Disclaimer: I do not own Darkwing Duck or Sherlock Holmes. Also, thank you Led Zeppelin for the beautiful Stairway to Heaven.
A/N: I have left this episode unbroken due to readership preferences.
A/N: It is rather long because so many delicate topics are covered in this episode.
A/N: I have ended up giving it a comparatively lame name in order to describe essentially what it is overall.
Lessons
It was lunchtime in the schoolyard. Drakey was sitting near the monkey bars in his favourite spot.
"I'm gonna pound you if you make me look like a fool, Sputterspark." The beagle barked suddenly at the rat, making Drakey jump from his comic.
'Picking on me is one thing ...' Drakey thought with his recently discovered courage. 'Picking on someone else is ... well it's ... not very nice at all.'
"Rest assured, Finnigan, I will do my utmost to fulfil my duties proficiently."
"Yeah, you'd better remember your lines ..." Finnigan pushed Elmo over. "Or else this'll happen!" He took a step forwards, rubbing his knuckles into the palm of his other hand.
Drakey stepped in, getting right between Elmo and the knuckle sandwich from the oversized beagle. "Go away, Finnigan, and leave Elmo alone!" Drakey 'accidentally' stepped on his foot for emphasis, right before Finnigan had a chance to redirect his attack.
"Ow! Miss!" The bully ran off in tears looking for sympathy from a teacher.
"You alright, Elmo?" Drakey helped his classmate back up.
Elmo gazed at Drakey in amazement for a moment. "Wow, I've never seen you do that before." He collected himself together again. "A good call, sir. My attempt to reason with the ruffian did not succeed."
Drakey picked up Elmo's favourite book that had a squirrel on it and handed it to Elmo. Then he picked up a booklet. The play. He handed that to Elmo as well. "Reason with Finnigan?" Drakey raised an eyebrow. "What's the weather like on the planet that you come from, Elmo?"
"All reasonable people can be reasoned with." Elmo countered.
Then he hesitated. "We're in the same class together every day ... what's your name again?"
"Drakey Mallard." Drakey answered. He decided not to mention the fact that they also saw each other sometimes because their mothers were friends.
For a moment, the look of concentration was intense on Elmo's face as he tried to impress Drakey's name on his brain. "D, then. Are you going to be in the play ... D?"
"No, I don't have the time; I have to look after my mum. She's not so strong like your ma." He paused. "My name's not D, it's Drakey."
"But I'll remember D better because you're a very square personality. It suits you."
Drakey scratched his head, wondering how a square related to the letter D, or his personality for that matter. He finally decided once again that Elmo and his mother came from a different planet and that was why they talked with such funny expressions.
"So ... you can remember it better that way?"
Elmo put his hand on his 'new' friend's arm; "It won't take all evening to practice our lines, D. We can practice on the play after dinner, and you'd make a much less scary person to study with. And I can help you with math afterwards. It'll be fun. I already asked my ma and she's really excited about me being in the play. She won't mind driving you back home or picking me up either way. And she can talk to your mother some more. I know she likes doing that."
"But ... I can't be in the play. I'm really bad at remembering things," Drakey paused, "E."
"I've got a few tricks I can teach you to remember." Elmo smiled. "I have lots of trouble remembering things too. But I use these tricks and they help me. Like with math."
"You do? You have memory problems too? Even math?" Drakey gaped at Elmo. "But you always get A's!" Drakey was amazed.
Elmo grinned slyly at Drakey, sensing victory. "Say yes to Mr. Horton, D. It'll be fun. I promise."
Drakey considered Elmo's words and realised a discouraging truth. "No-oh; you just don't want to practice with Finnigan."
"Not just!" Elmo argued with a look of hurt on his face. "We could be friends too. Like our mothers."
"I'm not smart." Drakey was confused. "Why me?"
"Well," Elmo tapped his nose, "consider the stress factor that arises from the existence of multiple factions. The stress load increases as the number of factions increase."
"You're multiplying fractions?" Drakey scratched his head overwhelmed with all of Elmo's words.
"No I meant ..." Elmo paused. "Actually, you're kinda right. Me plus you, why that's double what we had before. That makes our denominator smaller than Finnigan and he won't have as much luck pushing either of us around."
"Double it, which makes the denominator smaller ..." Drakey blinked. "And so Finnigan won't beat us up so much?"
"Correct."
Drakey smiled. "This is the first time I ever found math so interesting."
