They returned to the main room of the Idyll Hour and made their way between the tables of beatniks toward the exit. But they had not gone far when Max suddenly pulled up.
“That beatnik-the one just mounting the stage to perform,” he said. “Isn’t there something strangely familiar about him?”
Blossom looked in the direction in which Max was pointing. She saw the small stage that was opposite the long counter of espresso machines. A robot-like beatnik, with a lever at his side, was about to recite. But “It couldn’t be him,” Blossom sighed. “He has a beard.”
“I wonder… a false beard, perhaps?”
“He looks taller than Fred.”
“A false beard sometimes makes a computer look taller.”
“Well…”
“On a hunch,” Max said, “let’s hang around for a second.” He glanced around. “There’s a table over there with only one person at it. Let’s join her.”
They went to the table. Seated at it was a gorgeous brunette. She was wearing a clinging, one-piece air raid warden’s suit, and looked a great deal like Noel, the girl guide, secretary to the ambassador from Fredonia, and hostess at the Idyll Hour.
“Howdy stranger,” Max said. “Mind if we join you?”
“Non.”
Max and Blossom seated themselves at the table. Fang collapsed on the floor at Max’s feet.
“Good boy,” Max said. “You listen for the phone.”
The beatnik on the stage raised his arm, dropped a nickel into his slot. “Peep-a-dotta, poop-a-dotta, dippa-dotta-boop!” His eyes revolved. Lemons came up.
There was tremendous applause from the audience.
“Oh, the rare beauty of pure truth,” Noel breathed.
“But can he back it up with facts?” Max said caustically.
Blossom whispered to Max. “It is! It’s Fred!”
“I’m no longer so sure,” Max said. “Did you hear that garbage he just spouted? Fuzzy-minded rhetoric if I ever heard it!”
Now, the beatnik on stage spoke:
“Stale bread, unbuttered-Life!
Tapioca without the lumps,
A pad all full of bumps!
Air pollution, the cell door locked.
No escape; O, how Life is mocked.”
“There’s something very familiar about those lines,” Max whispered to Blossom.
The audience rose to its feet screaming approval. There were cries of “Yeah! Yeah!” and “You tell ’em!” and “Right down the old middle, Man!”
The beatnik on stage continued:
“Tenement, slum, no heat in the winter-Life!
Hunger, war, fighting in the streets,
The victims: The innocent and the beats!
Slaughter the birds for table.
I’d go somewhere’s else if I was able!”
The crowd went wild! Applause exploded in the room, shivering the walls. The beatniks leaped to their feet and stomped and screamed.
“Encore!” This from Noel.
“More… More… More!”
Max spoke to Blossom. “That beatnik is as phony as a three-dollar bill! I now suspect that he is really Fred!”
“Gee, he didn’t sound like Fred.”
“As a matter of fact, he sounded exactly like Fred. Who, unless I’m greatly mistaken, is really a square at heart. And, as soon as this noise dies down, I’ll prove it.” The applause heightened. The beatniks danced among and on the tables.
They chanted the words of the poem:
“Tapioca without the lumps!”
“Slaughter the birds for table!”
And occasionally mixed up the lines:
“A pad full of bread-unbuttered Life!”
The beatnik on the stage bowed modestly to the acclaim. And, in time, the audience settled down, exhausted.
At which time, Max arose.
“Ladies and gentlemen, your attention, please!”
“Boooooo!”
“If you. will give me a moment of your time, I will reveal a hoax!” He pointed to the beatnik who had recited, and who was still on stage. “That fellow there is a fake! A charming fake, and a lovable fake-but a fake nonetheless!”
“Throw ’im out!” cried a voice.
Two beatniks grabbed Max by the arms.
“Hold!” Max bellowed, pulling loose. “Give me your ears! Give me your attentions! Let me prove it!”
Quiet settled over the room.
“Now then,” Max said. “I claim that this poet’s poem is a direct steal from another poet’s poem! I claim that this poet’s poem was actually written in the early 1920’s by another poet named Unknown-at least, that’s the way he signed it. Although, of course, that may have been a pseudonym.”
“Prove it! Where’s your proof!”
“Let’s compare,” Max said. “Take the first line of our friend here’s poem-‘Stale bread, unbuttered-Life!’ I suggest that that is a flagrant corruption of the line-‘Like a bread without the spreadin’, Like a puddin’ without the sauce.’ ”
“Booooooo! Throw ’im out!”
“Hear me out!” Max cried. “Listen! Listen! Here’s the first stanza of Unknown’s poem. Listen, and see what you think!”
Max recited:
“Like a bread without the spreadin’,
Like a puddin’ without the sauce,
Like a mattress without beddin’,
Like a cart without the hoss,
Like a door without a latchstring
Like a fence without a stile,
Like a dry an’ barren creek bed Is the face without a smile.
“There!” he said. “If that isn’t the same poem, almost word for word, you can stand me on stilts and call me Longfellow!”
There was stunned and morose silence for a second.
Then a buzzing began. It was clear that some were taking one side of the controversy and others taking the other side. Soon the voices raised. Heated words were exchanged.
