William Johnston: Missed It By That Much!

“There’s a stroke of luck for you,” Max said. “See what happens, Whitestone, when you’re a Good Guy.”

Max purchased three tickets, and he and 99 and Whitestone left the terminal, made their way to the plane, and boarded. The stewardess, a tall, white-haired, distinguished-looking young lady escorted them to their seats.

“Hear the roar of those airplane engines.” Max smiled. “That’s music to the ears. In a few hours we’ll be home.”

“Behind bars,” Whitestone said expectantly.

The tall, white-haired, distinguished-looking stewardess returned. “Fasten seat belts, please,” she said. “We’ll be taking off in just a second.”

Max, 99 and Whitestone buckled themselves in.

“Max. .” 99 said. “That stewardess-doesn’t she look a little familiar?”

“Not to me, 99. But maybe she was our stewardess on the trip here.”

“No,” 99 said, shaking her head. “And that clerk at the ticket counter-”

“Not now, 99. The plane is moving down the runway.”

“Max-”

“99, will you save it, please, until after we get into the air. Take-offs make me nervous.”

“But, Max-”

“99, please! The plane is taking off. See, there it goes. Nose up. Climbing higher and higher. Isn’t that a beautiful sight, 99?”

“Max-”

“Yes, what is it, 99? You can talk now-now that we’re off the ground.”

“Max, that’s what I was trying to tell you! We’re not off the ground! We’re still sitting here at the end of the runway!”

Max looked around. “So that’s why my ears didn’t pop,” he said.

“Max! The plane was an illusion!”

“And Whitestone flew off in it,” Max sighed. “We missed getting him back to headquarters by that much. Well, 99, I suppose we shouldn’t be too surprised. It was expecting too much to believe that Whitestone would reform. We have a saying in my country: When the frost is on the pumpkin, there’ll be bluebirds over the white cliffs of Dover.”

“What does that mean, Max?”

“Once a prankster, always a prankster.”