Elmo gaped at Drakey now. "Gosh, D, the world would fall apart without math!" He pointed at the jungle gym and the monkey bars. "There's so much going on with just the monkey bars ... If you want to be any good at anything in life you gotta know about math." He ushered Drakey over and began talking tirelessly about spatial geometry and gravitational forces.
In the afternoon Drakey sat, irritated in class as Finnigan and his friends spat paper pellets at him. It was just one of those days. He brushed the goop off and did his best to listen to the teacher.
"Now we still need lots of volunteers to be in our class play."
Elmo turned back in his chair and looked at him, pleading. Drakey hesitated, and then put up his hand.
"Ah, good." Mr. Horton handed him a booklet. "Glad to see you finally getting into the spirit of things, Drakey. This'll be good to get your confidence up."
"Y-yes, sir." Drakey just wasn't confident about the 'things' he was putting himself in for.
School finished and he got home. After getting dinner started, he got up into a chair and opened out the booklet on the kitchen table.
The teacher had cleverly slotted the character he had to learn in as a bookmark. "Les-trade." He read aloud, realising he had to do a bit more of that now if he was going to act it out.
"Study?" His mother coughed into a handkerchief as she sat down beside him in her nightdress.
"Mr. Horton wants me to be in the class play."
His mother dragged the booklet towards her and had a look at it.
"You'll need a costume."
"... I ... I didn't think of that." Drakey looked away from her, ashamed at having not seen this flaw in the plan before he'd taken on the duty. He certainly didn't like that feeling of having missed something.
"I'm sure we can think of something. I'm pretty good at making costumes, and there's plenty of fabric upstairs. How about after dinner we'll get started?"
He hugged her in relief, also glad for his luck. "Thanks, mum."
After measuring him and drawing and pinning, she began cutting and Drakey sat down to his script.
It wasn't long at all, however, before she called out for him again. "Drakey?"
He leaped up from his spot and raced across the sewing room, the script in his hands.
"So now, see all the bits I've cut out?" She showed him each of the strange shapes. "This is how they'll fit together." She demonstrated each piece on him.
"Keen gear, mum!" He gushed. "Why, you could make anything!"
"Sure we could."
He looked up excitedly at the sewing machine. "Can you show me how that works?"
"Well ... I guess. It's not too dangerous." She analysed thoughtfully.
He frowned at her. "Mum! It's not even really sharp because the needle is protected."
"... You shouldn't be making dinner either."
"Mum, you're not well enough. Even Mrs. Sputterspark agrees."
"Okay, okay." She folded with a sigh. "I won't argue with you; not when Sylvia backs you up, for goodness sakes. So, what bits do you think we should sew together first?"
He considered for a long moment, and then picked up the front and the back. "This looks really tricky."
"Good guess; you've picked the right pieces to start." She reached for the pins. "So now you see that I'm working on the reverse side of the fabric? This way the stitching will be hidden."
It was a short while and Drakey had abandoned the script entirely to stand beside his mother. He watched in fascination as the machine whirred noisily, connecting the parts together. He backed up when she nearly hit him with her elbow.
"Whoops, Drakey, are you alright?"
"Can I see it, mum?" He spurted in a bubble of excitement, reaching for the newly connected bits.
His mother laughed. "It's a long way from finished yet, junior." She fitted the parts around him.
"Keen gear, this is so cool! It'll be like when Superpig changes into his superhero costume."
"It sure will!" She smiled back. "And remember, Superpig, like any good actor always uses their costume to help them in their act. That's why he picked red and blue; because it's bold and loud, it helps him to be bold and loud."
Drakey gaped in amazement at his mother. "How do you know so much, mum?"
"It's my job, sweetheart." She smiled at him.
She leant back in the chair. "All this makes me want to get back to work too."
"Don't do anything dangerous, mum." Drakey pleaded. "I don't want to lose you."
"Oh, sweetie ..." She stood up.
"Remember my pretty dresses? They're my costumes for work."
"Isn't that a night-time thing? Isn't that d-dangerous with the bad people around like you told me about?"
She patted his head. "Drakey. I don't do silly things." She closed her eyes, pressing her fingers to her forehead.
Drakey frowned. "Okay, mum." He responded faintly. It didn't make sense to him but he didn't want to argue with his mother because she was so sick. "I'll get the broom and check your room so you can go to bed."
Over a week passed as Drakey and Elmo studied and learned their lines together. Because Lestrade and Doctor Watson both played opposite Sherlock Holmes, Elmo and Drakey took turns at playing the great consulting detective.
