The Curious Adventures of Jimmy McGee (11 page)

He called out, "Little Lydia, come out! Bebop! Say something! If you can bebop again, please say something. My headquarters are a camp now. Lots of refugees from Lobelia. We will all have
fun, funny fun!
"

There was no answer. She really might have had a relapse or even escaped out into the storm or goodness knows what.

"Amy's home now. Come back!" he implored. "She misses you."

No reply. He didn't see how she could have been stricken with the zoomie-zoomies again because his thunder and lightning bolt box was in his stovepipe hat.

"Ah-h," he thought. "One of these refugees must know something about where she is, even—dreadful thought—may have swallowed her whole! So now to examine carefully each one here, question each politely, for all
are
my guests and outside the weather is horrid."

Followed by his little refugees, and with the birds hovering above, he made his way back to the hollowed-out rock, which was his favorite seat. The rock wall of the cave made a perfect backrest. This was the solid rock chair that was like the throne of an ancient king.

Well, hello! It was occupied. A little snake was coiled up tightly in the hollowed-down seat part. You could not see her head. It was cozily tucked inside her coil. She lay in the middle of his throne like a coil of a child's bright-colored jump-rope.

"Move out of that seat, Snakey," said Jimmy McGee. "It happens to be
my
seat, where I do my scroll work and my polishing. Uncoil yourself and make yourself comfortable on the next rock. Now, just slither along to over there." He poked her gently with his banging pipe. Even then she did not stir.

So Jimmy McGee moved to his second-best seat, right next to Snakey, where he could keep an eye on her. Then he got a piece of paper from his bombazine bag and prepared to make a scroll. The name of this was to be "Refugees from Hurricane Lobelia in My Winter Headquarters: A List." He planned to have each refugee step forward and be listed. He would look each one over carefully, study from its shape whether he or she might have swallowed Little Lydia, or at least give him a clue as to her whereabouts.

Jimmy McGee knew how a speech should be made. He had banged the pipes of many senators who sometimes went down to their cellars to practice their important speeches and did not wish to be overheard by some newspaperman hoping for a scoop for that night's paper. Though all the birds and animals spoke in the language of their own species, still they got the gist of everything that was said from being in a cave with Jimmy McGee. Because he was magic, they all got a touch of magic. All understood one another. They understood also the bebop language that Jimmy McGee had made up and in which he wrote his records for his scripts and scrolls.

So Jimmy McGee began: "Refugees! Guests! I am Jimmy McGee, a plumber. Welcome to my winter headquarters, where you are safe from the storm! Will each one of you step forward—no shoving—or fly down and say who you are. I want to make a list of you all. Then, when the storm is over and you want to go home, I will check you off the list and we will know that nothing has happened to you while you are guests here. Now, the listing. Snakey, of course, heads the list." Snakey gave no sign of having heard any of this speech. But Jimmy McGee continued anyway.

SNAKEY:
A pretty little snake. Will not uncoil. Suspicious character.

BEAVER:
Building a dam at the entranceway. Not a suspicious character.

BADGER:
Jealous of Beaver. Make him doorman. Not a suspicious character, but might know if Little Lydia had zoomie-zoomied out.

RACCOON:
Beautiful tail. Fine for dusting. Keep him busy.

SQUIRREL:
Has no tail. Is ashamed.

Just then, interrupting the proceedings, Beaver swept something into the entranceway with his own flat tail!

"My tail!" said Squirrel. He clutched it in his two paws.

"I'll fix it for you later on," Jimmy McGee promised. "Now to continue.

"Birds," Jimmy McGee said, "fly or step forward, say who you are. This may be a long-lasting storm. We want to have fun while it is going on."

There was a hoot from some upper ledge. A small gray owl, about the color of the rock, flew off his ledge. But he would not come down. He said, "I am Owl. I don't like snakes big or little. I don't trust them, and they don't trust me. Tell that fellow beside you to unwind himself. I don't like it. Everybody else is doing what you are asking."