“They’re reasoning together,” Max said to Blossom. “That’s always a good beginning.”
One beatnik broke a coffee mug over the head of another.
“Activism,” Max commented. “Young people today are involved in their society.”
Crockery began to fly. There were shrieks of indignation and pain. One beatnik leaped to the counter and started pegging doughnuts at random at the crowd. Hair was pulled. Blows were struck.
The table at which Max and Blossom were seated remained an island of calm in the storm.
“As soon as this blows over,” Max said, “I hope we’ll be able to get down to a serious discussion of the similarities between the two poems.”
“I don’t think they’re much interested in talking.”
“Nonsense. They’re eager for debate. At the moment, they’re simply choosing up sides.” He glanced across the table. “What happened to our friend-the girl who was sitting here with us?”
“She went toward the stage,” Blossom said.
“Oh, yes… there she is now. She’s forcing that beatnik to leave with her at gunpoint.”
“Max! That’s Fred! She’s robotnapping Fred!”
“You’re right! Fang-after her!”
Fang had crawled under the table. He whined.
“I have to do everything myself!” Max complained. “All right, all of us, then-after her!”
They jumped up and began pushing through the crowd, headed for Noel, who was now steering Fred toward the exit.
“Excuse me,” Max said, halting a beatnik as he was about to lambaste a compatriot with an espresso machine.
Moments later they arrived at the door-and collided with Boris!
“You again!” Max said. “Still haven’t found your tour?”
“I’m a simple peasant,” Boris apologized, “easily led astray in the big city. What’s new with you?”
“We’re on the trail of a FLAG agent who is robot-napping Fred. You remember Fred?”
“A gorgeous brunette who looks much like the guide at the U.N.?” Boris said.
“No, no, Fred has a beard.”
“I mean the FLAG agent.”
“Yes, that’s right,” Max said. “Have you seen her?”
“This way!” Boris said, leading them out of the Idyll Hour.
Reaching the sidewalk, they saw Noel forcing Fred into a taxi.
“Stop! That’s Government property-in a sort of unofficial way!” Max yelled.
But the cab door slammed closed, and the cab roared away.
Boris opened a rear door of the limousine. “Quick! Inside! We will pursue them!”
“We’re constantly in your debt!” Max said. “I promise you, Boris, we’ll never forget this!”
“In, in!” Boris urged.
Max, Blossom and Fang crowded into the back seat of the limousine.
Boris slammed the door-then ran off down the street.
“No, no! We’re back here!” Max called after him.
Boris kept going. He hailed a cab, boarded it, and drove off.
Max sighed wearily. “Well, you can take the boy out of Zinzinotti, Alleybama, but you can’t take Zinzinotti, Alleybama out of the boy! Let’s admit it-Boris is a yokel. When the pressure was on, he panicked. Did you see that? He went zooming off in that cab, completely forgetting that he had locked us in the back seat of this limousine again!”
“You know,” Blossom said, “I have a feeling — ^n
“Let’s not get emotional about it,” Max said, cutting her off. “You can make all the excuses in the world for him, but the fact remains, he flubbed this operation for us. It was a strictly amateur performance.”
“What I meant was-”
This time Blossom was interrupted by a jangling sound.
“Excuse me,” Max said, “my shoe is ringing.”
He removed his shoe and spoke into it.
Max: Hello… 86 here.
Operator: Congratulations, Mr. 86! This is the Telephone Company. Your name has been chosen to receive a free call to Europe via the Early Bird Satellite. What number in Europe would you like, please?
Max: Is that you, Operator?
Operator: Oh, hello… is that you?
Max: Yes, this is me… is that you?
Operator: Yes, this is me. I thought I recognized your voice. How’re things in the limousine?
Max: Oh, you know about it, then.
Operator: About what?
Max: We’re locked in again.
(Long silence)
Max: Look, if you’re tracing this call, I’ll tell you exactly where we are. We’re parked almost in front of the Idyll Hour, just a few steps down from that telephone booth with the man leaning against it.
Operator: Oh, no, I wasn’t tracing the call. I was just wondering-how could anybody get locked in a limousine twice in one day?
Max (smugly): I have my ways. But never mind that now. Just connect me with that phone booth. I want that fellow who’s leaning against it to come over here and let us out.
Operator: Gee, I’m sorry. I can’t do it. You see, we have this promotion going on-publicizing the Early Bird satellite-and that’s the only facility I can use. Wouldn’t you just as soon talk to someone in Europe?
Max: All right, if that’s the best you can do. Connect me with Agent 94 in Berlin.
Operator: Hold on, pliz.
Max: I’m holding.
Male voice: Hello… 73 here.
Max: 73? This is 86. Is 94 there?
73: Oh, hi, that you, Max? Howsit?
Max: I’m in a little jam, 73. If 94 isn’t there, maybe you can help me. I’m locked in a limousine 73 (breaking in): Max, I’m sorry, I’m not authorized to take any action. You know that. If I had a higher number… but, you know the rules.
Max: Yes, I know. That’s why I asked for 94. Where is he, by the way?
