“But, Max, you’d know it was an illusion. We’re out in the middle of the jungle. And this isn’t a holiday. There’d be no excuse for a parade.”
“99, people who march in parades don’t need an excuse.”
“I see what you mean, Max. You’re right, we better deal with Whitestone. But how? We haven’t even seen him yet.”
“We know that he’s following us, though,” Max pointed out. “So . . . we’ll set a trap for him.”
“He won’t be easy to snare, Max.”
“It may not be all that difficult,” Max said. “What’s the first rule when setting a trap for an intelligent animal like man?”
“Always punt on the fourth down?”
“No, 99. The rule is: Know your victim. And what is it that we know about Whitestone? We know that he’s an ex-vaudevillian. What does that suggest?”
“Offering him a booking on the Ed Sullivan show?”
“You’re on the right track—but you’re in the wrong jungle. What do you think would happen if we set up a spotlight here in this clearing? I’ll tell you what would happen. Whitestone would see it and he’d be unable to resist it. Ex-vaudevillians are the same about spotlights as I am about parades. He’d march into the spotlight and go into his act. And we’d have him!”
“I don’t know, Max . . .”
“Trust me, 99. I put in a little time on the stage myself, you know.”
“No, I didn’t know that, Max. When?”
“In the third grade at Daniel Webster Elementary School. I was the hit of the class hi jinks. Offers poured in from all over the country. Offers from Hollywood. From Broadway. From off-Broadway.”
“Why didn’t you go, Max?”
“My mother wouldn’t let me. She thought it might be embarrassing. You see, I hadn’t quite licked toilet training yet.”
“Too bad, Max.”
“Yes, but that’s past history, 99. Let’s think about the present. Now, here’s my plan: We’ll dig a pit here in the center of the clearing, then we’ll cover it with branches and twigs. Above the pit, we’ll set up a spotlight, beamed directly at it. Whitestone will be lured into the spotlight, then drop into the pit. We’ll take him prisoner, then pick up Dr. Livingstrom’s trail again—free of the danger of being detoured by Whitestone.”
“It sounds perfect, Max! But how will we dig a pit? We don’t have a shovel.”
“Let’s check these capsules,” Max said, putting a hand into his pocket. “R & D probably sent along something that we can use in place of a shovel.” He handed 99 a fistful of capsules. “You check these, and I’ll check the others.”
“I have an exact-size replica of the Washington Monument here,” 99 said, reading a label.
“I suppose we could dig with that—it’s pointed at one end,” Max said. “But it might be a little hard to handle.”
“I also have the city of New York,” 99 said, reading the label on another capsule.
Max peered at her. “Really? It’s odd nobody’s missed it.”
“Well, it’s winter back in New York, Max. Everybody’s probably in Florida.”
“That explains it,” Max said. He read the label on one of the capsules he was holding. “ ‘One Shovel and One Spotlight for Trapping Ex-vaudevillians in the Jungle,’ ” he announced. “Good old R & D!”
Max and 99 set to work. 99 dug the pit. And Max mounted the spotlight in a tree above it. After they had covered the pit with vines and twigs, they hid in the underbrush. About an hour later, the sun went down. Max switched on the spotlight.
“It is tempting,” 99 said, impressed. “I almost feel like going out there and doing a little dance myself. I don’t see how an ex-vaudevillian like Whitestone could ever resist it.”
“Yes, it brings back memories,” Max said.
“Memories, Max?”
“Third grade at Daniel Webster Elementary School.”
“Oh . . . yes . . .”
“I recited a poem,” Max said, recalling. “In fact, it was a poem that I’d written myself. It had a lot of heart.”
“Do you remember it, Max?”
“Well . . . let’s see . . . It went:
By the shores of Lake Superior,
Where the night is dark and sceerior,
“Sceerior, Max?”
“Poems have to rhyme, you know, 99. If a poem doesn’t rhyme, it isn’t a poem.”
“Sorry, Max. Go on.”
Rising, Max placed a hand over his heart, indicating deep feeling, and continued:
I wandered, lonely as a clam,
Whistling ‘Dixie’ to Uncle Sam.
