do.”
“Any building with a phone, you mean.”
“No, I mean- Let’s not discuss it any more. The longer we stay here, the better chance Noman has of catching us.”
Max and Peaches left the river and walked to the Telephone Company building. Entering, they spotted a doorman.
Max walked up to him. “I’d like to make a private call,” he said. “Where would be a quiet place?”
The doorman pointed. “Public telephones, second door on the right, sir.”
“No, I don’t want a public telephone. This is a private call.”
“All private calls are made on public telephones, sir.”
“If you’ll think about it a second, you’ll see how ridiculous this is,” Max said. “What I want is a quiet little corner where I won’t be disturbed.”
“There are booths, sir.”
“All right,” Max said, “I suppose that will have to do.”
With Max leading the way, he and Peaches walked to the door that the doorman had pointed out. They entered a large room where a great number of operators were operating switchboards. Near the entrance were a great many booths.
“We’ll just duck into one of these,” Max said.
“I don’t think there’s room enough for both of us.”
“All right, we’ll leave the door open. I have trouble getting my shoe off in a closed telephone booth, anyway. You stand guard.”
Peaches nodded agreement.
Max stepped into the booth, then, bending over, removed his shoe.
“Mad!” Peaches groaned.
Max dialed, then held the shoe to his ear.
Operator: The number you have dialed is not a working number, sir.
Max: Of course it’s a working number. I dial it a dozen times a day.
Operator: What number did you dial, sir?
Max: I can’t tell you that, Operator. It’s top secret.
Operator: Are you the same kook who was trapped in a limousine in Greenwich Village a while back, sir?
Max: Operator-is that you? How’re things?
Operator: Oh, fine-in general. My Aunt Harriet isn’t doing too well these days, though. Her lumbago.
Max: That’s too bad. I have an Uncle Horace who suffers from the same thing. Has your Aunt Harriet tried milk baths? That seems to work for Uncle Horace.
Operator: She tried it. But she had to give it up. It was bad for her psychologically. She said, sitting there in a tub of milk, she felt like a giant Rice Krispie.
Max: That’s hard to believe.
Operator: Would you believe a shredded wheat biscuit?
Max: I’d be more likely to believe a Rice Krispie, frankly.
Operator: Every time she opened her mouth she said ‘snap, crackle, pop!’
Max: Operator, I’m trying to contact the Chief at Control. Would you put me through, please?
Operator: I can’t remember the number. Is it in the book?
Max: No, it’s an unlisted number.
Operator: Well, if it’s top secret and you can’t tell me, and it isn’t in the book, I don’t see how I can help you.
Max: How would this do? Suppose I write it down for you? Will you promise to destroy it as soon as you’ve read it?
Operator: Couldn’t I just show it to a few of the girls first? Only my best friends, of course. I don’t think any of them have ever seen a top secret unlisted number.
Max: All right. But only your trusted friends. Agreed?
Operator: Girl Scout’s honor.
Max stepped out of the booth and handed his shoe to Peaches. “Hold the phone for me a second, please,” he said.
“Mad!”
Max got a small notepad and a ballpoint pen from his pocket. He pressed the button on the top of the pen- and a small motor began to whir.
“Ooops! Wrong pen!”
“What was that sound?” Peaches asked curiously.
“That was the hair-dryer,” Max replied, putting the pen away and getting out another one.
This time he was successful. He wrote Control’s number on a slip of notepaper, then walked over to one of the operators and handed it to her. A moment later, he returned, retrieved the shoe from Peaches, and stepped back into the booth.
Chief: Max? Is that you?
Max: Reporting in, Chief. Peaches and I are on our way to the airport.
Chief: Where exactly are you, Max?
Max: In a telephone booth.
Chief: Max, you’ll never get to the airport in a telephone booth. Better try a cab.
Max: We tried that, Chief. But the driver turned out to be I. M. Noman. We very nearly lost our lives.
Chief: Well, I can understand why that would sour you on cabs, Max. But, even so, I don’t think you’ll ever make it to the airport in a telephone booth.
Max: No, Chief, you don’t understand. We intend to take a cab to the airport. I’m in the telephone booth only so I can report in to you.
Chief: Why didn’t you call me on your shoe, Max?
Max: I am calling you on my shoe.
Chief: In a telephone booth?
Max: Forget it, Chief. I just wanted to tell you that as soon as we get to the airport we’re going to take a plane to New York. Then to Moscow. And then to Peking. I want you to know where we’ll be.
Chief: Max, is there any reason for going to New York, Moscow and Peking? Or do you just happen to be headed in those three directions?
Max: It’s a complicated story, Chief. But, to put it briefly, we’re going to New York, Moscow and Peking in order to foil KAOS’s Dooms Day Plan.
Chief: Then you’ve broken the code!
Max: That’s still being debated, Chief. I say yes, and Peaches says no.
Chief: In other words, you haven’t broken the code. All right, Max. The important thing is to keep on the move-out of the clutches of Noman. I suppose it won’t do any harm if, while you’re running, you visit New York, Moscow and Peking. Happy landings, Max.
Max: Thank you, Chief.
Operator: Happy landings from all the girls here at the Telephone Company, and from Aunt Harriet, too, Maxie.
Max: So long, Operator. Don’t take any wrong numbers.
Max stepped from the booth and slipped his shoe back onto his foot. “Onward and upward,” he said to Peaches.
She shook her head in dismay. “Mad!”
Max and Peaches left the building. As they stepped out onto the sidewalk, a cab pulled up.
“Taxi?” the driver said.
Max looked at him closely. He did not resemble the other cab driver in any way.
“Just a second,” Max said. He drew Peaches aside, and whispered to her. “This may be Noman again,” he said. “Once a cab driver, always a cab driver.”