"Hello, hello hello, what have we got here?"
"Ah, the stubborn Lestrade." Elmo said in his odd very proper manner. "I take it you're on the case of the missing Irene Harker?"
"No, we're on the case of the missing ... I say, Holmes! I know your game." Drakey announced, "And we don't need your help in such ordinary matters."
Elmo grinned slyly. "My dear Lestrade, I know about the talent that Scotland Yard has for catching bad guys, I would never want to step on your feet."
Drakey stepped back a moment, shrugging as if to be uncomfortable. "Uh, all the same ..." He paused, "While you're here, maybe you could ..."
"Naturally, my friend, now that you ask, I would be happy to help you find the missing emerald. I suspect very much that both cases are one and the same. Find the woman, find the emerald, and vice versa." Drakey turned slowly, watching Elmo walk very confidently to the side of the room.
He wiped his brow. "Thank goodness he's here! I'm in a right mess at the station if I can't figure this one out."
"Hey!" Elmo cheered. "You got it all right this time!"
Drakey smiled back at Elmo. "Yeah ... I ... I kinda did, didn't I?"
He sat down on the chair behind him. It had a flower pattern and it had seen better days. Unlike his own home, this place was antique and most of it looked a bit worn, the wooden doors a bit tired, the handles were the ancient green tinged sort. The wallpaper was faded and the carpet was threadbare. Elmo sat down next to him on the chair.
The clock chimed and the tune stuck in Drakey's head yet again.
"There's a lady whose sure all that gli-tters is gold ..." Drakey groaned. "Not again!"
"It was granddad's favourite song for a very long time before he died."
"Oh, I mean; I do like the song ..." Drakey agreed.
"I just rather rock and roll than hard rock."
Elmo sighed. "Gee, there's not a lot we agree on, D."
"I like music. You like music." That was good enough for him.
"Hey! Can you play Stairway to Heaven on your piano?"
"N-no." Drakey answered timidly, "that's mum's piano. I don't touch mum's things ... unless I'm dusting or polishing it. And then I'm really careful."
Elmo sighed. "Why? Does your mum get really cross at you or something?"
"No." Drakey admitted. "But when I do the wrong thing and I upset her, she gets sicker. And ... and I want things nice for her, because then she doesn't feel so sick."
"Ma says it's because your dad's gone. That's why she's so sick all the time."
"I guess. But I can't do anything about that so it's pointless to think about it."
"You know after we finish this play I'm gonna make you learn how to play Stairway to Heaven. It's a great big solid piano, not a delicate intergalactic transmission control panel which, if you touch it, you might lose your mum's reception to Krypton's radio stations. I've seen the construction of your sitting room. All we have to do is shut the door and the acoustics won't even carry to the first floor."
"You ... you really think so?"
Elmo nodded solemnly.
Drakey and Elmo sat on Elmo's bed upstairs, looking at equations. From Elmo's window all Drakey could see were trees.
"So ... what happened to your dad, Elmo?"
Elmo shrugged. "I don't remember him. Mum says he wasn't a really bad person, but I can't get a definition from her on what that actually means."
"Your parents didn't want to be together? That's terrible!" Drakey exclaimed. "I remember my dad; he was smart like you are. He took me camping lots and told me all about plants and first aid."
"Well, my mum is just as good as two parents."
"Oi, you two!" Elmo's mother hollered. She came upstairs and stepped into the doorway to Elmo's room. "What are you doing fighting?"
"We're not fighting." Drakey looked at Elmo in confusion.
"Well you sounded very upset."
"We were talking about our dads, ma."
"Oh, I understand now." Mrs. S frowned thoughtfully. "Well there's nothing wrong or right to it. Some things just aren't meant to be, kids. Come on; let's get your coats on so I can take Drakey home."
The next day Drakey pestered his mother into the sitting room to show off his part.
Drakey handed his mum the script. "Elmo's been helping me a whole lot." He grinned proudly. "He showed me m-mn-mnenomic- mnemonics! And how to turn a whole page into a single sentence inside my head! I haven't quite gotten it working for everything yet, but ... isn't that cool, mum?"
"Yes. And you have been working very hard, I know. Sylvia's been telling me all about it."
His mother laughed.
"Why is that funny, mum?" Drakey asked nervously.
"You just remind me of how I used to be."
He sat down beside her, the play taking an immediate sideline in his mind. "How did you use to be, mum?"
