William Johnston - Missed It By That Much!

99 nodded. “I think I understand, Max.”

“Morale would crumble. There isn’t one secret agent I know who wouldn’t feel silly as all get-out attacking the enemy with a pot of boiling cabbage.”

“Difficult to control, too,” Whitestone said. “The wind would have to be just right.”

“And suppose, in the middle of the attack, the wind shifted,” Max said. “We’d put our own forces to rout.” He faced back to Whitestone. “What are you waiting for?” he said. “Take the formula and run, before we think of some clever means of overpowering you.”

“I’ll wait,” Whitestone said.

“Look, Whitestone, I don’t like to be hard-nosed about this,” Max said. “But right is right. You’re the victor, and the formula belongs to you.”

“Maybe we could make a deal,” Whitestone said. “You take the formula, and I’ll throw in a hat and a rabbit.”

“What do you take me for-a country bumpkin?”

“How about a hat and a rabbit and a chain-driven saxophone-the only one of its kind?”

“No, thanks. Face it, Whitestone-you’re stuck with that formula.”

“A hat and a rabbit and a chain-driven saxophone-the only one of its kind-and my collection of three-hundred odd baseball cards?”

Max frowned. “How odd are they?”

“I’ve got one with a picture of Benedict Arnold on it. And, as you well know, he never made the major league.”

“Well. .”

“Max, no!” 99 said. “Don’t weaken!”

Max shook his head. “Sorry, Whitestone.”

Whitestone suddenly shoved the pistol into Max’s hand, and raised his own hands high above his head. “You win!” he shouted gleefully. “I give up! Don’t shoot!”

Max looked at the pistol in his hand. Then he turned to 99. “Now I know why they call them the Bad Guys,” he said. “That was as dirty a trick as I’ve ever witnessed.”

“Sticks and stones, but you-know-what,” Whitestone jeered.

“Max, you know, maybe it isn’t as bad as it seems,” 99 said. “You’ve taken Whitestone prisoner. Now we can take him back to Control and put him under lock and key. We’ll be eliminating a source of evil from the world. That’s something .”

“But, 99, we’ll have the formula.”

“Couldn’t we give it back to Dr. Livingstrom?”

“Curses!” Whitestone growled. “Why didn’t I think of that!”

“Because you’re a Bad Guy,” Max told him. “Bad Guys just don’t think that way. With Bad Guys, it’s always take, take, take!”

“You didn’t think of it, either,” Whitestone snapped.

“But I would have! We Good Guys think like that all the time. Give, give, give!”

“Then give me back my gun.”

“Here, you-”

“Max!” 99 snatched the gun from Max’s hand as he was about to give it back to Whitestone.

“Sorry, 99. It just seemed like the natural thing to do.”

“Try not to be yourself for a while, Max,” 99 said, passing the gun back to him. “At least, not until we get our prisoner under lock and key.”

“Excuse me,” Dr. Livingstrom said, “but would anybody mind if I went back to my work?”

“Just a second,” Max said. “I want to return your formula to you.”

“I didn’t know I’d lost it.”

“Doctor, I’d do something about that absent-mindedness if I were you,” Max said.

Dr. Livingstrom returned to the hut to continue wrapping Dog Flowers in Brassica Oleracia. As he departed, Max called after him. “We’ll inform the anxious world that you’ve been found, and that you’re in good health!” he said.

Dr. Livingstrom halted. “What good health?” he said. “I haven’t been able to taste or smell a thing since the age of six months.” He then disappeared into the hut.

“I think that probably explains a lot,” Max said to 99. “I’ve always suspected there was something not quite right with people who could stomach those exotic foods. As for me, give me a peanut butter burger every time.”

“Max, don’t you think you ought to report-in to the Chief,” 99 said.

“99, the Chief knows I like peanut butter burgers.”

“About the mission, I mean, Max.”

“You’re right, 99.” He handed the pistol toward her. “Here, hold this on Whitestone while I make the call.”

“She’s busy,” Whitestone said. “I’ll hold it.”

“Whitestone, why don’t you face it?” Max said. “Your evil days of trickery are over. You’ve pulled your last prank. As soon as I make this call to the Chief, 99 and I are going to take you back to the States. You’ll be put behind bars and kept there. And I hope it teaches you a lesson. Remember, Whitestone: Pranking Does Not Pay!”

“Spare me the goody-goody,” Whitestone said sourly. “Make your call, and let’s go.”

Keeping a cautious eye on Whitestone, Max removed his shoe, then dialed.

Chief: Control. Chief speaking.

Max: This is Max, Chief. I just want to report that our mission has been completed.

Chief: Max, that’s great! Now, get the formula back here as soon as possible. We’ll rush it to our scientists, so they can begin producing a supply of the gas, or whatever it is! Incidentally, Max-what is it?

Max: Boiled cabbage, Chief.

(pause)

Chief: Max, we must have a bad connection. I thought you said boiled cabbage.

Operator: That’s right, blame it on the telephone company. You send a secret agent-so-called-out to get the formula for a mysterious gas, or whatever it was, and he comes back with a formula for boiled cabbage, and do you blame the secret agent-so-called? Oh, no! You blame it on the telephone company. The telephone company gave me a bad connection, you say. Well, let me tell you, Chief, the telephone company is getting pret-ty sick and tired of that kind of treatment. The telephone company has feelings, too, you know. The telephone company is just like anybody else-sensitive. What do you think the telephone company is, anyway? Just a mass of wires and dial tones and wrong numbers? A telephone company is people. People, Chief! Thousands and thousands of people! And if you don’t lay off, those thousands and thousands of people are going to come down there to Control headquarters and slug somebody in the old musherino! Got it?

Chief: I’m sorry, Operator. But, try to understand. I actually thought I heard Max say that the gas, or whatever it was that was causing that terrible odor, was boiled cabbage.

Operator: Maybe you have a bad connection.

Max: Chief, there’s nothing wrong with the connection. That’s what I said: boiled cabbage.

Operator: Just a second, Chief. I’ll try another line. I thought he said boiled cabbage, too.

Max: Operator, stop it. I did say boiled cabbage. And I’ll say it again. Boiled cabbage. Boiled cabbage. Boiled cabbage.

Chief: Max, do you realize what that means? The mission was a complete waste of time and money. What kind of a weapon is boiled cabbage?

Max: I’m aware of that, Chief. After all, you could hardly be expected to order your men to attack a KAOS installation armed with pots of boiled brassica oleracia. It just wouldn’t be dignified. But, Chief, you’re wrong about the mission being a complete waste of time and money. I’ve captured Whitestone.

Chief: Great, Max! But are you sure it’s him? It isn’t just an illusion, is it?

Max: I don’t think so, Chief. He’s tall, white-haired and distinguished-looking.

Operator: So is my Aunt Martha.

Max: Can your Aunt Martha pull a rabbit out of a hat, Operator?

Operator: She can do better than that. She can put on a sweater.