The beatnik on stage continued:
“Tenement, slum, no heat in the winter-Life!
Hunger, war, fighting in the streets,
The victims: The innocent and the beats!
Slaughter the birds for table.
I’d go somewhere’s else if I was able!”
The crowd went wild! Applause exploded in the room, shivering the walls. The beatniks leaped to their feet and stomped and screamed.
“Encore!” This from Noel.
“More… More… More!”
Max spoke to Blossom. “That beatnik is as phony as a three-dollar bill! I now suspect that he is really Fred!”
“Gee, he didn’t sound like Fred.”
“As a matter of fact, he sounded exactly like Fred. Who, unless I’m greatly mistaken, is really a square at heart. And, as soon as this noise dies down, I’ll prove it.” The applause heightened. The beatniks danced among and on the tables.
They chanted the words of the poem:
“Tapioca without the lumps!”
“Slaughter the birds for table!”
And occasionally mixed up the lines:
“A pad full of bread-unbuttered Life!”
The beatnik on the stage bowed modestly to the acclaim. And, in time, the audience settled down, exhausted.
At which time, Max arose.
“Ladies and gentlemen, your attention, please!”
“Boooooo!”
“If you. will give me a moment of your time, I will reveal a hoax!” He pointed to the beatnik who had recited, and who was still on stage. “That fellow there is a fake! A charming fake, and a lovable fake-but a fake nonetheless!”
“Throw ’im out!” cried a voice.
Two beatniks grabbed Max by the arms.
“Hold!” Max bellowed, pulling loose. “Give me your ears! Give me your attentions! Let me prove it!”
Quiet settled over the room.
“Now then,” Max said. “I claim that this poet’s poem is a direct steal from another poet’s poem! I claim that this poet’s poem was actually written in the early 1920’s by another poet named Unknown-at least, that’s the way he signed it. Although, of course, that may have been a pseudonym.”
“Prove it! Where’s your proof!”
“Let’s compare,” Max said. “Take the first line of our friend here’s poem-‘Stale bread, unbuttered-Life!’ I suggest that that is a flagrant corruption of the line-‘Like a bread without the spreadin’, Like a puddin’ without the sauce.’ ”
“Booooooo! Throw ’im out!”
“Hear me out!” Max cried. “Listen! Listen! Here’s the first stanza of Unknown’s poem. Listen, and see what you think!”
Max recited:
“Like a bread without the spreadin’,
Like a puddin’ without the sauce,
Like a mattress without beddin’,
Like a cart without the hoss,
Like a door without a latchstring
Like a fence without a stile,
Like a dry an’ barren creek bed Is the face without a smile.
“There!” he said. “If that isn’t the same poem, almost word for word, you can stand me on stilts and call me Longfellow!”
There was stunned and morose silence for a second.
Then a buzzing began. It was clear that some were taking one side of the controversy and others taking the other side. Soon the voices raised. Heated words were exchanged.
“They’re reasoning together,” Max said to Blossom. “That’s always a good beginning.”
One beatnik broke a coffee mug over the head of another.
“Activism,” Max commented. “Young people today are involved in their society.”
Crockery began to fly. There were shrieks of indignation and pain. One beatnik leaped to the counter and started pegging doughnuts at random at the crowd. Hair was pulled. Blows were struck.
The table at which Max and Blossom were seated remained an island of calm in the storm.
“As soon as this blows over,” Max said, “I hope we’ll be able to get down to a serious discussion of the similarities between the two poems.”
“I don’t think they’re much interested in talking.”
“Nonsense. They’re eager for debate. At the moment, they’re simply choosing up sides.” He glanced across the table. “What happened to our friend-the girl who was sitting here with us?”
“She went toward the stage,” Blossom said.
“Oh, yes… there she is now. She’s forcing that beatnik to leave with her at gunpoint.”
“Max! That’s Fred! She’s robotnapping Fred!”
“You’re right! Fang-after her!”
Fang had crawled under the table. He whined.
“I have to do everything myself!” Max complained. “All right, all of us, then-after her!”
They jumped up and began pushing through the crowd, headed for Noel, who was now steering Fred toward the exit.
“Excuse me,” Max said, halting a beatnik as he was about to lambaste a compatriot with an espresso machine.
Moments later they arrived at the door-and collided with Boris!
“You again!” Max said. “Still haven’t found your tour?”
“I’m a simple peasant,” Boris apologized, “easily led astray in the big city. What’s new with you?”
“We’re on the trail of a FLAG agent who is robot-napping Fred. You remember Fred?”
“A gorgeous brunette who looks much like the guide at the U.N.?” Boris said.
“No, no, Fred has a beard.”
“I mean the FLAG agent.”
“Yes, that’s right,” Max said. “Have you seen her?”
“This way!” Boris said, leading them out of the Idyll Hour.
Reaching the sidewalk, they saw Noel forcing Fred into a taxi.
“Stop! That’s Government property-in a sort of unofficial way!” Max yelled.
But the cab door slammed closed, and the cab roared away.
Boris opened a rear door of the limousine. “Quick! Inside! We will pursue them!”
“We’re constantly in your debt!” Max said. “I promise you, Boris, we’ll never forget this!”
“In, in!” Boris urged.
Max, Blossom and Fang crowded into the back seat of the limousine.
Boris slammed the door-then ran off down the street.
“No, no! We’re back here!” Max called after him.
Boris kept going. He hailed a cab, boarded it, and drove off.
Max sighed wearily. “Well, you can take the boy out of Zinzinotti, Alleybama, but you can’t take Zinzinotti, Alleybama out of the boy! Let’s admit it-Boris is a yokel. When the pressure was on, he panicked. Did you see that? He went zooming off in that cab, completely forgetting that he had locked us in the back seat of this limousine again!”
“You know,” Blossom said, “I have a feeling — ^n
“Let’s not get emotional about it,” Max said, cutting her off. “You can make all the excuses in the world for him, but the fact remains, he flubbed this operation for us. It was a strictly amateur performance.”
“What I meant was-”
This time Blossom was interrupted by a jangling sound.
“Excuse me,” Max said, “my shoe is ringing.”
He removed his shoe and spoke into it.
Max: Hello… 86 here.
Operator: Congratulations, Mr. 86! This is the Telephone Company. Your name has been chosen to receive a free call to Europe via the Early Bird Satellite. What number in Europe would you like, please?
Max: Is that you, Operator?
Operator: Oh, hello… is that you?
Max: Yes, this is me… is that you?
Operator: Yes, this is me. I thought I recognized your voice. How’re things in the limousine?
Max: Oh, you know about it, then.
Operator: About what?
Max: We’re locked in again.
(Long silence)
Max: Look, if you’re tracing this call, I’ll tell you exactly where we are. We’re parked almost in front of the Idyll Hour, just a few steps down from that telephone booth with the man leaning against it.
Operator: Oh, no, I wasn’t tracing the call. I was just wondering-how could anybody get locked in a limousine twice in one day?
Max (smugly): I have my ways. But never mind that now. Just connect me with that phone booth. I want that fellow who’s leaning against it to come over here and let us out.
Operator: Gee, I’m sorry. I can’t do it. You see, we have this promotion going on-publicizing the Early Bird satellite-and that’s the only facility I can use. Wouldn’t you just as soon talk to someone in Europe?