He paused and explained to 99. “A little patriotism never hurts,” he said. “And it’s always wise to play both sides of the fence.”
“I understand, Max. Don’t stop. It’s beautiful.”
Max stepped out into the clearing, and, facing 99, went on:
When suddenly there came a knocking,
As if someone loudly socking.
He glanced back over his shoulder at the spotlight, then took a step to the rear.
‘Who is there?’ I cried. ‘Hiawatha?’
But whoever it was, to answer didn’t botha.
Doing a shuffle-off-to-Buffalo, Max danced several steps backwards, nearing the spotlight.
Who was it rapping? Was it a ghost?
Could I sell you—
“Max!” 99 cried, leaping up.
Max was nowhere in sight.
99 ran to the edge of the pit. “Max—are you all right? Speak to me!”
“to the Saturday Evening Post,” Max replied from deep in the pit.
“Max! Are you delirious?”
“No, 99. That’s the last line of the poem. The final stanza goes:
Who was it rapping? Was it a ghost?
Could I sell you a subscription to the
Saturday Evening Post?
“It rhymes, Max, but it doesn’t make much sense.”
“It did then, 99. When I was in third grade I was selling magazine subscriptions door-to-door. I was getting in a plug. That’s why I got all those offers from Hollywood and Broadway. I’d created a work of art with a sales message.”
“Max . . . give me your hand. I’ll help you out.”
When Max had been rescued from the pit, he and 99 covered it again with vines and twigs.
“Well, at least, we know it works,” 99 said.
“Yes, it’s perfect,” Max said. He frowned. “That’s what bothers me, 99. It’s too perfect.”
“I don’t understand, Max.”
“When Whitestone sees this spotlight, won’t he become suspicious? After all—a spotlight? In the middle of the jungle? Won’t he guess that, as an ex-vaudevillian, it was planted here especially for him?”
“Max, I think you’re right.”
“We’ll have to rig up a different kind of trap,” Max said. “Something that isn’t quite so obvious.”
“Do you have anything in mind, Max?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. The old vine-tied-to-the-tip-end-of-a-tall-supple-young-tree-and-the-other-end-with-a-loop-in-it-hidden-on-the-ground-and-covered-with-branches trick.”
“I think I’ve heard of it. But doesn’t it have a shorter name?”
“It’s also called The Number Twenty-Six, or The Upsa-Daisy.”
“Oh, yes, now I remember.”
“First,” Max said, gathering vines, “we’ll braid these into a long rope.”
When they had finished that, Max lassoed the tip of a tall, supple, young tree, and bent the tree until the tip touched the ground. Then he secured the tip to a stake he had driven into the earth.
“What now, Max?”
“Now, we make a loop in the other end of this rope,” Max explained. “And we place the loop on the trail and cover it with branches.”
“I see. And then Whitestone comes along and steps in the loop and trips the trap and the loop tightens around his ankle and the tree springs up and there he is, dangling from t
he tree.”
“By the rope.”
“Yes, by the rope.”
“Without the rope, he couldn’t dangle from the tree.”
“Yes, I understand, Max.”
“But you didn’t mention it. And, without the rope, he couldn’t dangle from the tree.”
“I’m sorry, Max. I should have mention—”
99 was interrupted by a ringing sound.
“I think that’s the doorbell,” Max said. “Will you get it, 99?”
“Max, it’s your shoe.”
“Oh . . . yes . . .”
Max removed his shoe.
Max: 86, here. Is that you, Chief?
Chief: Yes, Max, it’s me. Why haven’t you called? I’ve been worried about you. Did you manage to get away from those elephants?
Max: Of course, Chief.
Operator: I knew it! Self! Self! Self! That’s all you ever think of, Max. All you had to do was get run down by one little elephant and Arnold’s career would have been assured. But no, you had to escape! Self! Self! Self!
Max: Operator, I’m sorry. But I’ll make it up to Arnold. The next time I meet a rampaging elephant, I’ll throw myself in its path.
Operator: When, Max? People are always making promises like that, but they never follow through. When?