He was right. Jimmy made a note of this.

OWL:
A wise bird. May know something. Question him further.

CARDINAL BIRD:
Always singing his special song, "Tweet tweet-tweet." Won't come down either. Birds don't seem to like Snakey.

"Any more birds?" asked Jimmy McGee, for he had heard a fluttering up high on a ledge. "What about that flurry up in the large bolt bin?"

A parrot, very beautiful, appeared. "Filibuster is my name," he said in a rasping voice. He stood up on the bin, cocked his head, and looked down on the others. He seemed to be laughing at some joke known only to himself. Then he said, "
Voilà!
" Obviously he spoke both English and French, perhaps other languages as well, the bebop code included.

Filibuster's shrill "Voilà!" echoed over and over throughout headquarters. Many besides Jimmy McGee wished he would keep still. But Jimmy did note that Filibuster eyed Snakey with extreme concentration. He decided to label him a suspicious character, which really meant, in this case, question Filibuster later at great length. So he wrote:

FILIBUSTER:
A beautiful parrot. Speaks many languages. Suspicious character.

Suddenly a sopping wet red hen, terrified, came through the entranceway with such speed that you'd have thought she had had an electric shock! She knocked over the dam Beaver was trying to make out of pipes and nuts and bolts. Beaver didn't care and began again. It was his habit.

"Beaver!" Jimmy McGee said firmly. "Don't let your dam keep people out. Watch out for refugees. Be polite. Let everybody in. I'll give you a copy of my guest list. Look at this poor red hen. She almost didn't get in! When the storm is over, you can check people off the list as they leave. But no one may leave until I say O.K. We are missing a very important treasure. Someone here may have it. I have to pass the word to you, say, 'O.K., he or she may go!' That will be when the fury of the storm, Lobelia, has subsided and has blown out to sea."

"Filibuster!" screamed the parrot who seemed to love the sound of his own voice, especially his name.

Well, Jimmy McGee's speech
had
been a long one. True. But they all had heard it, and they all eyed one another and wondered whether or not he or she was looking a thief in the eye, or vice versa. Also, they wondered, what is this great treasure that is missing?

The poor red hen! Jimmy McGee now turned his attention to her. Her eyes were half closed, the lids a grave white and looking like fake ones used by a circus performer. "She might have the pip," conjectured Jimmy McGee. He wrapped her in a piece of old black bombazine. With her eyelids half down, she was quite a mournful sight in that black cloak.

"A clown hen!" hooted Owl.

This ridicule roused Red Hen. She shook off the black shawl and was her own wet self again. She appeared to be recovering and scratched her ear while standing on one foot. This brought about a burst of applause!

Owl said, "I know she would like to be called 'Ms. Red Hen!' It has distinction."

"Welcome, Ms. Red Hen!" said Jimmy McGee. He would have tipped his stovepipe hat were it not that the box with the bolts of thunder and lightning in it might have a dazzling and perhaps not too welcome effect.

Since Ms. Red Hen had only just arrived,
she
certainly had not eaten Little Lydia or made away with her. On his list, he wrote:

MS. RED HEN:
Very wet and flustery. In a bad mood ... or anxious?

Jimmy regarded Ms. Red Hen curiously. Maybe she would lay an egg here soon now, maybe inside the coil of Snakey, usurping the ancient throne? That should interest Snakey and make her unwind and join in.

Ms. Red Hen gradually subsided, though she did maintain a quiet sort of cluck-clucking constantly. Her cluck-clucks and Filibuster's constant "Voilà"s were quite annoying to some. Nerves were getting edgy.

"Nothing is madder than a wet red hen," said Owl sagely. He flew down to the ledge above Jimmy McGee's temporary seat. Here he could keep an eye on Jimmy McGee's listings and suggest corrections. His reputation as being a wise old owl gave him this privilege, he thought. And Jimmy McGee did not take offense.

"Cluck, cluck-cluck, catawcut!" Ms. Red Hen said over and over.