"Well, it's the same reason I became a professional actor." She ruffled the feathers on his head. "There's just something about that feeling of recognition you get from an audience." Drakey remembered how he felt when Elmo congratulated him on remembering all his lines.
"Dad wasn't like that then?"
"He?" She smiled. "He didn't care what people thought about him. He was a complete straight line; where he was going, where he had been." She sighed, putting her fingers to her brow. "He just kept marching on."
"Have you got another headache, mum?"
"Oh, I'm alright, sweetie." She looked up, smiling at him. "Why don't you go ahead and show me your scene?"
Drakey cleared his throat, standing up.
"Hello, hello hello, what have we got here?"
"Ah, the stubborn Lestrade." Drakey tucked his hand behind his back as if hiding something. "I take it you're on the case of the missing Irene Harker?"
"No, we're on the case of the missing ... I say, Holmes! I know your game." Drakey spurted with enthusiasm, "and we don't need your help in such ordinary matters."
Then he took a step left and replied. "My dear Lestrade, I know about the talent that Scotland Yard has for catching bad guys, I would never want to step on your feet."
He paced the room for a moment. "Uh, all the same ..." He paused to emphasize the change of tune, "While you're here, maybe you could ..."
"Naturally, my friend, now that you ask, I would be happy to help you find the missing emerald. I suspect very much that both cases are one and the same. Find the woman, find the emerald, and vice versa." Drakey turned slowly, as if watching someone leaving the room.
He spun around on the spot, wiping his brow. "Thank goodness he's here! I'm in a right mess at the station if I can't figure this one out." Then he walked out of the room.
He ducked his head back in through the doorway. "What do you think, Mum?"
"I ... I'm a little confused, which character are you playing again?"
"Lestrade, Mum. I told you."
"Well, it's just that you play them both very well."
"Well, I only have a few lines and Sherlock Holmes is more fun."
Drakey chuckled. "The way E does him is just so funny."
"What part's Elmo playing?"
"He's Dr. Watson."
"Ah." She leaned back, smiling. "I'm sure he'd make an excellent Watson. He knows all those little technical bits."
"What I don't get is why E didn't get to be Holmes after all that. He's the smartest kid in the whole class and he put his hand up first. How come Finnigan gets to be Holmes?"
"Well, Holmes has more lines, and Elmo's memory is good for technical things, not so much about lines. Besides, it's always good to have someone else share the spotlight. Lestrade is important too."
"I still don't get it, mum. Superpig doesn't need people like Dr. Watson or Lestrade."
"But we're talking about real people, Drakey. Even the great detective Holmes is fallible sometimes. Not at his job, maybe, but at other things. And you know Superpig is shy when he's not in his bold costume."
"Why is that, mum? Why can't they make them perfect? I mean, it's all pretend anyway."
She sat back in her chair. "If the character was perfect, the challenge would be lost."
He thought hard about this. "Perfect people get bored because things are too easy?"
She grabbed her handkerchief from her sleeve and coughed into it for a moment. "Sweetie, nobody's perfect. Not even your father who was as perfect as I could have wanted."
Drakey definitely did not want his mum to start talking about his father again. It made her awfully upset, and when she was upset he got upset, because she got sicker. So he thought really hard. His mother knew a lot more about Superpig and Sherlock Holmes than he did. That made her a source of information on his favourite topic. "So but Lestrade or Holmes ... which one's better?"
"Holmes and Lestrade both do their jobs well. Lestrade has a whole police force that he looks after. Holmes has Dr. Watson to look after him. Holmes comes and goes, he helps out here and there, but Lestrade is the person that everybody relies on every single day. They all help each other out."
Drakey smiled at this.
"So, Drakey, which do you think is better?"
"... We need them both!" Drakey exclaimed.
"Now you understand!" His mother applauded.
"Mum, I read the whole script and it really is a lot of fun. But who is Sherlock Holmes? I mean, where does he come from?"
"I think your father has a book with all of his stories in the library. Let's go find it, shall we?"
"It's a book?"
"Sure. It's a bit more difficult to read than your comics and there are not so many pictures, but it's a worthwhile read."
"Mum! I can read! I just ..." She turned to him. "It's my daydream."
"Ah." She nodded. "I did wonder why you carried around the same issue for so long." She held out her hand. "Come on, sweetie; let me introduce you to the greatest Consulting Detective ever written."
On Monday morning Drakey waited, feeling excruciated as he watched Elmo and Finnigan in the front of the class struggling to get through Elmo's scene. "Watson ... uh ..."