Chief: Operator, will you get off the line, please. This is a top-secret conversation. Max, are you still there? What progress have you made?
Max: We’re hot on Dr. Livingstrom’s trail, Chief. At the moment, however, we’re taking time out to trap that KAOS agent, Whitestone. He’s been giving us a lot of trouble.
Operator: Max, when you get back, you’re invited to my house for dinner. There’s a nice elephant I want you to meet.
Chief: Operator! Please! (pause) Max, don’t waste too much time on that KAOS agent. Remember, the most important thing is to find Dr. Livingstrom and get the formula from him.
Operator: Here are the seating arrangements for the dinner, Max. Arnold will be seated at my left, and his mother will be seated at my right, and you’ll be seated under the elephant.
Max: Chief, we can’t talk—there’s too much interference. I’ll call you later.
Chief: You’re probably right, Max. Over and out.
Operator: Watch for rampaging elephants, Max. A promise is a promise.
Max put his shoe back on his foot.
“The trap is ready, Max,” 99 reported.
“Fine. Now, let’s conceal ourselves in the underbrush again, and wait for Whitestone to come along and step into that loop.”
Not long after they had hidden, they heard a sound on the trail.
“It’s him—he’s coming!” Max said. “Quiet, 99!”
“I didn’t say anything, Max.”
“You just did! Quiet!”
A moment later, a large lion wandered into the clearing, crossed it, then disappeared into the jungle.
“Oh, Max,” 99 said, disappointed. “Did you see what happened? That lion stepped into the loop, but the trap didn’t spring.”
“And good thing. What would we do with a lion, 99?”
“But, don’t you see? If the lion didn’t trip the trap, Whitestone won’t either.”
“Oh. Well, let’s not jump to conclusions, 99. After all, it’s not a lion trap, it’s a Whitestone trap. That may make a difference.”
“I doubt it, Max.”
“Let’s give it a chance,” Max said.
Again, they waited. Soon, they heard a sound on the trail once more. Then a leopard strolled into the clearing. The leopard stopped at the point where the loop had been camouflaged. It sniffed, then stepped into the loop, then out of it, and loped off into the jungle.
“Oh, Max . . .”
“99, I refuse to jump to conclusions. We’ll wait.”
Minutes passed. Then a gorilla emerged from the jungle. It reached the loop, dug it up from under the vines and branches and peered at it quizzically, then began playing a game with it, pretending to lasso imaginary smaller animals. But after a while the gorilla tired of the game, dropped the rope, covered it with the vines and branches, then ambled on along the trail.
“Well, Max?”
“I’m willing to admit, 99, that it may not be working perfectly. I’ll check it out.”
“Max, no! Don’t go out there!”
He peered at her puzzledly. “Why not, 99?”
“Max, you know exactly what will happen. You’ll trip that trap, and, the next thing you know, you’ll be dangling in the air.”
“99, give me credit for some intelligence, will you? I know exactly where that loop is. I’m not going to blunder into it.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Max.”
“For goodness sake, 99, you’d think I was a child!”
Max scrambled out of the underbrush, and very cautiously crossed the clearing toward where the loop was hidden. “See?” he called back. “I’m approaching it very slowly, step by step by step by—”
Max suddenly vanished.
99 leaped from the underbrush and rushed to the edge of the pit. “Max! Are you all right? Speak to me!”
“Careful, 99,” Max replied. “That fourth step is a doozy!”
99 reached down into the pit. “Take my hand, Max.”
“Watch it, 99. You’re getting a little too close to—” There was a snapping sound, then a twan-n-n-n-n-ging sound.
“—to that trap we set for Whitestone,” Max finished, peering up at 99, who was dangling overhead.
“Oh, Max, I’m sorry,” 99 moaned, swinging to and fro.
“It does present a bit of a problem,” Max said. “With you up there, you can’t help me out of this pit. And with me in this pit, I can’t help you down from up there.”
“Max, telephone the Chief. Maybe he can send help.”
“I will not!” Max snapped.
“But, Max! We’re trapped. Why not?”
