|
fabian: (voice sounding fainter) But there's no peanut butter here, only an empty shelf— yank: (Holding the billboard over the opening in the stump.) On the table. In the spoon. There must be a good mouthful there. fabian: A mouthful! I've been tricked! Let me out—what... what's that ticking down here? It's so dark. I can't see. What is that ticking! yank: Well now, it could be a bomb. fabian: A bomb! Oh no! No! Let me out! yank: Later, Mr. Fox. (He jambs the billboard down tight, lidding the stump securely. The ticking stops. He turns to the box marked BOMB, chuckling to himself.) Poor fellow has bombs on the brain. He needs a rest, a long rest—say, until Spring. |
|||
|
|
|||||||||||||||
 |
|||||||||||||||
