TOM    TOWNSEND

award  WINNING  AUTHOR

                                                       email: Tom@tomtownsend-toyland.com

     Phone:  713-502-4377                         3123   CR  2407            Rusk, TX  75785

TRADER WOOLY & THE GHOST IN THE COLONEL'S JEEP
By
Tom Townsend

TRADER WOOLY & THE GHOST IN THE COLONEL'S JEEP

Read the excerpt below

       HISTORICAL FICTION

 There's an old jeep in a museum where Trader works after school and it's haunted. This is the third book in the TRADER  WOOLY  series.
Reading Level 5th grade and up.

Published by Eakin Press
ISBN 0-89015-807-X
$12.95 hardback


     "And so, if Dr. Albert Einstein's theory is correct," said Mr. Ogden, the seventh-grade science teacher, "it
might actually be possible to travel in time." He smiled as he looked for a moment at a big color picture of the
space shuttle Columbia. "Then," he concluded with a dramatic wave of his pointer, "perhaps space, after all, is
not the last frontier. Perhaps, the last frontier is time."
     From his desk in the back row, Trader Wooly thought about that for a moment. It was the first inter-
esting thing that Mr. Ogden had said during the whole of seventh period. As it turned out, it was also the last thing
he said during seventh period. Trader was just raising his hand to ask exactly how he thought time travel would
work, when the bell rang and everyone started to leave.
     Trader crammed his science book and the notepad he had been making doodles on into his backpack and                                                              followed the swiftly flowing river of students out into the crowded halls of Munich American Junior High School.
He was not a very large boy, and only in the past six months had he grown to an average height and begun to fill                                                                 out a little. He wore rather thick glasses, his hair never seemed to stay combed, and somehow, he always looked                                                           like he was late. As usual he was wearing a loose ski parka, jeans, and sneakers.
     He jostled his way down the stairs and out the front door to the bicycle rack, where he strapped on his back-
pack and started to unlock his bike.
     He was still fumbling with the combination when Arty Sue Braggston hurried up and started tying her
books onto the back other pink ten-speed in the rack next to him. She suddenly stopped and stared up at the front
doors. "I'm really going to miss this place," she said with a sigh.
     "Good grief, Arty Sue, it's just a school. How can you miss a school?" Trader groaned as he stood up. "If you've
seen one, you've seen 'em all."
     He ducked just as Arty Sue turned around so fast that a braid of her mousy brown hair almost hit him in
the face. "Honestly, John," she scolded with her hands on the hips of her designer jeans. "You are so insensitive! I
don't think you have any feelings at all."
     Except for teachers, Arty Sue was about the only person in the whole school who insisted on calling him
"John." To everyone else, he was "Trader," just like he had been ever since the fourth grade.
     Trader gave the school one more quick glance and shrugged. It still looked to him just like any other school
that might be found in any town almost anywhere in the United States. The only real difference with Munich
American Junior High was that it was located just outside the city of Munich, in West Germany. Most of the
students' parents were either in the U.S. Army or Air Force. Trader's mother was a nurse at the army hospital.
Arty Sue's father was General Braggston, the base commander, and Arty Sue was always careful to make                                                                certain that everyone knew it.
     "Besides," Trader added as he pushed his bicycle away from the rack. "We're not leaving for at least an-
other three months. We'll be around long enough to finish this school year."
     "But there are so many memories here," Arty Sue sighed again. "And now it's all going to end."
     "There is life after the seventh grade."
     "I know that!" She glared at him, and then thought for a moment. "Oh, well. It will be nice to get back to the
States." They walked their bikes to the corner, where she turned right and Trader turned left. "I mean, after all,
three years in a foreign country is too much for me!" she said before suddenly noticing that Trader had turned the
other way. "Hey, John! Aren't you going to walk me home?"
     Trader hesitated as he started to get on his bike. "Can't... I got to go to work."
     Arty Sue blinked both eyes and almost lost one of her new contact lenses. "Work? Since when?"
     "Since last week. I got an after-school job down at the museum."
     "Museum? Why do you want to work down there? That place is really creepy. Why, it's all full of yucky old
stuff."
     Trader shook his head. "Yeah, right, museums usually are full of old stuff. That's why they call them museums."
     "You know what I mean," Arty Sue snapped. "And besides, it's spooky too. The building is so old that it looks
like it ought to be haunted. Nobody in their right mind would want to work there."
     "I like it," Trader said over his shoulder as he rode away.
     Arty Sue gave his back a thoughtful frown. "He has been acting real strange lately," she said to herself.  "Okay,                                                           so everybody knows he's a weird kid, but I think he's depressed about something." She thought for a moment, and                                                             then she was certain. "He must be still thinking about that girl who killed herself last year." With a disgusted shake                                                                of her head, she mounted her bicycle and started for home. "I guess I'll have to talk to that boy and
get him straightened out," she decided.