"She means 'Pawtucket,' not catawcut," Owl explained to Jimmy McGee, "because she is a Rhode Island red."

But Jimmy did not change his entry and got aid from Filibuster, who screamed, "Voilà!" He was the one who liked to be the noisemaker, not a wet red hen or an owl!

The squabbling brought an unlisted member of the group out of hiding. This was Rabbit.

"Where were you when the listing of the animals was going on?" asked Jimmy McGee curiously. He didn't understand why he hadn't seen Rabbit. Perhaps suddenly, like a bolt out of the blue, as if from nowhere, Little Lydia would come out of hiding as Rabbit had!

"Hiding. Just hiding," said Rabbit shyly.

Rabbit had come from high up in his headquarters, near where Little Lydia had last been seen. So Jimmy McGee wrote:

RABBIT:
Shy, very nice ... still ... quite plump. Suspicious character.

Where could she have been hiding? He'd scanned every possible nook and cranny. He liked Rabbit. Maybe she knew something, though? He couldn't see why she would swallow Little Lydia, hair and all, for Little Lydia looked like neither a carrot nor a piece of lettuce.

Whoever was guilty would come to his mind in a real, regular striking and electrifying way. And he might rescue Little Lydia from inside one of the refugees with some help, perhaps, from his thunder and lightning bolt box.

From somewhere a cricket chirped. His winter headquarters were full of surprises. Cricket had the sense not to come out with all these many potential cricket-eaters around. People's stomachs were rumbling. He stayed where he was, but he wanted to be on the list.

Jimmy McGee felt that not only Cricket but also some of the other little ones needed special protection. He said to Badger, "Badger, you be the policeman. Bop somebody, but not hard, if he or she gets the idea a cricket or anybody else would be a tasty treat!"

Badger was happy to have a job. Beaver was doing all the work, and he was jealous. He thumped his two little front paws three times on a rock to show what would happen to the bigger animals if they should hurt any of the smaller guests.

Jimmy McGee made another entry in his list.

CRICKET:
Cheerful. Harmless.

Now to finish up the list. "You, over there in the pool," he said. He was speaking to a large bullfrog.

"Bar-room!" said Frog.

This startled everybody. Frog had a booming bass voice, and its echo resounded up and down and roundabout headquarters.

Rabbit covered her ears and hid in her niche.

Filibuster screamed, "Voilà!"

Ms. Red Hen liked the sound. "Cluck-cluck catawcut!" she squawked.

Everybody made some noise or other, including Cardinal Bird, who, to show his appreciation of something novel, loudly sang "Tweet tweet-tweet."

If Jimmy McGee had been a composer of symphonies instead of a plumber, what a great "Works in G Major" this would be!

"Bar-room!" Frog boomed again, as though in agreement.

Jimmy McGee put him on the list.

BULLFROG:
Frog for short. Quite stout. Suspicious character with that huge mouth of his!

Now that seemed to be all. But just then in came something with such strength that it knocked Beaver's dam down again, and Badger tried to thump it with his little paws, which did no good. It landed with a tremendous splash in the shallow pool at the entranceway, which, until now, Frog had considered his territory. Frog got out in great haste, sat on a rock, and gave a terrific "Bar-room!" instead.

Whatever had shot in lay exhausted in the pool, occupying practically all of it. Many gathered around cautiously, for all were curious.

Jimmy McGee stood up. "Who are you?" he asked. "Welcome!"

The dark, shiny creature flashed some words on his sleek, slippery back:
ELECTRIC EEL FROM THE WATERS OF URUGUAY, SPECIMEN
916
IN THE AQUARIUM. I WANT TO GO BACK THERE.

All these words he flashed in electric fashion on his shiny skin, for he did not talk; he wrote his sayings in electricity on his skin.

"Well!" said Jimmy McGee. He was somewhat astonished that an electric eel would arrive in the midst of a possible epidemic of electric bebops in his headquarters. "You'll fit in very nicely here. Brighten things up a bit!"