The professor is never nervous. In truth, this is true.
But I do get apprehensive. And once I arrived in the Punchy Lands, I was a bit…on edge, I suppose you could say.
Of course, it didn’t help matters when the professor was accosted—in a theater, of all places.
You see, the professor had gone to see some sort of show. It was rather well done.
(Later I learned that it was a Daddy Salami/Lucini Pavarinni production.)
The professor was in his private box, when a corpulent lady, with blonde curls, waltzed in and flopped down besides me.
It was a bit flustering, I’ll admit.
But it got worse.
Then a lady with red hair came and sat beside the other lady. And, then—goodness me!—Mr. Ratherquite appeared and sat on the other side of the professor.
I wasn’t really sure what to do.
After all, the professor had paid for a box so that he could be alone, and here were these three twerdlits getting in for free and making use of the professor’s box!
I was enraged. Angered. Suddenly very professorish.
But before I could say anything or do anything, Mr. Ratherquite leaned over and whispered:
“I can’t begin to express my gratitude for your gentlemanly behavior. The ladies and I are deeply indebted to you for saving our seats.”
The professor wasn’t sure what to do.
Suddenly, there was a loud sound from behind. One of the ladies screamed and Mr. Ratherquite stood and spun around.
The professor went for one of his weapons. It was at that instant that Mr. Ratherquite was brutally shoved; he let out a shriek and fell to the floor below.
Daddy Salami looked about the packed theater and then his green eyes drifted up to one specific box.
He chuckled to himself, and then turned to Ruber, who was sitting beside him.
“Hey, Ruber,” he said, “look over there.”
“Oh please, dad! I’m tryin’ to watch the show, eh?”
“Do as you’re told, cur!” Salami voice rose to a harsh whisper and garnered a bit of attention.
Finally Ruber unwillingly looked in the direction that Salami was indicating.
“So?” he said. “You should have got us a box. If you were any type of provider, you would have.”
Salami didn’t seem to hear. “P. VJ is up there, and he’s bein’ attacked by Mr. Ratherquite and the them-things. I want ya ta go and save him, because lollies like him need help.”
Ruber seemed shocked. “Why do you care about him, eh?”
Salami’s eyes flashed. “Just do as your told, cur-child!”
“No,” Ruber answered. “And there’s nothing you can do about it, unless you want to make a scene, and disturb the show.”
Salami’s mouth fell open.
Then Schwarz Tauptinker, who was close by, chimed in:
“I’ll do it, if you want. Okay?”
Salami didn’t look pleased. “Ya failed ya daddy, Ruber.”
Schwarz headed for the box.
Salami waited and waited.
Finally, there was a scream—a lady’s scream—and a figure could be seen falling from the box.
Then Schwarz appeared, leaning out over the audience.
“I did it! Oh yeah!”
Needless to say (but I’ll say it anyway), the professor rushed to where he was staying. I didn’t want any part in those dastardly proceedings.
And that’s when I looked through my telescope.
This is what I saw:
Doesn’t it look like Salami’s eye? Goodness me. What do you see when you look at it?