William Johnston: Get Smart!

“I better be going,” Fred said. “There’s a particular problem I have to work on.”

“I’m sure you can solve it,” Blossom said fondly.

“I’m not sure,” Fred said. “The problem is this. I learned while at the U.N. that there are some countries that produce so much food that they can’t use it all. They have to store it-at great cost to the governments. Then, on the other hand, there are other countries that produce so little food that some of their people are starving. I’m sure that somewhere there must be an answer to it.”

“Mmmmmm… it’s a puzzler, all right,” Max frowned.

“The answer is obvious,” Noel said. “What those starving people need is love.”

“Who can eat love?” Boris said. “The answer is to send them all to Siberia.”

“Well, it’s a tricky situation,” Max said. “But if anyone can solve it, I’m sure you can, Fred.”

Fred looked worried. “I keep telling myself there’s a simple answer,” he said.

“Rorff!”

“Ridiculous,” Max said.

“What say?” Blossom said.

“It’s too ridiculous to repeat,” Max said crossly.

“So long, gang,” Fred said, moving toward the door.

“Good luck in your new post,” Max said.

“Don’t be a slave to nobody,” Boris called. “Remember, you can always have a job with us. And tin medals don’t grow on trees!”

“Vive l’amour!” Noel said hatefully.

Then Fred was gone.

“Well, gang,” Max said, “I guess we can all stow our guns. In the final analysis, Mankind has won the day. We know now that we have a computer working on the side of Universal Brotherhood. That ought to make us all sleep more peacefully at night, eh?”

“Eet makes one weep,” Noel said, putting away her gun, and, at the same time, picking up a heavy paperweight from Fred’s desk.

“Da,” Boris said. He deposited his pistol in his handkerchief pocket, and, simultaneously, palmed the knife-like letter opener that was on Fred’s desk.

“It’s been fun,” Max said, shaking hands all around. “I hope we’ll all meet again soon.”

“Rorff!”

“Oh… that’s right, you’re with me. Sorry.”

“So am I,” Blossom said.

“I’m trying to forget that.”

“Bon soir,” Noel said, leaving.

Boris backed toward the doorway. “Eef you’re ever in Zinzinotti, Alleybama, you stop in,” he said. “Hear, y’all?”

“Southern hospitality,” Max said, brushing a tear from his eye. “It gets me every time.”

“Well, imagine that!” Blossom giggled. “It’s dinner time. And I just happen to know of the darlingest, most secluded French restaurant. We could-”

“I have a dinner date,” Max said. “With the Chief.”

“Oh. Well, I could join you. Then later, you and I-”

“Which reminds me,” Max said. “I better report in and tell the Chief that the case is closed. He’ll be wondering.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Blossom said.

Max removed his shoe and spoke into it.

Max: Chief? This is 86.

Chief: That you, Max?

Max: Yes. I’m happy to report, Chief, that the case of the gallivanting computer has been solved.

Chief: You have him? You’re bringing him in?

Max: Not exactly, Chief. He’s decided to work for another outfit. There are a lot of details, but, in a nutshell, he’s going into the food business.

Chief (slowly, furiously): Max… your… assignment… was… to… bring him in!

Max: Chief, if you look at it in the right light, that is only a small detail. You have to take the broad view. Look at it as history. By letting Fred go, I may have ensured the peace of the world for the next ten centuries.

Chief: That’s all well and good. But what am I going to tell my superiors? This isn’t my Secret Service, you know. I don’t own it.

Max: We’ll discuss it over dinner, Chief. I’m positive that between us we can think up an acceptable excuse. Incidentally-(He glanced at Blossom)-do you mind if I bring along an unwelcome guest?

Chief: Nothing, but nothing, could faze me now!

Max: Meet you in half an hour, then, at our favorite French restaurant. Over and out.

Chief: What’s that ‘over and out’ business?

Max: I’ll explain that, too, Chief. So long.

“The Chief says he’ll be happy to have you as his unwelcome guest,” he said to Blossom.

“I gathered that.”

“Rorff!”

“You, too,” Max said. “But only on one condition-that you don’t embarrass me by asking for a sauce on your liverwurst.”

They left the office and walked down the corridor toward the elevators.

“I must have picked up a bullet during the fray,” Max said. “I’m limping.”

“You didn’t hang up your shoe,” Blossom pointed out.

“Oh… yes.” He hung up his shoe.

They stepped aboard an elevator, descended to street level, then left the building and walked toward the French restaurant.

“You know,” Max said sentimentally, “there’s something about this case that is very reminiscent. It’s just as if it’s all happened before.”

“Oh?”

“Rorff!”

“I think you’re right,” Max said, brightening. “It’s been almost like a repeat of the summer of ’61. The only difference is, then it was ping-pong balls, this time it was a computer.” He turned to Blossom. “Did I tell you, by any chance, about the summer of ’61?”

“Yes,” Blossom said grimly.

“Well, a good story always bears repeating,” Max said. “It began in Paree, Illinois. There was a gorgeous little brunette there. I wonder what ever happened to her? But, that’s neither here nor there. As I was saying…”

They had reached a corner. As Max ambled on, talking, Blossom made a sharp left turn, and, unnoticed by Max, disappeared into the gathering dusk.