“Because he might send Arnold!” Max said. “That would be the last straw!”
“Well, then . . . Wait a minute, Max . . . I think I can pull myself up by the rope and unfasten this loop from around my ankle . . .”
“Good girl, 99!”
Using all her strength, 99 arched her body upward until she could get a hold on the rope. Then, clutching tightly to the rope with one hand, she used the other hand to untie the loop.
“You did it, 99! Now, drop to the ground!”
“Max, I’m right over the pit. If I drop, I’ll drop into the pit. Then we’ll both be trapped again.”
“99, I don’t like to criticize, but you’re not handling this too well.”
“What do you suggest, Max?”
Max sighed. “I guess I better phone the Chief.”
“No, Max! Listen!”
Max cocked an ear. “Something . . . or someone . . . is coming . . .”
A giraffe stepped daintily into the clearing.
“It’s a giraffe, Max,” 99 reported.
“Great. I’ll mention that to the Chief.”
“Max, wait—don’t phone yet. The giraffe is coming my way. When it reaches me, I’ll drop to its neck, then slide down to the ground.”
“Forget it, 99. I’ll call the Chief. What if he does send Arnold to rescue us. My ego has survived harsher blows than that.”
“Max, please wait!”
“Well . . .”
The giraffe reached the tree from which 99 was dangling. As it did, she dropped to its neck. But her weight was too much for the giraffe’s neck to bear. It tilted downward, dropping 99 into the pit.
“Sorry about that, Max,” 99 said sheepishly.
Max shrugged. “This just isn’t our day, 99.”
The giraffe continued on its way. And Max bent down to get his shoe-phone.
“Max, there must be some other way,” 99 said.
“There isn’t, 99! Now, let me phone!”
“No, Max. I won’t have you humiliated!”
99 grabbed the shoe from Max and h
eld it behind her back.
“99, you’re being childish!”
Max reached for the shoe. But, in desperation, 99 threw it out of the pit.
Max sighed deeply. “Now, you did it.”
“I’m awfully sorry, Max,” 99 said contritely. “I got carried away.”
“Well, I’ll just have to get that phone,” Max said. “Make a sling out of your hands, 99, and boost me up.”
“Yes, Max.”
99 locked her fingers together, and Max put his shoeless foot in her hands, then, summoning all her strength again, she boosted him up and out of the pit.
“Did you find your shoe, Max?” 99 called.
“Yes, I have it. Now, watch out below, 99. I’m coming down.”
“Max . . . may I ask a question?”
“Yes, 99,” Max replied irritably, “what is it?”
“Why are you coming back down here, Max?”
“Why? For heaven’s sake, 99, so I can telephone the Chief and ask him to send someone to rescue us from this . . . oh, yes, I see what you mean. I’m not in the pit any longer, am I?”
“No, Max.”
“Reach, 99. I’ll help you out.”
“Thank you, Max.”
When they were both clear of the pit, they covered it again with vines and branches. Then, once more, they went into hiding.
“Maybe we should give up, Max,” 99 said sorrowfully. “You said yourself that that trap is too obvious.”
“99, we can’t continue until it gets light, anyway,” Max said. “So we might as well sit here and be failures.”
“Your traps aren’t complete failures, Max. One caught me. And one caught you—twice.”
“Don’t be nasty, 99. Nobody likes a nasty secret agent.”
“I’m really sorry, Max. If there’s—”
“99—shhhh!”
“What is it, Max?”
“I heard something. Someone is coming!”
“It’s probably another animal.”
“I suppose it is. But— No, look, 99! On the trail. A human figure!”
99 squinted into the dimness. “It is, Max! You’re right!”
“Whitestone! Or my number isn’t 86!” Max said.
“We’ll get him this time, Max.”
“Down, 99! Duck out of sight! We can’t take a chance on him spotting us!”
“Right, Max!”
They lowered their heads, crouching down in the undergrowth.
Soon they heard a crackling sound—the sound of twigs snapping. A moment later they heard a crash and a shriek.
Get Smart 5 - Missed It By That Much! Page 6