"The game is afoot!" Drakey called out.
"Stop interrupting! That's the fourth time!" Finnigan snapped tersely.
"Sorry. I was just trying to help." Drakey sank low in his seat.
"I can't remember so many lines, stop badgering me! How can a game be a foot, anyway? What a stupid line."
"It's the thing that detectives say." Drakey replied, forgetting that Finnigan had only just told him to be quiet. "I think it has something to do with chasing after them."
"Finnigan, I'm sorry." Mr. Horton said. "I thought you'd be the best at handling so many lines."
"I hate it." He pointed accusingly at Drakey. "You know all my lines, chump. Why don't we swap?"
The teacher was horrified. "We've only got a couple weeks left! Drakey can't learn that many lines in two weeks."
"I know them all." Drakey reviewed Finnigan standing there. "Can you learn my lines in two weeks?"
"Sure, easy, what have you got, one scene?"
"Two scenes."
"I can play a stupid lummox."
"Lestrade is not stupid!" Drakey jumped up out of his chair, remembering what his mother said. "You've got to be smart to keep the peace, and he's actually really very brave to ask for help. He needs as much respect as every other character."
"Alright, alright. Drakey, you read Finnigan's lines." Drakey stepped up next to Elmo.
"Here." Finnigan tried handing him his booklet.
Drakey shook his head. "I have it memorised."
Finnigan stared at Drakey. "You? You can't remember when we have a class test scheduled; you walk in with a textbook. Half the time you don't remember which day's sports day; you come in regular clothes."
"Now, Finnigan, different people remember different things. Why don't you take the copy, just in case, Drakey?"
"Well, he'd better keep it, sir, because I left mine at home."
"You forgot it?" Finnigan laughed. "See, Mr. Horton?"
"I didn't forget it, I know all my lines. I know all your lines. I don't need to read it."
He turned away and looked at Elmo. "I do not wish to give away a suspicion that may prove incorrect in the end, but one can make out the facts of the case as they stand."
"Yes, following your methods for deduction, I can tell by the tracks in the mud that the kidnapper was a short duck, limping heavily under the burden of their victim."
"Furthermore, considering the time of the broken wrist watch being only early evening, I can deduce that the victim was discreetly transported off the scene without raising any suspicion from the local foot traffic."
"Holmes, how does this all relate to the case of Harker or the Emerald?"
"I do not have all the facts on hand as yet, but such coincidences are rare that first the lady of the house, and then her butler goes missing. Come, Watson. The game is afoot."
"Oh." Several in the class sighed. "Thank goodness that's over with."
"Well done both of you."
Drakey beamed for a moment before his triumph was trodden on.
"Those aren't the proper words." Finnigan sniggered.
"That's how the real Sherlock Holmes speaks in the books!" Drakey folded his arms. "I just made it sound more like him."
"It made sense to me." Elmo backed Drakey up.
"Yeah, Sputters but we all know that you ..."
"That's enough, Finnigan!" Mr. Horton interrupted what would have been an insult. "You have a lot of work to do to learn all those new lines very quickly so you'd better get your head down."
"Yes, Mr. Horton, sir."
Drakey frowned, staring down at his mother on the bed. He put the dinner tray up on the bedside table.
"Mum ..." He cooed; what he hoped was a gentle wake up, and then brushed his fingers through her blonde hair. "What did doctor Spoonbill say?"
She turned over and gazed vaguely at him with unfocusing eyes, "oh, he gave me some tablets. He said I should be better in a week or so." She coughed.
"Okay, mum. Well, just in case you're hungry, I brought some food for you. Is there anything else I can do?"
"Oh, thank you, Junior." She hugged him and sitting up with some difficulty she gestured for him to sit beside her on the bed. "Tell me more about your play, sweetie."
"It's ..." He thought carefully about telling her about the role switch and decided against it. "Going really well. Elmo's remembering almost all his lines now that Finnigan's leaving him alone. And Preena's really good at her part too."
"That's really good, sweetie. Did you show Mr. Horton your costume?"
"Yeah, he really liked it. He said it could have been a real Scotland Yard uniform. He wondered: if you could maybe help with a couple of the other costumes?"
"I'm sorry sweetie. I'm too tired, and the doctor says I need to stay in bed and rest for these tablets to work properly."
"Oh ..." Drakey hesitated. The implications of this hit Drakey like a mallet made of Kryptonite hitting Superpig. First, she couldn't make a new costume for him and second, she probably wouldn't be coming to watch the play.
