Chocolate Fever Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1 - Meet Henry Green

  Chapter 2 - A Strange Feeling

  Chapter 3 - Mrs. Kimmelfarber’s Problem

  Chapter 4 - Pop!

  Chapter 5 - Calling Dr. Fargo

  Chapter 6 - Catch That Boy!

  Chapter 7 - In the Schoolyard

  Chapter 8 - Mac

  Chapter 9 - Hijacked

  Chapter 10 - Taking a Licking

  Chapter 11 - At “Sugar” Cane’s

  Chapter 12 - The Lesson Learned

  Chocolate for breakfast, and chocolate for lunch, and chocolate for dinner, too!

  The truth was that Henry was in love with chocolate. And chocolate seemed to love him.

  It didn’t hurt his teeth. (He’d never had a cavity in his life.)

  It didn’t stunt his growth. (He was just about average height, perhaps even a little tall for his age.)

  It didn’t harm his skin, which had always been clear and fair.

  But most of all, it never, never gave him a bellyache.

  And so his parents, perhaps being not as wise as they were kind, let Henry have as much chocolate as he liked.

  If there was one thing you could say about Henry it was that he surely did love chocolate. “Probably more than any boy in the history of the world,” his mother said.

  “How does Henry like his chocolate?” Daddy Green would sometimes joke.

  “Why he likes it bitter, sweet, light, dark, and daily.”

  And it was true. Up until the day we’re talking about right now. . . .

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  PUFFIN BOOKS Published by the Penguin Group Penguin Young Readers Group, 345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, U.S.A. Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4P 2Y3 (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England Penguin Ireland, 25 St Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd) Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd) Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi - 110 017, India Penguin Group (NZ), Cnr Airborne and Rosedale Roads, Albany, Auckland 1310, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd) Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

  Registered Offices: Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  First published in the United States of America by Coward, McCann & Geoghegan, Inc., 1972

  Published by G. P. Putnam’s Sons, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 1989, 2005

  Published by Puffin Books, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 2006

  Copyright © Robert Kimmel Smith, 1972

  All rights reserved

  THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS HAS CATALOGED THE G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS EDITION AS FOLLOWS:

  Smith, Robert Kimmel, 1930—

  Chocolate fever / Robert Kimmel Smith.

  p. cm.

  Summary: From eating too much chocolate, Henry breaks out in brown bumps

  that help him foil some hijackers and teach him a valuable lesson about self-indulgence.

  eISBN : 978-1-101-07613-2

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume

  any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  For Heidi and Roger

  and all the other

  chocolate lovers in the world . . .

  especially Alex and Nate!

  Chapter 1

  Meet Henry Green

  THERE ARE SOME PEOPLE who say that Henry Green wasn’t really born, but was hatched, fully grown, from a chocolate bean.

  Can you believe that?

  Anyway, this particular Henry Green we are speaking of was really born—not hatched—and had a wonderful mom and dad in the bargain. His father was tall and lean and wore eyeglasses, except when he was sleeping or in the shower. Mama Green, whose name was Enid, was a short, slim woman with blue-gray eyes and a tiny mouth that always seemed to be on the verge of a smile.

  They all lived in an apartment in the middle of the city, along with Henry’s older brother and sister. Mark Green was ten and tall and very good to Henry. Except when they would argue, which was often, and then he would hit Henry on the head with anything that was handy, which sometimes was hard. But mostly Mark was fun to be with and only got angry when Henry called him Marco Polo. Mark didn’t like that, and who could blame him?

  Henry’s sister was very, very old. Almost fourteen. She didn’t ever argue with Henry or Mark. In fact, she hardly talked to them at all because she was so old and wise and almost grown up. Her name was Elizabeth.

  The other morning, which was a schoolday at the end of the week called Friday, Henry, Mark, and Elizabeth were at the table in the dining room having breakfast. Mark was eating fried eggs. Elizabeth was quietly chewing on her usual breakfast of buttery toast and milk. And Henry was midway through his usual breakfast, too. Chocolate cake, a bowl of cocoa-crispy cereal and milk (with chocolate syrup in the milk to make it more chocolatey), washed down by a big glass of chocolate milk and five or six chocolate cookies. Sometimes, when it was left over from the night before, Henry would have chocolate pudding, too. And on Sunday mornings he usually had chocolate ice cream.

  The truth was that Henry was in love with chocolate. And chocolate seemed to love him.

  It didn’t make him fat. (He was a little on the thin side, in fact.)

  It didn’t hurt his teeth. (He’d never had a cavity in his life.)

  It didn’t stunt his growth. (He was just about average height, perhaps even a little tall for his age.)

  It didn’t harm his skin, which had always been clear and fair.

  But most of all, it never, never gave him a bellyache.

  And so his parents, perhaps being not as wise as they were kind, let Henry have as much chocolate as he liked.

  Can you imagine a boy having a chocolate-bar sandwich as an after-school snack? Well, Henry did, just about every day. And when he ate mashed potatoes, just a few drops of chocolate syrup swished through seemed to make them taste a lot better. Chocolate sprinkles sprinkled on top of plain buttered noodles were tasty, too. Not to mention a light dusting of cocoa on things like canned peaches, pears, and applesauce.

  In the Greens’ kitchen pantry there was always a giant supply of chocolate cookies, chocolate cakes, chocolate pies, and chocolate candies of every kind. There was ice cream, too. Chocolate, of course, and chocolate nut, chocolate fudge, chocolate marshmallow, chocolate swirl, and especially chocolate almond crunch. And all of it was just for Henry.

  If there was one thing you could say about Henry it was that he surely did love chocolate. “Probably more than any boy in the history of the world,” his mother said.

  “How does Henry like his chocolate?” Daddy Green would sometimes joke.

  “Why, he likes it bitter, sweet, light, dark, and daily.”

