William Johnston - Missed It By That Much!

“Max, please wait!”

“Well. .”

The giraffe reached the tree from which 99 was dangling. As it did, she dropped to its neck. But her weight was too much for the giraffe’s neck to bear. It tilted downward, dropping 99 into the pit.

“Sorry about that, Max,” 99 said sheepishly.

Max shrugged. “This just isn’t our day, 99.”

The giraffe continued on its way. And Max bent down to get his shoe-phone.

“Max, there must be some other way,” 99 said.

“There isn’t, 99! Now, let me phone!”

“No, Max. I won’t have you humiliated!”

99 grabbed the shoe from Max and held it behind her back.

“99, you’re being childish!”

Max reached for the shoe. But, in desperation, 99 threw it out of the pit.

Max sighed deeply. “Now, you did it.”

“I’m awfully sorry, Max,” 99 said contritely. “I got carried away.”

“Well, I’ll just have to get that phone,” Max said. “Make a sling out of your hands, 99, and boost me up.”

“Yes, Max.”

99 locked her fingers together, and Max put his shoeless foot in her hands, then, summoning all her strength again, she boosted him up and out of the pit.

“Did you find your shoe, Max?” 99 called.

“Yes, I have it. Now, watch out below, 99. I’m coming down.”

“Max. . may I ask a question?”

“Yes, 99,” Max replied irritably, “what is it?”

“Why are you coming back down here, Max?”

“Why? For heaven’s sake, 99, so I can telephone the Chief and ask him to send someone to rescue us from this. . oh, yes, I see what you mean. I’m not in the pit any longer, am I?”

“No, Max.”

“Reach, 99. I’ll help you out.”

“Thank you, Max.”

When they were both clear of the pit, they covered it again with vines and branches. Then, once more, they went into hiding.

“Maybe we should give up, Max,” 99 said sorrowfully. “You said yourself that that trap is too obvious.”

“99, we can’t continue until it gets light, anyway,” Max said. “So we might as well sit here and be failures.”

“Your traps aren’t complete failures, Max. One caught me. And one caught you-twice.”

“Don’t be nasty, 99. Nobody likes a nasty secret agent.”

“I’m really sorry, Max. If there’s-”

“99-shhhh!”

“What is it, Max?”

“I heard something. Someone is coming!”

“It’s probably another animal.”

“I suppose it is. But- No, look, 99! On the trail. A human figure!”

99 squinted into the dimness. “It is, Max! You’re right!”

“Whitestone! Or my number isn’t 86!” Max said.

“We’ll get him this time, Max.”

“Down, 99! Duck out of sight! We can’t take a chance on him spotting us!”

“Right, Max!”

They lowered their heads, crouching down in the undergrowth.

Soon they heard a crackling sound-the sound of twigs snapping. A moment later they heard a crash and a shriek.

“We got him!” Max cried, leaping up.

They sprang from the underbrush and rushed to the edge of the pit and peered in. And there they saw their captive. Not the tall, white-haired, distinguished-looking Whitestone, however. But the short, squat, dark Hassan Pfeiffer.

Hassan grinned up at them. “I saw your spotlight,” he said. “I couldn’t resist it. It reminded me of my days on the stage. I was only six years old-a child prodigy! I recited a poem that I learned at my mother’s knee. Like to hear it? It goes:

By the shores of Lake Ontaria,

Where the night is dark and scaria . .

Quickly, Max and 99 began piling vines and branches over the opening.

After Hassan had been discouraged from continuing the recitation of the poem, Max and 99 hauled him up out of the pit. He explained where he had been.

“After that chef tossed me out, I rushed back to Pahzayk to get the police and a fork,” he said.

“Police, I understand. You wanted the police to rescue us,” Max said. “But-a fork?”

“I figured we might be too late to save you,” Hassan replied. “But why let the food go to waste?”

“Oh. . yes, I see.”

“But I couldn’t get the police to come,” Hassan went on. “There’s talk in Pahzayk about a band of rebels who are going to try to overthrow the government. The police are busy guarding the Government Building.”

“Fortunately, we didn’t need them,” Max said. “When that terrible odor pervaded the village, we were able to escape. Since then, we’ve been setting traps for Whitestone. But, apparently, he isn’t going to cooperate.”

Hassan frowned thoughtfully. “I have been thinking about this Whitestone matter,” he said. “I have decided that there is no reason to worry about him. I think he does not exist.”

“I’m afraid that doesn’t make much sense, Hassan,” Max replied.

“It is my opinion that Whitestone is an illusion,” Hassan insisted.

“But what about those ants that looked like elephants-and then vanished?”

“They were an illusion.”

“Exactly. And it takes an illusionist to create an illusion-right?”

“Ah. . but what is an illusion?” Hassan smiled. “It is something that does not exist-correct? And since the illusions did not exist, then obviously we did not see them. And, if we did not see them, how can you base your contention that the illusionist exists on the fact that we saw the illusions?”

Max turned to 99. “Well, that problem’s solved,” he said. “We don’t have to worry about Whitestone any more. He doesn’t exist.”

“Max,” she replied, “what do you believe? Hassan’s theory? Or what you saw with your own eyes?”

Max turned back to Hassan. “What do you have to say to that?”

“Can you see your own eyes?” Hassan smiled.

Max tried to look at his own eyes, but found it impossible. “No, as a matter of fact, I can’t,” he answered.

“Then, clearly, they do not exist. They are an illusion,” Hassan told him.

“Max, are we going to stand around listening to this nonsense or are we going to track down Dr. Livingstrom?” 99 said sharply.

“Nonsense? 99, when I started out on this mission, I had two very competent, very blue eyes. But somewhere between Pahzayk and here I lost them. To you that may be nonsense, but to me it’s very serious business.”

“Max, I’m going! You can come with me or stay here!”

“I’m coming, 99. But you’ll have to take my hand. I can’t see a thing.”

“Oh. . Max!”

“Hassan, you lead the way,” Max said. “You can be my seeing-eye guide.”

“Max,” 99 said angrily. “I won’t go one step until you-”

A sudden snorting sound was heard. The three whipped around. A huge hippo was standing in the middle of the trail. It snorted again-an angry sound.

“99, I see it!” Max cried happily. “My eyes are back!”

“Are you sure it is not an illusion?” Hassan smiled.

At that moment, the hippo lowered its head and charged.

“No, I’m not sure,” Max replied. “But, in this case, I think Rule 17 applies. Rule 17 is: Run first, think later.”

Max, 99 and Hassan dashed up the trail. The hippo pounded after them, snorting furiously.

“Hassan, you’re an experienced jungle guide,” Max said. “What do you do about a mad hippopotamus?”

“Tell him a joke!” Hassan replied.

“A joke? I don’t exactly understand how that would help.”

“How could he stay mad while he’s laughing?” Hassan replied.

“I don’t think that-”

“Max! Up ahead! There’s a river!” 99 cried.

“Saved!” Max shouted.

“But, Max! On the river! Look! Crocodiles!”