that
can
go wrong!”
And after that Nilly didn’t think there was much more to discuss. And neither did Big Ben, apparently, because it struck eleven times. And fifteen minutes later they were all in their
beds. They may not all have fallen asleep right away. But by the time Big Ben struck twelve,
then
they were all asleep.
The Itty-Bitty Little Robbery
THE MORNING SUN shone on the large park in the middle of London named Hyde Park, and it was exactly—no, not exactly—it was
about
nine o’clock. An old
woman was walking with a baby carriage along one of the paths that crisscrosses the park.
You could see someone sitting on a bench holding a newspaper in front of him- or herself. The strange thing was that when you looked more closely, the hand that was holding the left side of the
paper was large and hairy, while the hand holding the right was tiny, hairless, and very pale. The newspaper was the
Daily Observer of Times
, the thickest, widest newspaper in the Western
Hemisphere. And if we had had X-ray vision and could see through all the pages about British politicians who’d done something wrong, floral decorations in Harrogate, and the Rotten Ham
team’s soccer coach, who was actually a krill fisherman who had never played soccer before, we would see that there weren’t just one or two, but
four
, people hidden behind the
paper.
They happened to be sitting in alphabetical order. Alfie, Betty, Charlie. And Maximus Rublov. Wait! Rublov was here? Well, at any rate, it was a tiny little guy who was the very spitting image
of Rublov.
“Is that them, Sherl?” Alfie whispered.
No response.
“Sherl!”
“Oh, right, that’s me,” the tiny little guy said, adjusting his Rublov mask.
“I asked if that odd woman over there with the baby carriage is her!” Alfie said.
Rublov—who actually was Sherl (who actually was Nilly)—peeked out from behind the newspaper. “Yes, that’s them. Synchronize your watches!”
“Why?”
“Because it’s . . . uh, good to have synchronized watches. . . .”
“Get on with it, shrimp!” Alfie ordered.
“Yes. Yes, of course.”
Nilly let go of the paper, hopped down off the park bench, and ran toward the baby carriage, yelling so that everyone around them could hear his words loud and clear: “This is a masked
robbery in broad daylight! Give me the baby carriage right now, or it doesn’t look good for you! Or your grandchild!”
The odd woman adjusted her dress, bonnet, and swim goggles, and then called back just as loudly and clearly, “Terrible! Awful! Don’t shoot me with that . . . uh, pistol.” And
then added in a much quieter voice, “Where is the pistol you were supposed to have?”
“They didn’t have a gun I could borrow,” Nilly whispered back. “Just pretend to faint!”
And with that the odd old woman collapsed in the grass, her skirt sliding up to reveal a pair of unusually thin and hairy legs.
Nilly leaned over the baby carriage and looked down at Lisa’s face. She was wearing a baby bonnet and sucking on a big pink pacifier. She looked furious.
“You call this the lead role?” she hissed.
Nilly grabbed hold of her and tried to lift her out.
“Put up a little resistance, would you!” he whispered.
Lisa hit him on the head hard and started bawling.
“Not
that
much resistance!” Nilly moaned. “And help me get you out of the carriage, you weigh half a ton!”
With that they both tumbled over backward, and Lisa rolled away across the grass, screeching at the top of her lungs.
“Hey there!” they heard a man’s voice call out. “What’s going on?”
Nilly got up onto his feet, grabbed the baby carriage, and started walking.
“Stop!”
Nilly turned around. There was a man in a black uniform. At first Nilly thought he must be a knight who had misplaced his horse, since he had a black helmet on his head and a riding crop in his
hand. But then he realized this was serious and started to run.
“Stop in the name
can
go wrong!”
And after that Nilly didn’t think there was much more to discuss. And neither did Big Ben, apparently, because it struck eleven times. And fifteen minutes later they were all in their
beds. They may not all have fallen asleep right away. But by the time Big Ben struck twelve,
then
they were all asleep.
The Itty-Bitty Little Robbery
THE MORNING SUN shone on the large park in the middle of London named Hyde Park, and it was exactly—no, not exactly—it was
about
nine o’clock. An old
woman was walking with a baby carriage along one of the paths that crisscrosses the park.
You could see someone sitting on a bench holding a newspaper in front of him- or herself. The strange thing was that when you looked more closely, the hand that was holding the left side of the
paper was large and hairy, while the hand holding the right was tiny, hairless, and very pale. The newspaper was the
Daily Observer of Times
, the thickest, widest newspaper in the Western
Hemisphere. And if we had had X-ray vision and could see through all the pages about British politicians who’d done something wrong, floral decorations in Harrogate, and the Rotten Ham
team’s soccer coach, who was actually a krill fisherman who had never played soccer before, we would see that there weren’t just one or two, but
four
, people hidden behind the
paper.
They happened to be sitting in alphabetical order. Alfie, Betty, Charlie. And Maximus Rublov. Wait! Rublov was here? Well, at any rate, it was a tiny little guy who was the very spitting image
of Rublov.
“Is that them, Sherl?” Alfie whispered.
No response.
“Sherl!”
“Oh, right, that’s me,” the tiny little guy said, adjusting his Rublov mask.
“I asked if that odd woman over there with the baby carriage is her!” Alfie said.
Rublov—who actually was Sherl (who actually was Nilly)—peeked out from behind the newspaper. “Yes, that’s them. Synchronize your watches!”
“Why?”
“Because it’s . . . uh, good to have synchronized watches. . . .”
“Get on with it, shrimp!” Alfie ordered.
“Yes. Yes, of course.”
Nilly let go of the paper, hopped down off the park bench, and ran toward the baby carriage, yelling so that everyone around them could hear his words loud and clear: “This is a masked
robbery in broad daylight! Give me the baby carriage right now, or it doesn’t look good for you! Or your grandchild!”
The odd woman adjusted her dress, bonnet, and swim goggles, and then called back just as loudly and clearly, “Terrible! Awful! Don’t shoot me with that . . . uh, pistol.” And
then added in a much quieter voice, “Where is the pistol you were supposed to have?”
“They didn’t have a gun I could borrow,” Nilly whispered back. “Just pretend to faint!”
And with that the odd old woman collapsed in the grass, her skirt sliding up to reveal a pair of unusually thin and hairy legs.
Nilly leaned over the baby carriage and looked down at Lisa’s face. She was wearing a baby bonnet and sucking on a big pink pacifier. She looked furious.
“You call this the lead role?” she hissed.
Nilly grabbed hold of her and tried to lift her out.
“Put up a little resistance, would you!” he whispered.
Lisa hit him on the head hard and started bawling.
“Not
that
much resistance!” Nilly moaned. “And help me get you out of the carriage, you weigh half a ton!”
With that they both tumbled over backward, and Lisa rolled away across the grass, screeching at the top of her lungs.
“Hey there!” they heard a man’s voice call out. “What’s going on?”
Nilly got up onto his feet, grabbed the baby carriage, and started walking.
“Stop!”
Nilly turned around. There was a man in a black uniform. At first Nilly thought he must be a knight who had misplaced his horse, since he had a black helmet on his head and a riding crop in his
hand. But then he realized this was serious and started to run.
“Stop in the name
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