73: He’s on detached duty, Max. Let’s see… right now, at this minute, if my calculations are correct, he ought to be standing outside a phone booth on Macdougal Street in the Village.
Max: All right, 73, then do this for me, will you? Will you put in a call to that phone booth? And when 94 answers, will you please ask him to walk over here to this limousine and let us out?
73: I guess I could do that.
Max: Thank you. I’ll do the same for you some day.
73: So long, Max.
Max: So long, 73.
Max hung up. “You just saw history being made,” he said. “In a sense, I have just contacted a telephone booth ten feet away by orbiting satellite. Something that we were completely unable to accomplish by simply knocking on the window. It revives one’s faith, doesn’t it?”
“I guess so,” Blossom said weakly.
A moment later they saw the man enter the telephone booth. He picked up the receiver, listened, then looked toward the limousine. After another moment, he hung up, left the booth, and walked to the car.
“86?” he said, opening the door.
“94-glad to know you,” Max said. “This is Miss Blossom Rose, and this is the celebrated canine secret agent, K-13-also known as Fang.”
94 smiled. “Hi.”
“How do you do,” Blossom said. “Are you by any chance single?”
94 shook his head. “There’s a Mrs. 94,” he said. “Or, as I like to call her, 36-22-36.”
“If you’ll excuse us,” Max said to 94. “We’re on a mission in which the fate of the entire civilized world is involved.”
“Sure, no apology necessary,” 94 said. “I’m on my way to another assignment, anyway. See you around.”
As 94 departed, Max said to Blossom. “Now, back to duty.”
But Blossom was peering wistfully after 94. “Such a nice-looking fellow,” she said. “It’s a shame he’s so married-three women yet!”
“Yes, and all of them with low numbers,” Max said. “Without seniority, you can’t get anywhere in this business.”
Max, Blossom and Fang headed for the spot where Max had parked his car. On the way, Max said, “Fortunately, I got the license number of that cab in which Fred was abducted. Now, it’s merely a matter of finding the cab and the driver and determining where he took the occupants. I think from here on out it’s going to be clear sailing.”
“I hope we’re not too late,” Blossom said fretfully. “By the time we find that cab driver, that FLAG agent may have secreted Fred out of the country.”
“Hmmmm… you’re right,” Max said. “I better contact the Chief and have him post agents at all the docks and airports and bus stations.” He halted and removed his shoe, then spoke into it:
Max: Chief… this is 86.
Chief: Good work, Max. Now, bring him in, and we’ll turn him over to the Defense Department boys. They’re right here, waiting.
Max: That wasn’t exactly what I called to tell you, Chief. There’s going to be a slight delay. As of the moment, Fred is in the hands of a FLAG agent. It’s only a temporary condition, you understand. But, just to be on the safe side, I think you’d better post guards at all the airports, steamship lines and bus terminals.
Chief: Max… be honest with me, now… is there any possibility of a hitch in this case?
Max: I can’t see any, Chief. I have the license number of the cab in which Fred was robotnapped. It looks like clear sailing to me. The only- Excuse me, Chief. I have to hang up now. From where I’m standing, I can see my car. And a police truck is about to tow it away. I’ll check back later.
Max hung up, and he and Blossom and Fang hurried on to where his car was parked. The driver of the police tow truck was attaching a chain to the front bumper.
“Just a minute there,” Max said. “What seems to be the trouble?”
“You’re parked in a tow-away zone, Mac.”
“I see. Would it make any difference if I told you that my parking here was done in the interests of the entire civilized world?”
“Yeah. Not only would I tow away your car, I’d call a squad car and have ’em pick you up. Anybody with a story like that would have to have a screw loose.”
“In that case, I won’t mention it,” Max said. “Do you mind if we ride to the station with you in the car?”
“Be my guest.”
Max, Blossom and Fang got into Max’s car.
The tow truck driver got into the cab of his truck and started up, pulling Max’s car along the street.
“Now, we’ll never find Fred!” Blossom moaned.
“Patience,” Max said. “Open the glove compartment and hand me one of those 20 mm. shells.”
“No! You can’t shoot that truck!”
“You didn’t let me finish. What I was going to say was, hand me one of those 20 mm. shells marked ‘B.’ ”
“What does that mean?”
“ ‘B’ is for ‘Blank.’ ”
“Oh.” She opened the glove compartment. “All of these seems to be marked ‘Z.’ What does that mean?”
“ ‘Z’ stands for ‘Zoweee!’ Those are the live ones.”
“Oh… here’s a ‘B.’ ” She handed the shell to Max,
He slipped it into the chamber. “Fasten all seat belts,” he said.
“Rorff!”
“Then lie down on the floor,” Max said.
Max fired the cannon. There was a tremendous explosion. The car hurtled backwards, ripping free of the tow truck. As it zoomed, like a shot, to the rear, Max steered, looking out the back window. The car finally came to a halt six blocks from where the cannon had been fired.
“Simple as pie,” Max smiled. “From here on out it ought to be clear-”
Blossom had stuffed her fingers in her ears.