William Johnston: Get Smart Once Again!

Operator: Why Papa Bear? Why not all three of the bears?

Max: Because Noman is a male. And Papa Bear is a male.

Operator: Maybe Baby Bear was a male, too. I think you picked the wrong bear.

Max: You may be right, Operator. Let’s see… Baby Bear. Or, if you turn that around, you get Bear Baby. Or, to put it another way, bare baby. And all newly-born babies are bare. So, what we’re looking for is-no, I don’t think that’s it.

Chief: Max, keep working on it. I know you’ll come up with something. And… keep in touch.

Operator: Don’t encourage him to make a lot of calls, Chief. We don’t want him to wear out our shoe.

Chief: Good-by, Max.

Max: So long, Chief.

Operator: Keep your laces tight, Max.

Max put his shoe back on.

“That was the Chief,” he said to Peaches. “And the Operator,” he added.

“Shhh! I’m thinking.”

Max looked out the window. “Well, we’re on our way,” he said. “We’ve left the station.”

“Will you stop bothering me with trifling little details,” Peaches said. “I’m trying to-”

She was interrupted as the door of the compartment opened and the porter stepped in. He was holding a gun. And he quickly closed the door behind him.

“If you’re peddling guns, we don’t want any,” Max said, annoyed.

“Max!” Peaches shrieked. “It’s Noman!”

Noman smiled. “I would have been around sooner,” he said, “but I didn’t want to interrupt while you were on the shoe.”

“A fellow with good shoe manners can’t be all bad,” Max said. “Noman, let’s make a deal. Let me keep the Dooms Day Plan, and I’ll try to talk the Chief into giving you a job at Control. There are a lot of benefits connected with being on the side of the Good Guys.”

“Like what?” Noman asked.

“Peace of mind.”

“At KAOS we get three weeks vacation after twelve years.”

“Well, at Control we get a sense of accomplishment.”

“We get time-and-a-half for overtime. And overtime is any time after we sight our victim.”

“We have a friendly atmosphere,” Max responded.

“Our cafeteria serves chocolate sauce on the ice cream,” Noman said. “Even on the chocolate ice cream.”

“Well, I can’t match that,” Max admitted. “I guess you’ll just have to go your way, and I’ll go mine.” He stepped toward the door. “Excuse me-I’ll go mine.”

Noman pressed the pistol against his abdomen. “You can go your way,” he said, “but you’ll go feet first if you don’t hand over that Plan.”

Max backed away. “I can’t give you the Plan,” he said. “If I did, you’d rush out that door with it, and I’d never see it again.”

Noman smiled craftily. “Suppose I promised not to rush out the door with it?”

Max considered. “That throws a different light on the situation,” he said. “But how do I know I can trust you?”

“How do I know I can trust you?” Noman replied. “I’m taking as big a chance as you are. But I’m willing. I guess it’s a matter of basic character-you either trust people or you don’t.”

“You put me to shame,” Max said. “I’m sorry I doubted you.”

“Then it’s a deal?”

“Right. I’ll hand over the Plan. And you’ll promise not to rush out the door with it.”

“Shake,” Noman said.

They shook hands, then Max reached into his pocket and pulled out the Plan and handed it over to Noman. “A promise is a promise,” he reminded him.

Noman grinned evilly, taking the Plan. “Right,” he said. “But I didn’t promise not to jump out the window!”

Max looked disappointed. “Once a KAOS agent, always a KAOS agent,” he said.

Holding the gun on Max, Noman moved around to the window. With his back to it, he opened it.

“So long, sucker!” he laughed derisively.

“Happy landing,” Max said.

Noman threw himself backward through the opening and disappeared.

A second later a face appeared-the face of Agent 44.

“Good work, 44,” Max said. “You snatched the Plan from him as he hurtled past, of course.”

“The Plan and something else,” 44 said, handing in two sheets of paper.

“My list!” Peaches cried happily, leaping up.

Max accepted the two sheets of paper from 44 and handed one of them to Peaches.

“This isn’t my list!” she said angrily, throwing the sheet of paper to the floor.

“Here!” Max said, giving her the other sheet of paper. “That one is the Plan,” he said, picking it up.

“How could you mistake my lovely list for your horrid old Plan!” Peaches exclaimed, hugging her list to her bosom. “They should have named you Max Dumb.”

Max turned back to Agent 44. “Thanks again,” he said. “I’ll see you around.”

Agent 44 disappeared.

Max faced back to Peaches. “Did you notice how I maneuvered Noman into using the window-where I knew 44 would be waiting?” he said. “What was so dumb about that?”

“He’s just dumber than you are,” Peaches grumbled. “He should have been named Nobody.”

“Well, he’s Nowhere now.”

“Want to bet?” Peaches said. “I’ll bet he’s back on the train right now. And I’ll bet he’ll be back here with his gun before you can say ‘Jack Robinson.’ ”

“Jack Robinson!” Max snapped. He looked around. “Ha! He’s not here. You lose.”

“I’ll still bet he’s back on the train.”

“That bet I won’t take,” Max said. “And, just to make sure he won’t find us here when he comes back, I think we’d better go to the lounge car. If we surround ourselves with loungers, he won’t dare try anything.”

Peaches leaped up again, excited. “Isn’t that where the romantic strangers are?”

“There may be one or two,” Max replied. “However, I think you’ll probably find more stationery salesmen than romantic strangers.”

“I’ll chance it,” Peaches said. “Let’s go.”

Peaches led the way this time, and Max had to trot to keep up with her. When they reached the lounge, where a number of passengers were seated in lounge chairs, Peaches rushed forward and addressed the first man she came to.

“Are you a stationery salesman?” she asked.

“No, I’m a traveling salesman,” he replied. “I move around quite a bit.”

“I don’t mean stationary like standing still,” she said, “I mean stationery like writing letters.”

“I write home-to the wife and kiddies,” the man replied.

“Then you’re not a romantic stranger,” Peaches said disappointedly.

At that moment, Max caught up with her. “Try that fellow down there,” he said, pointing.

“Where?”

“At the other end of the car,” Max said. “That pleasingly plump fellow who looks like a typical romantic stranger.”

“Oh, him! Yes, he does look typical,” Peaches said.

She rushed off, headed for the far end of the car, and Max tagged after her.

When she reached the man, Peaches dropped into the vacant seat next to him. The man was reading a newspaper. But Peaches dug him in the ribs with an elbow, then, when he looked up, she fluttered her eyelashes at him.

“Hello, there!” the man beamed.

“I don’t speak to strangers,” Peaches replied.

“Oh. I thought that dig in the ribs was an introduction.”

“That was a slip of the elbow-purely unintentional,” Peaches said. “But, if you want to introduce yourself, then we’d be introduced.”

The romantic stranger smiled romantically. “You can just call me The Romantic Stranger,” he said. “Or, TRS, for short.”

At that moment, Max arrived. “Excuse me,” he said to the man. “May I sit on the other side of you? You see, I’m sort of responsible for this young lady.”