Spontoon Island
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story
24 October 2007
| "Valentines Dazed"
by E.O. Costello, M. Mitchell Marmel, & Walter D. Reimer All characters © their respective creators It was, I suppose, too much to expect that Reggie would be on time for the hearings. I hadn't been able to talk things over with him at all, and that worried me. Reggie was a force of nature, and heaven knows what his tongue would produce, since it wasn't wired up to anything resembling a brain. I killed a few minutes getting the old footwear polish job from a small native beagle who had set up his stand right outside the building. He did a very good job, and earned the five shillings, including generous tip, I gave him. "Thank you, shoeshine boy. You are humble and lovable." "Bless you, Sir." The beagle bowed to me. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him doing the old bite test to the coin. Well, can't blame him. He's working in a government area, after all. Five minutes to go, and still no sign of Reggie. Damnit. I would have to start without him. I went inside, and found the Spontoon Islands Transportation Safety Board hearing room. It was the one with the frayed electric cord near the puddle of water from a leaking pipe. The Chairman proved to be a small penguin, with a high, nasal voice and a rather brisk manner. He was helped, if one can say that with a straight face, by a rather cheerful looking swan with a mass of unruly headfeathers and a pair of pince-nez, and a tubby, sleepy looking walrus who was blinking slowly. The proceedings got underway, and the Chairman attempted to move things along briskly. He was somewhat hampered by the fact that the walrus, who was the recording secretary. He was missing a key tool. "Oh, for the love of...Chumley, you idiot, why aren't you taking all of this down?" "Uhhhh. Sorry, M.T. I don't have a pencil." "Ahhhh. Well, why don't you requisition *another* pencil?" "I haven't filled out the requisition form, M.T." "Why *haven't* you filled out the requisition form, Chumley?" "I don't have a pencil." The penguin's temper was kept in check, barely, by the swan volunteering to keep notes. Things proceeded to a discussion of how exactly the M/V "Cheer Up!", the property of Imperial Distillers, Ltd., which on the night of 24 December 1936 was carrying a cargo of pineapple brandy from Main Island to Eastern Island, suddenly ceased to exist. I began to recite the old, sad story, when from the hall issued the following: “Shhheeeeeeeeee's thhheeeeeeeee.... daughter of Rosie O'Graaaaaaaaaaady A regular old-fashioned girrrrrrrrrrl. She's isn't cra-zy for DIA-mond rings, s-i-i-i-lks and saaaaatins and FAN-cy things. She's just a sweet little LAAAAAdy and when you meet her you'll see! Why I'm glad I collared the daughter of Rosie O'Graaaaaaaaaaaady!" I held my head in my paws. Doomed by a walking wine rack. Reggie weaved into the hearing room, and blinked cheerily. "What ho, what ho, what ho! Am I too late for the fun?" Without waiting for an answer, Reggie staggered over, took a chair, and set it right in front of the Chairman and his two colleagues. He sat in the chair, with his paws on his knees, and grinned up at them. For all the world, it looked like he was about to ask Mr. Bones the old one about why the chicken crossed the road. The Chairman gave Reggie a puzzled look. "Are you (*paper shuffle*) Reginald Buckhorn?" "Been since the day I was born, old bean." Reggie giggled. "I say, jolly nice committee you have, Les. Nine chaps, good and true." There was a water jug close to paw, and I pondered whether I could bring it down on his head without anyone noticing. Then again, Reggie wasn't in any condition to feel anything. "Mr. Buckhorn, can you shed any light on this matter?" Reggie blinked. "I say, old bean, deer don't shed, you know. I'm not a cat. Cats don't have antlers. Chum of mine at Penn once said he saw a jackrabbit with antlers, but that was after a long night at the bar at Brown's Hotel in Denver..." The Chairman waved an irritated wing. "I don't care about your friend." Reggie looked hurt. "I say, rather cold, that." "Never *mind* that. What can you tell us about the accident?" "Accident?" Penguin wing met penguin forehead. "The accident involving the barge of pineapple brandy last Christmas Eve." Light dawned in Reggie's eyes, which was ironic, since it was obvious he was already well lit. "Oh! You mean when bargie faw down an' go boom?" He giggled. "Yessssss, that's the barge." "Oh, there's a simple explanation for that. You see, I'm as thick as an oak plank. Ask anyone, they'll tell you. Well, don't ask my sire. You'll regret the way he phrases it. But anyway, Les, my chum of old over there..." (here he waved a paw in my general direction) "a canine of rare breeding, a prince among pooches, a...where was I? Oh, yes. Les, being the stout hearted chap he is, was hauling yours truly back from the wilds of Honolulu here so that I could propose to my one and only lady love." "But *what* has all this to do with the barge?!" "I'm getting to that. Don't be so eager. That's the problem with you penguins, you're so flighty. Where was I? Oh, yes. Les told me to help him, um...jimson? Jibe the boom? Jubejube...?" The swan cheerfully piped up. "Oooooh! You mean jettison?" Reggie brightened. "That's the word! Anyway, Les wanted me to jettison some silly piece of equipment, and he pointed out a whole bunch of sparkly-warkly lights and such. Thought it was a bally Christmas display, don't you know. He told me to flip some sort of switch, but I muffed up the timing, and before you know it, there was a jolly nice flambé, down on the water. Pity we didn't have any crepes..." Reggie began to laugh uproariously at this, and leaned over. He continued leaning over until he finally hit the floor, nose first, and instantly fell asleep, producing a loud, thunderous series of snores. There was a brief recess while the Board hauled Reggie to a conference room, and tabled him. Things moved on to the issue of the crash landing. The Chairman wasn't all that impressed by my story. "Oh, for the love of...come on, that's the old Clam on the Runway Trick. It's the oldest one in the book." "Would you believe...?" The swan piped up at this point. "Ooooooh, wellllll! I think we can illustrate this situation through the use of the Fabulous 2DBB." At this point, he produced a large chalkboard, and began to sketch out the accident, complete with plane, runway, gull and clam. He was quite accurate as to its details, but I really think I could have done without the little stick-figure canine being thrown out of the plane. The Chairman scratched his head. "So, what you're telling me Phineas, is that Mr. duCleds' story is actually plausible?" "Oooooh, yes, quite plausible. Mr. duCleds can convince me, easily, without giving me the hard shell." The walrus giggled, and was silenced with a pencil thrown at his head. He gratefully accepted this, and began to play tic-tac-toe. The Chairman held his head, and breathed deeply. "Mr. duCleds, I'm going to rule right now. You are going to be required to enter into a Consent Decree with the Safety Board. Your license will be given back to you, so long as you don't have certifiable *idiots* in your cockpit, and that you take every precaution to avoid seagulls on landing, including not landing during their dinner time." "I'll accept that, Mr. Chairman." "Good. Now, will you collect your friend before you leave? We've just had that table refinished." next |