But she made an exception for Max-Ernest because he seemed so knowledgeable about toxic waste. By the time they returned to the soccer field with the laboratory gloves, Cass had told him all about the dead magician, the dead mouse, and the mysterious sulfur smell. Max-Ernest scrunched his nose. “It doesn’t smell like rotten eggs to me. Are you sure it’s the same smell?” He suggested they take out the vial from the Symphony of Smells and compare it to the scent of the soccer field. Cass was slightly annoyed that she hadn’t thought of this herself. Nonetheless, she pulled the wooden box out of her backpack to show him.* When she opened the small dusty vial and took a whiff she had to agree it didn’t smell much like the soccer field. Perhaps she had jumped to conclusions too quickly. Max-Ernest put his face to the ground and sniffed. “I think the grass smells more like you-know-what—” “No, what?”
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