and now he was not eager to see it. He did not think he would enjoy a play in which dolls were whacked against the wall. He did not like the darkened room, and the black masks across the dolls’ eyes.
    “Why do they have to wear those masks?” he asked.
    “Because it is the Black Mask Theater. You have to be dramatic if you’re in theater. You have to be mysterious. Theater is supposed to be magical.”
    Stanley said, “If you smash the dolls against the wall because they can’t get into the secret club, isn’t it like smashing your own head against the wall because you can’t be a Better?”
    “Now you talk like the shrink who visits this school on Fridays.”
    “Does he visit you?”
    “I visit him. ‘Josephine,’ he says, ‘why are you so angry?’”
    “What do you say?”
    “I say I’m an Army brat, and we’re all angry because our fathers go to wars!”
    “But your play isn’t about fathers going to wars.”
    “I say I’m hungry all the time, and hungry people are all angry!”
    “But your play isn’t about hunger.”
    “I say who