William Johnston - Missed It By That Much!

“Max, I’m afraid you made them dissatisfied,” 99 said.

“Oh, they’ll adjust,” the host said confidently. “We’ve had these flare-ups before. Once when a group of rock’n’rollers tried to get in here, our people all wanted to take up the guitar.”

“Tried to get in?” Max said.

“We judged them on the basis of their singing, and had to send them around to the special entrance,” the host explained. “They were flat.”

At that moment, another tall, white-haired, distinguished-looking man approached them. Instantly, Max dropped him with a karate chop.

The host helped the man to his feet. “I’m sorry, little cousin Lucille,” he said. “Our guest doesn’t seem to be able to understand about our family trait.”

“He doesn’t understand our way of life, either,” little cousin Lucille said. “There’s trouble. And he’s the cause of it.”

“What trouble?” the host inquired.

“Our people are forming protest groups,” Lucille answered. “One group is protesting against singing and dancing and the other group is protesting against the group that’s protesting.”

A large number of inhabitants suddenly appeared, shouting and shaking fists, and headed for the place where Max and 99 and the host and his cousin Lucille were standing. Many were carrying signs, with such slogans as:

SINGING AND DANCING

CAUSE PIMPLES!

THE FAMILY THAT PERFORMS BRAIN

SURGERY TOGETHER STAYS TOGETHER!

UP WITH WORK!

DOWN WITH

‘DOWN BY THE OLD MILL STREAM’!

The inhabitants surrounded Max and 99 and the host and Lucille, shouting the slogans, and angrily shaking their fists at the host.

“Citizens! Citizens!” the host pleaded. “Quiet! Quiet, please!”

But the shouts became louder.

“Shut up!” the host raged. “Or I’ll hit you with a lightning bolt!”

There was sudden silence.

“Now, then,” the host smiled. “What seems to be the grievance?”

“We want work!” an inhabitant yelled.

Others took up the chant. “We want Work! We want Work! We want Work!”

The host shook his own fist. “You’re going to get it! Oh, such a lightning bolt!”

Silence again.

‘Think!” the host said, smiling once more. “Suppose I let you do a little work-making your own beds, say, taking out the garbage, mowing the grass. It wouldn’t be long before you’d tire of it. You’d be sneaking off, leaving your work, dancing and singing again. Take my advice-leave well enough alone.”

The inhabitants began shouting the slogans again.

“Brain surgery is dangerous!” the host raged at them. “You could cut a finger!”

“We want Work! We want Work! We want Work!” they chanted.

At that moment, the group of inhabitants who were protesting against the protesting came into view. They, too, were shouting and shaking their fists and carrying signs.

“Max, maybe we better leave,” 99 said. “I don’t think Whitestone is here, anyway.”

“We can’t go yet, 99. I’m sure he’s here somewhere. Maybe he’ll be with this new group of protesters.”

The anti-protest protesters were near enough now that their signs could be read:

WORK

CAUSES PIMPLES!

IF WORK IS WHAT YOU WANT,

WHY DON’T YOU GO BACK

WHERE YOU CAME FROM?

I DIDN’T BRING UP MY BOY

TO BE A BRAIN SURGEON!

The anti-protest protesters surrounded the protesters, still shouting and shaking their fists. But it was difficult to hear what they were saying over the shouts of the protesters. The protesters were now shouting loudly that the anti-protest protesters, by surrounding them, had violated their rights. And a group of protesters broke off from the main force, pushed its way through the line of anti-protest protesters, surrounded them, and formed a new protest group called the anti-anti-protest protesters.

“Oh, boy, are they asking for a lightning bolt!” the host groaned disgustedly.

99 tugged at Max’s sleeve. “Max. . let’s go. .” she urged.

“Wait a minute, 99. I think I see Whitestone. See? Over there at the edge of the crowd. The one holding the sign that says, ‘The Host is Always Right!’ ”

“Hands off,” the host warned. “That’s my sister Bertha.”

“Oh. . sorry. .”

“Max, please, let’s leave,” 99 begged.

“Maybe you’re right, 99. We’ll slip out the back way.”

But as Max and 99 started to leave, one of the anti-protest protesters shouted, “Stop them! We were all happy dancers and singers until they came here!”

“Who was a happy dancer and singer?” one of the protesters protested. “You know how I went home every night? Raw tonsils and bruised toes! Is that any way to live!”

The anti-protest protester dropped the protester with a karate chop.

“Why, you anti-protest protester you!” the protester screamed, leaping up. He dropped the anti-protest protester with a karate chop.

The anti-protest protester was back on his feet in an instant, though. “Karate chop me, will you, you would-be worker, you,” he snarled. “Take this!” And he dropped the protester with a karate chop.

Karate chops began flying in all directions, as the protesters attacked the anti-protest protesters and the anti-protest protesters attacked the protesters, both of whom were then attacked by the anti-anti-protest protesters.

“It’s a shame,” Max said, looking back, as he and 99 made their way toward the gate. “They were all so happy before, singing and dancing.”

“Well, it probably got to be too much like work, Max,” 99 said.

“Then what are they fighting about?”

“They wouldn’t be human if they didn’t fight, Max.”

“I suppose that explains it.”

They reached the gate. And as they passed through they heard the voice of the host in the background, shouting in violent rage.

“Okay! You asked for it! This is your last chance! Cut out the foolishness! Or, oh, baby -such a lightning bolt!”

Hassan was waiting for them. “How’re things in Caliphphornia?” he asked.

“About the same,” Max replied. “Shall we go?”

Max took the lead and they pushed on into the jungle. But after they had been traveling for about a half-hour, he called them to a halt.

“What is it, Max?” 99 said.

“I think before we go any further, there’s something I ought to mention,” Max said. “I haven’t the vaguest idea where I’m leading us.”

“I know exactly where you’re taking us,” Hassan said. “After all, that’s my job. I’m the guide.”

“Good,” Max said. “Where are we headed?”

“In the wrong direction.”

“You could have said something, you know,” Max said.

“Not me. I know when to keep my mouth shut. What are you paying me for? To guide? Or to run off at the chops? To guide, that’s what you’re paying me for. If you’d wanted a blabbermouth, you’d’ve hired a blabbermouth-right? I know my duty. To guide, that’s what I’m here for. You won’t catch me boring you with a lot of jabber-jabber-jabber about which way to go. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: a guide should be seen, not heard. A guide should be out in front, leading the pack, showing the way. What good is a guide who lags behind, making snide remarks and causing dissension in the ranks? Why, a guide like that is a traitor to his craft. That’s why I didn’t say anything.”

“Just one little question, Hassan,” Max said. “If you’re supposed to be out front, leading the pack, showing the way, why aren’t you?”

“Because the pack is going in the wrong direction,” Hassan replied. “That puts me in the rear. But if the pack would turn around, I’d be in the lead-right?”