William Johnston - Max Smart and the Perilous Pellets

As the guard was approaching the ballet dancer place, he met another guard. In fact, they collided at a corner.

“Watch it, you clumsy Arab,” Max’s guard grumbled. “I’m carrying an important message to the new ballet dancer from the American Advisor.”

“Big deal, you camel’s hump,” the other guard replied. “It just so happens that I am carrying a double-important message to the American Advisor from the new ballet dancer.”

“My message is triple-important,” Max’s guard retorted. “I didn’t mention it only because I’m not the type to brag.”

“May the Golden Peacock of Paradise drop bread crumbs in your ear,” the other guard snarled.

“May the Emperor’s horse swish his tail in your face!” Max’s guard responded.

“May the full moon fall from Heaven and land in your soup bowl!” the other guard growled.

“May the seventh son of your seventh son flunk math!” Max’s guard said nastily.

“Hey! That’s an awful thing to say!” the other guard winced.

“Sorry about that,” Max’s guard replied apologetically. “I guess I kind of lost my head. Are we still friends?”

“You know the rule,” the other guard said. “When two good friends insult each other, in order to become good friends again they have to exchange gifts. What do you have to give?”

“What do you have to give?” Max’s guard replied warily.

“I got a buck for delivering this message,” the other guard said.

“Me, too.”

“We could exchange dollars.”

Max’s guard shook his head. “I need this buck. I’m going to buy myself a box of gold stars.”

“Well… let’s see… what else do we have?”

“We have the messages,” Max’s guard pointed out.

“Just the thing!” the other guard beamed.

The two guards exchanged messages, then parted, each guard going his own way, the best of friends once more.

Thus, it was written that Max received the message he had sent to 99, and 99 received the message that she had sent to Max. Max’s message, which he received himself, read: Will meet you at the ballet dancer place. And 99’s message, which she received herself, read: I will meet you at the wall.

Late that evening, Max slipped out of his room, nodded amiably to the guard, then made his way stealthily toward the ballet dancer place.

At the same time, 99 slipped out of the ballet dancer place, nodded amiably to the guard, then made her way stealthily toward the wall.

Reaching the ballet dancer place, Max nodded amiably to the guard, then rapped lightly on the door.

The knock was answered by another of the female ballet dancers.

“I’m looking for 99,” Max whispered.

“You’re in the wrong place,” the girl whispered back. “There are only sixteen of us here.”

“You don’t understand,” Max whispered. “I’m looking for the new flung.”

“Oh. She just stepped out. Would you like to come in and wait?”

Max entered, and the girl closed the door.

“We’re having a practice session,” the girl said. “You can watch if you want to. But you can’t stay very long. Dr. Yeh! is due soon. He stops in every evening to watch us practice. And I don’t think he’d like it if he found a man in the ballet dancer place.”

“Uh, the new flung, did she say when she’d be back?” Max asked.

The girl giggled.

“Pardon?” Max said.

“What a character-the new flung,” the girl replied. “She told us a wild story about being a secret agent and having a rendezvous with another secret agent. She’s probably meeting a boy friend. Who knows when she’ll be back?”

“Oh. Well, in that case-”

“Hssst!” another ballet dancer interrupted. “Dr. Yeh! is coming!”

The first ballet dancer pushed Max toward the door. “Out! He mustn’t find you here!”

“No! Not that way!” the second ballet dancer cried. “He’ll ran right into Dr. Yeh!”

“He can’t leave!” a third ballet dancer said. “Disguise him!”

“How?” the second dancer asked.

“Give him a mop and let him pretend to be the cleaning woman,” a fourth ballet dancer suggested.

“We don’t have a cleaning woman. You know how atrocious the servant problem is,” the second ballet dancer said.

“I do a pretty good imitation of Jimmy Cagney doing a fair imitation of Edward G. Robinson,” Max said. “Do you think that would fool him?”

“The mop!” a twelfth ballet dancer said.

Max shook his head. “I do a lousy imitation of a mop.”

“Put the mop on his head and dress him in tights and he’ll look like one of us,” the twelfth ballet dancer explained.

At that moment, there was a knock at the door.

“It’s him! It’s Dr. Yeh!” the ballet dancers cried in unison.

The second ballet dancer snatched up a pair of tights and the mop. She shoved them into Max’s hands, then shoved Max into a closet. “Dress!” she hissed. “You’re our new flung!”

“But I-”

The door slammed.

Inside the closet, Max grudgingly changed into the tights and mop. Through the door, he could hear Dr. Yeh! in conversation with the ballet dancers.

“Where is the new flung?” he heard Dr. Yeh! ask.

“She’ll be right out,” a ballet dancer replied.

“This is a great night for me,” Dr. Yeh! said. “How long has it been since my troupe last had a flung to fling? It seems like weeks.”

“It’s been weeks,” a ballet dancer confirmed.

Max opened the closet door and stepped out.

“Ah!” Dr. Yeh! cried happily. “Here is our new-” He stared. “This is our new flung?” he continued. He approached Max. “You look different,” he said. “I don’t recall that you had a handle in your hair.”

“Oh… that,” Max said, glancing back over his shoulder at the mop handle. “Actually, you see, that isn’t a handle. It’s a new technical advance in flung-wear. It’s what you might call a rudder. We flungs were being flung into the air and losing our course. The rudder keeps us on the straight and narrow.”

“Didn’t you have dark hair before?” Dr. Yeh! said, squinting at Max puzzledly.

“It suddenly turned mop water gray,” Max explained. “It happens quite often to us flungs. We’re tossed high in the air, and, unfortunately, sometimes we look down. It’s scarey. Enough to turn anybody’s hair mop water gray.”

Dr. Yeh! shrugged. “On with the ballet!”

The ballet dancers, taking Max with them, moved to the center of the room. Dr. Yeh! seated himself on the collapsible throne he had brought along.

“Just relax,” one of the ballet dancers whispered to Max. “We’ll do all the work. You just fly.”

“Fine,” Max whispered back. “I think I can handle- Fly?”

“There’s nothing to it. Just-”

“On with the ballet!” Dr. Yeh! shouted.

One of the dancers stepped forward, facing Dr. Yeh! “This is a new routine we’ve worked out,” she announced. “It’s titled ‘The Birth, Life and Death of the Count of Monte Cristo as performed by Mr. Feldstein’s Social Studies students at Fairfield Elementary School and directed by Lewis and Clark while Lewis plays “A Hard Day’s Night” on the left-handed piccolo and Clark whistles the Second Movement from Daniel Webster’s fugue for adverbs, verbs, pronouns, adjectives and kettle drums blues.’ ”

Dr. Yeh! applauded. “Snappy title,” he said. “What’s it about?”

“We haven’t worked that out yet,” the dancer replied. “We’re still sort of ad-libbing.”

“Good. I like surprises,” Dr. Yeh! said. “On with the ballet!”

The troupe split into two groups. One group, including Max, remained at the left side of the room. The other group moved to the right side of the room.