William Johnston: Missed It By That Much!

“Well, thanks for the suggestion, anyway,” Max said. “But I think we’ll stay.”

The headwaiter handed the menu back to him! “If you’ve got any sense, you’ll eat the menu and leave the food alone,” he said, departing.

Max and 99 scanned the selection of foods and made their choices, then Max signalled to a waiter.

“I’ll have the Broiled Trout stuffed with Tomato Seeds,” 99 said to the waiter.

He winced. “Do you want that with or without?” he said.

“What’s the difference?”

“With is two dollars extra.”

“But what is ‘with’?”

“If you order it with,” he replied, “you get an ambulance ride to the hospital. If you order it without, you have to walk.”

“With,” 99 decided.

“Waiter, before I order,” Max said, “I’d like to ask you a question. We’re looking for a fellow who may have eaten here in your restaurant recently. His name is Dr. Livingstrom. Do you remember seeing him?”

The waiter brightened. “Dr. Livingstrom! Sure!”

“When was the last time you saw him?” Max asked.

“When they were putting him in the ambulance.”

“I see. And have you seen him since?”

The waiter shook his head. “We never see them again after they put them in the ambulance,” he said.

“All right. Thank you.” Max picked up the menu. “I’ll have the Breast of White Dove stuffed with Chocolate-Covered Cherries. But hold the chocolate-covered cherries.”

“I can’t do that,” the waiter said. “The chocolate melts in my hands.”

“All right then, bring it as it is,” Max said. “I’ll take the chocolate-covered cherries out myself.”

“You’ll be sorry,” the waiter said. “They’ll melt in your hands. Then, you’ll not only have a bum-bum in your tum-tum, but you’ll have sticky fingers. They won’t let you into the ambulance. They don’t want to get it all smeared up with sticky chocolate.”

“Just bring the order,” Max said glumly.

The waiter left, headed for the kitchen.

“Max, your plan is working,” 99 said. “We’re on Dr. Livingstrom’s trail already.”

“Well, at least we know that he’s somewhere in the vicinity,” Max said. “After we eat, I think we better check the hospital. He may still be there.”

“That’s a good idea-since we’ll be going to the hospital anyway.”

Max leaned forward. “99,” he said, lowering his voice, “glance around at the other tables and see if you see that KAOS agent, Whitestone, anywhere. I’m a little surprised that we haven’t made contact with him yet.”

99 got a mirror from her purse, and, pretending to inspect her appearance, she looked for Whitestone at the other tables.

“Not one person who’s white-haired and distinguished-looking, Max,” she reported.

“That worries me,” Max said. “It’s just not normal. That KAOS agent should have tried to stop us by now.”

The waiter arrived with the food and placed it before them. “I alerted the ambulance,” he said.

“Waiter, I have another question,” Max said. “We’re also on the lookout for a tall, middle-aged gentleman with white hair. Have you seen him?”

The waiter frowned thoughtfully. “What does he look like?”

“Well, he’s tall, and middle-aged, and has white hair.”

The waiter nodded. “I think I’ve seen him. A little short guy? Kind of young? Red-headed? He was in here last week. He ordered the same thing you just ordered-the Breast of White Dove. But I don’t know what happened to him. When the ambulance refused to accept him, he just wandered off-leaving a trail of sticky, chocolate fingerprints.”

“Thanks, anyway,” Max said.

The waiter departed.

Max and 99 looked at the food.

“Max. . I feel a kind of a. . a bum-bum in my tum-tum.”

“So do I. And if looking at it does that, imagine what eating it will do. 99. . I think we better take something.”

“An Alka-Seltzer?”

“No, a powder. Let’s get out of here while we’re still reasonably healthy.”

Max and 99 slipped out of the restaurant. Reaching the street, they hailed another cab. Max told the driver to take them to the hospital.

“You should have ordered your dinner with,” the driver said. “You would have got a ride in an ambulance.”

“That’s not why we’re going to the hospital,” Max replied. “We’re looking for a friend.”

“Then you want the Y.M.C.A.,” the driver said. “You won’t make any friends at the hospital. Those people are all sick. They’re not in the mood to be friends with anybody.”

“We’ll take our chances,” Max said. “The hospital, please.”

It was a short drive to the hospital. The cab dropped them at the entrance. Entering, they approached the reception desk.

“We just came from the Greasy Ladle Restaurant,” Max said to the nurse. “We were-”

“The Greasy Ladle?” the nurse interrupted. “Then you want the Emergency Entrance. This entrance is for well people.”

“No, no, you don’t understand,” Max said. “We’re not sick. We were told that a Dr. Livingstrom was brought here recently from the Greasy Ladle. We’d like to see him if he’s still here.”

“I’ll check the records,” the nurse said, getting a file box from beneath the counter. After a moment of searching, she pulled a card from the file. “He left here about a week ago,” she informed them. “He didn’t like our food. He said it was too plain.”

“Did he say where he was going?” Max asked.

“Yes. Out for a bowl of gnu soup. The gnu is an animal we have here in Africa. To make the soup, you fill a swimming pool with boiling water, add a half ton of carrots, a half ton of onions, a half ton of chestnuts, then toss the gnu into the pool and make him swim to the other end. When he crawls out, you top it off with a dollop of whipped cream.”

“I see,” Max nodded. “The fact that he mentioned gnu soup, did that tell you where he was going?”

“Yes. Out of his head,” the nurse replied. “Anybody who can eat gnu soup has a sparkplug missing somewhere.”

“No, what I mean is, is there, perhaps, a restaurant in town that specializes in gnu soup?”

“Oh. Yes. The Ye Olde Gnu Soupe Kitchen.”

“Thank you,” Max said, turning to leave.

“Just a minute,” the nurse said. “Come to think of it, that’s not exactly right. When we got independence they changed the name of the Ye Olde Gnu Soupe Kitchen. It’s now the Ye New Gnu Soupe Kitchen. But they still serve the same olde swill.”

Max and 99 left the hospital and took a taxi to the Ye New Gnu Soupe Kitchen. When they were seated at a table, they each ordered a bowl of gnu soup. They then asked the waiter if Dr. Livingstrom had been in lately. He replied that the scientist hadn’t been around in days, and suggested that they ask for him at the Curried Cod Cafe, a restaurant that specialized in corn cobs fried in butter and herbs.

“Shouldn’t that be the Curried Cob Cafe-not cod?” Max said.

“They wouldn’t have any customers if they called it that,” the waiter explained. “Who’d eat fried corn cobs?”

When the gnu soup was placed before them, Max and 99 felt a rambling in their tum-tums. They slipped out without eating and hurried to the Curried Cod Cafe.

But Dr. Livingstrom had not been there in days, either. The waiter at the Curried Cod suggested that they try at the Chop House, a restaurant near the water front.

“That sounds more like it,” Max said, brightening. “The Chop House. What kind of chops do they specialize in? Pork Chops?”

“Nope,” the waiter replied. “That’s rough territory down there by the water front. They specialize in karate chops.”