  And it was true. Up until the day we’re talking about right now.

  Chapter 2

  A Strange Feeling

  “BETTER HURRY, KIDS,” Mama Green called from the kitchen, “it’s almost eight thirty.”

  “Let’s go, slowpoke,” Mark said to Henry, “we don’t want to be late.”

  “Just one more chocolate cookie,” said Henry. He popped it into his mouth and, still chewing, went to his room to get his books. On the way to the front door Henry went through the kitchen and gathered a handful of chocolate kisses to put into his pocket
. He liked to have them handy to munch on at school. But this morning, because he still felt somewhat hungry, Henry stripped the silver wrapping from two kisses and popped them into his mouth. Then, after a quick kiss for Mama Green—a kiss that left a little bit of chocolate on her face—Henry, Elizabeth, and Mark headed out the door on the way to school.

  At the corner, Henry and Mark waved good-bye to their sister, who had to take a bus to get to her high school. The boys’ school, P.S. 123, was just another block away. At the next corner Mrs. Macintosh, the crossing guard, waved them across the street. “The light is always green for the Greens,” she said. It was her own little joke. And she said it just about every morning. This morning only Mark, who was extremely polite, smiled. Henry just didn’t feel like smiling. In fact, he was beginning to feel a little strange.

  In the schoolyard the boys went separate ways to join their classes. As usual, there was a lot of pushing and shoving and fooling around. But Henry, who was always very good at things like knocking hats off boys’ heads and making goofy faces at the girls, was quiet. He didn’t even say “hi” when Michael Burke, his best friend, came along. “Well what’s the matter with you?” asked Michael, grinning.

  “What do you mean, ‘what’s the matter?’ ” Henry said. “Can’t I just stand here? Do I have to carry on and behave like a nut?”

  “OK, OK,” said Michael. “You don’t have to bite my head off. It’s just that you’re kind of different today. Not like you at all.”

  Just then the whistle blew, and all the children began marching into the school building. “I feel funny today,” Henry said to Michael. “I have the feeling something’s going to happen, and I don’t know what.”

  That exact feeling, that something was going to happen, stayed with Henry all morning. He felt strange in his homeroom, strange when he went to gym class, and in Mrs. Kimmelfarber’s math class, he felt strange all over.

  Henry couldn’t concentrate on what Mrs. Kimmelfarber was saying. He just sort of sat there and stared. Without thinking about it, he was looking at his arm and the back of his hand. And then he noticed something. There were little brown freckles all over his skin. Now this would not have been such a startling discovery except for one thing—those little brown freckles were not there when he woke up this morning!

  At the front of the room, Mrs. Kimmelfarber was going through the drill on fractions. She was saying, “And if I take six and a half and subtract one and a quarter, what will I have left?” She looked directly at Henry, who was looking directly at his arm. “Henry,” she asked, “what will I have left?”

  “Little brown spots all over,” said Henry.

  Chapter 3

  Mrs. Kimmelfarber’s Problem

  THERE WAS SILENCE in the room for about two seconds. Then there was a riot. All the girls began to giggle. The boys chortled and chuckled and laughed right out loud. Henry turned red, and Mrs. Kimmelfarber, who did not appreciate the humor of it all, turned white.

  She rapped her ruler against the desk and shouted for silence. “Henry Green,” she said, “what is the meaning—”

  “Little brown spots all over,” said Henry. “I was looking at my arm and I have these—”

  “Little brown spots all over,” interrupted Mrs. Kimmelfarber. “I heard you quite clearly.”

  “But you see, Mrs. Kimmelfarber, I didn’t have them all my life. I didn’t even have them this morning. But now—”

  “I know.” Mrs. Kimmelfarber sighed. “Now you have them all over. I’d better have a look at them.” Taking Henry’s arm, she led him to the window. “Hmmmm,” she said as she peered at his arm, “looks like freckles to me.”

  “No, ma’am,” said Henry. “It just can’t be.”

  “Why not?” said Mrs. 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 her cool hand on his arm and steadied him.
“There, there, dear,” she said. “Nothing to be frightened of. I’m sure it’s not serious. How do you feel?”

  “Not very good,” said Henry.

  “Warm?”

  “No.”

  “Cold?”

  “No.”

  “Dizzy?”

  “No,” said Henry. “I just feel . . . strange.”

  “You poor dear,” said Nurse Molly Farthing, “you really must be frightened.” She ran her fingers through his hair and patted the back of Henry’s neck. Somehow this made him feel a little better.

  Pop!

  “Did you say something?” asked Nurse Farthing.

  “No, ma’am,” said Henry.

  Pop!

  “What is that noise, then?” she asked. “It sounds like something going pop.”

  “I heard it, too,” said Henry.

  “So did I,” said Mrs. Kimmelfarber.

  Pop! Pop! Pop! Now they all heard it. The sound of popping filled the infirmary. Little pops and bigger pops and poppity-pop-pops kept popping. Henry looked at his arm and in an instant knew where the noise was coming from. His little brown spots were growing bigger and bigger. They were popping out all over him. No longer the size of freckles, they were as big as the chocolate bits his mother used for making cakes and cookies. He could feel them popping out on his arms and face, could feel them growing under his shirt. In less time than it takes to tell it, Henry Green was covered with little brown lumps from the top of his head to the tip of his toes.

  Chapter 5

  Calling Dr. Fargo

  IN LATER YEARS, Henry couldn’t remember who screamed first. All he could recall was that both he and Mrs. Kimmelfarber were yelling their heads off. And that Nurse Molly Farthing was as cool as a cantaloupe.

  “Calm down now, both of you,” she said. “Mrs. Kimmelfarber, you go and call Mrs. Green on the telephone. Tell her we’re taking Henry to the City Hospital.”