"That's okay, mum. I'm sure Mr. Horton will understand." Drakey jumped up off the bed, suddenly very uncomfortable. "Anyway, you have dinner and get some more rest." He kissed her on the forehead "Love you, mum."
"I love you too, sweetie."
"Now what am I gonna do?" Drakey paced the sewing room. "I can't use the uniform for Sherlock Holmes. I need a new costume that's brown." He rummaged in the cupboard. So many fabrics! He kept digging. In the rack above his head a flash of brown caught his attention and he reached up for it. He jumped when he came in contact with fur. He pulled the other clothes away, and started laughing at what he had scared him.
"A monkey costume?" He tried to picture his mum in it and it was difficult. His mother didn't act much like a monkey at all. "She's right, though. It's the clothes that help." And Drakey wanted a Sherlock Holmes outfit. He let the other clothes swing back one at a time, hoping maybe there was already a Sherlock Holmes costume made. He went through the entire rack and was disappointed. He resumed digging underneath through the boxes of fabric, his hopes sinking lower, his fingers growing frantic. "There's gotta be ..."
He reached a large heavy wooden box further into the back of the closet. It looked like a pirate's chest. He pulled up the latch and grunted, unable to budge the lid more than a centimetre. He stood up and with both hands he raised the lid high enough that the resistance finally gave out. It fell backwards with an incredibly loud thump.
Drakey jumped, looking out into the sewing room. He wasn't supposed to make so much noise! His mum was probably scared that it was a bad guy. He raced out of the room and up the stairs. He crept to his mum's door, listening carefully.
There wasn't a sound.
Now he was worried if she was alright. Drakey cracked open the door and as quietly as he could, he stole over to the side of the bed.
"Mum?" He whispered faintly. Then he saw her move a little. She was alright. He sighed and watched her for a long moment, calming himself down.
"Oh, Drakey. I heard a crash." She struggled to move to face him. Her voice sounded very sleepy.
"Sorry, mum, that was just me. I moved something really heavy and it fell down."
"Oh, okay, I'm glad you came up here to tell me. I was ..." She sighed and fell asleep.
Drakey took a breath, feeling awful. He had to be quieter in the future.
The job took the whole weekend and hours and hours into the night. Drakey did remember what his mother had done, but he was making a different piece of clothing and he had to think really hard, drawing it on paper, playing pretend with tracing paper cut outs. Then of course, using the machine had looked easy, but it was actually quite tricky and required all his concentration to get right especially making sure he sewed only on the reverse sides.
But when he was finished he put it on and looked into the mirror, eyeing off the stitching critically. It's not too bad ..." He took it off, looking for that stray thread he'd seen. There was still something wrong with it, but he'd been staring too long at it to figure it out for himself. "Maybe Mr. Horton can help."
After class at lunchtime, Drakey hung back.
"Mr. Horton, can you help me with this?" He handed the brown costume to his teacher. "There's something wrong and I don't know what it is to fix it."
"Well, what does your mother say?"
"Mum's too sick."
"Okay, so where did it come from?"
"I watched mum last time. I made it out of some fabric in mum's box. Have I done it wrong?"
Mr. Horton struggled with finding something adequate to say. "Well, how about we see by trying it on?" He helped Drakey into it. "That actually looks pretty good." He stood back with a shocked expression on his face.
"What's wrong with it, sir? I want it to be right."
"How long have you been working on this, Drakey?"
"I want it to be right!" Drakey said loudly. Then he sobbed. "I'll keep trying until I get it right. It doesn't look right and I can't figure out why."
"I think if anything what you're missing is the hat."
"A hat?" Drakey scratched his head. "Like my cap?"
"I think I can draw it for you. Maybe someone has a hat you can borrow." He grabbed his notepad from the drawer and a pencil.
"I'll make it. How hard can a hat be? It's really small."
"Drakey, take it easy. It's not the end of the world, even if you have no hat at all."
"Mum says the costume is really important for the actor to do their job properly. And mum's a really good actor, so she should know."
"I can see you've got your heart set on this one."
"It makes her happy when we talk about the play." Drakey got back out of the costume.
Mr. Horton handed Drakey the piece of paper. "You know, it's important for you to be happy too, Drakey. Haven't you been having fun working on the play?"
"Yes," Drakey answered in a shaking voice, "but I ..." He stopped, fighting back tears. "Thanks, Mr. Horton." He stuffed the costume back into his bag with the piece of paper and ran out through the doorway.