William Johnston - Max Smart and the Perilous Pellets

“Are you sure it’s harmless?” Max said worriedly.

“What kind of a weapon would it be if it were harmless?” The Professor growled. “You sound like those featherheads at R amp; D.”

“But, have you considered the consequences?” Max said. “If that pistol isn’t harmless, you may lose a freshman.”

“Our classes are too large anyway,” The Professor replied. “This is one way of whittling them down to size.” Again, he aimed the pistol.

But at that moment another senior entered the room. The freshmen snapped to attention. And Max snapped to attention and ducked.

“Excuse me, sir,” the senior said to The Professor. “Just collecting for the Senior Fun.”

“Proceed,” The Professor smiled. “On the usual terms, of course.”

“Of course, sir-your ten per cent.”

The senior began collecting. When he reached Max, Max gave him a nickel.

“Cheap!” the senior snarled.

“That’s my last cent,” Max explained.

“You won’t need money where you’re going,” The Professor said comfortingly.

The senior, having finished the collection, handed The Professor his cut, then departed.

“Now then, on to the next classroom,” The Professor said.

Once more, Frank Sadwell stepped forward. “Just a reminder, sir,” he said. “You haven’t demonstrated the weapons yet.”

The Professor scowled. “Are you-”

Frank Sadwell interrupted, pointing to Max.

“By Harry!” The Professor muttered. “Well, on with the demonstration.” He aimed the pistol squarely at Max’s head and pulled the trigger.

A boxing glove popped from the end of the barrel and caught Max right between the eyes. Max dropped to the floor.

99 rushed forward. “Max! Are you all right!” She bent down to him.

“He’s fine. Unconscious is all,” The Professor said. “Surely you don’t think I would knock him off this soon! I need him for further demonstration.” He addressed the group again. “Now that is dependability,” he said. “R amp; D can keep it’s new-fangled gadgets. When you’re up against the wily enemy, what you want is a good old-fashioned pistol that fires a boxing glove out the barrel and pops the adversary right between the eyes. Can’t beat it for dependability. The old weapons are the best weapons. Remember that!”

Aided by 99, Max sat up, regaining consciousness.

“Max! Are you all right?” 99 fretted.

Max shook his head, trying to clear it. “My brain cells are a little chilly,” he said. “But, otherwise, I feel awful.”

“On your feet, make-believe Control agent!” The Professor commanded. “This is no time to lounge. I have other weapons to demonstrate.”

“Maybe someone else would like to volunteer,” Max said, rising. “I don’t want to hog all the glory.”

The Professor turned to the group. “Would someone else like to volunteer?”

There was no response.

“Come, come,” The Professor urged. “Who else will volunteer?”

Frank Sadwell stepped forward. As he did, he gave Max a second shove.

“Well, all right,” The Professor said to Max. “If you want to hog all the glory, it’s fine by me. After all, it’s your funeral.”

“He was pushed!” 99 protested.

“That’s a serious accusation,” The Professor frowned. “Who pushed him?”

99 pointed at Frank Sadwell. “He did! I saw it!”

“Ha! Watching the other students while you’re supposed to be paying attention to my lecture, eh!” The Professor growled. “For that, you lose your dessert. Now, on with the demonstration.” He walked to the desk. “Over here, victim,” he said to Max. He indicated a large metal box that was sitting on the desk. “According to R amp; D,” he said. “This machine is a laser-powered lie-detector. Ever heard anything funnier than that?”

The freshmen roared with laughter.

“Naturally, I had to modify it,” The Professor said.

Max put a hand in front of his face.

“It doesn’t fire a boxing glove,” The Professor said.

“Oh.” Max lowered the hand.

“Stand right here, right beside the machine,” The Professor ordered.

Max obeyed.

“The way those featherheads at R amp; D had this worked out,” The Professor said to the group, “whenever a question was asked, and a lie was answered, a little light went on and a bell rang. Obviously, it was undependable that way. What do lights and bells know about truth? As modified, however, the machine is one-hundred per cent effective. I’ll prove it.” He faced back to Max. “I’ll ask you a question,” he said. “You can answer it with the truth or a lie, it won’t make any difference.”

“Is there any other choice?” Max asked.

“It still wouldn’t make any difference,” The Professor replied. “Now, here’s your first question. If there are fourteen apples in a dozen, and you bake twelve of the apples into a cherry pie, how long is a piece of string?”

Max puzzled for a moment. “A long piece of string or a short piece of string?”

“It doesn’t make any difference,” The Professor replied. “What is your answer?”

“A peach pie,” Max replied.

The instant he answered, a rubber hose popped from the machine and began beating him about the head and shoulders. Max leaped out of range, but not before he had been severely clubbed.

“See? I told you it didn’t make any difference,” The Professor smiled. “Lying or telling the truth, that rubber hose beats the stuffing out of you. It’s fool-proof!”

“It’s certainly more effective than lights and bells,” Max agreed.

“Oh, you’re not convinced, eh?” The Professor said. “All right, we’ll try another question. Take your place beside the machine.”

“I’m convinced,” Max protested.

“You say that, but you don’t really mean it,” The Professor replied. “I can see it in your eyes. You doubt the value of my modification. In fact, pretending to be a Control agent, you think you can beat the machine. Don’t you?”

Max smiled. “Well, I think we ought to realize that there are some very clever Control agents. I have one in particular in mind. You may have heard of him. Max Smart is his name. As I understand it, he is Control’s top agent, and, when it comes to brains, a whiz kid to boot.”

“I accept that challenge,” The Professor said. “Make believe you are this Jack Sharp.”

“Max Smart. M-a-x S-m-a-r-t.”

Frank Sadwell stepped forward. “This freshman is correct, sir,” he said to The Professor. “Jack Sharp is Control’s top agent-according to the notation on the back of his ‘Wanted’ poster.”

“Max Smart,” Max said.

“Oh, you keep up on ‘Wanted’ posters, eh?” The Professor said approvingly. “Would you know this Sax Heart if you saw him?”

“Max Smart,” Max said.

“His image is etched in my brain,” Frank Sadwell replied. “I would recognize him anywhere, under any conditions.”

“Very good,” The Professor smiled. “That’s the kind of students we need at KAOS.” He turned back to Max. “All right, we shall proceed. Stand beside the machine, and pretend that you are Max Smart.”

“Jack Sharp,” Max corrected, stepping to the machine.

“Here is your question,” The Professor said. “If beetles are bugs, and the Beatles are boys, how many boy beetles does it take to bug a Beatle boy until he boils?”

Max smiled smugly. “My answer,” he replied, “is ‘yes and no.’ ”

The machine chugged, clanked, then fell silent. The rubber hose did not appear.

“Traitor!” The Professor shrieked at the machine.

“I think it lost its cool,” Max smiled.

The Professor snatched up the pistol, aimed at the machine, and fired. The boxing glove popped out of the barrel and struck the machine square between the dials. The machine chugged again. Then the rubber hose popped out and began beating Max about the head and shoulders.