FRANKIE FITCHSNIGGLE smeared some more elbow grease on the broom he was pushing around and raised a cloud of dirt that made the dust bowl look like the flight deck of an aircraft carrier.
“Phooey on this job!” he snarled to the stuffed denizens of the deep tacked on the walls. “Here I am sweeping out a fish museum like a house maid when I should be making my fortune. Phooey!”
“I’ll phooey you if you don’t get this joint … I mean place cleaned up in ten minutes!” a voice bellowed behind him. “And throw that dirt outside instead of shoving it under the statues like you did the last time.”
“Why, Mr. Itchyback, what you say!” Frankie Fitchsniggle giggled. “As the proprietor of this fish graveyard you should know better.”
Hiram (Igotta) Itchyback, the sole owner of the Deep Sea Museum, wrinkled his snoot and grew a deep purple.
“Listen, you grapehead … in half an hour the Rod and Reel Club will be here to see how we are displaying their trophies … so get busy!”
“Oh … that bunch of ocean cowboys! They’re alla time bringing in them oversize gold fish to make me some more work. Besides, I don’t like them. There’s something fishy about them, and I don’t mean the smell. The Rod and Reel Club … huh! I can see the rod part. Last time one of those pickle-pusses was here he dropped a cannon out from under his arm that should’ve had wheels on it!”
Itchyback gritted his store teeth. “Shuddup! You think too much. Get that dirt outa here and brush off them fish or I’ll can you like a salmon!”
He stalked out of the fish room huffing like a frog and muttering things about what he would do to his janitor if he ever got him in a dark alley. Frankie blew a “rassberry” after him and picked up the broom.
Every time the whacks from the nitwit outfit blew into town they made a beeline for the museum with a fish under each arm … and plastered them on the wall. To Fitchsniggle, fish … as he put it … “was made to be et, not stuck on a wall to collect flies.” … but try to tell that to those monkeys. Besides, a couple of the jerks that wasted their time feeding bugs to barracuda on the end of a hunk of string didn’t look any more like anglers than Sambo, who was head man on the garbage wagon in this district.
FINALLY, Frankie Fitchsniggle got all the wall-eyed corpses cleaned up and their scales polished and he changed into the bell-boy suit marked GUIDE. Fine thing. In the morning he was a broom pusher and in the afternoon led a pack of swivel necks round the museum who gaped with open mouths at the octopuses and assorted ocean animals on the walls.
Came one o’clock and the Rod and Reel Club stormed up the steps of the fishes’ happy hunting grounds. Two fat wobbling members staggered under a smelly creature that would have made good eating for two dozen people. Behind them, clutching a green goblin that would have scared the pants off an elephant if it wasn’t mounted on a board, was Mike Magoniggle … that heavy-bearded citizen same as which dropped the gat in front of Frankie last year. The guide took one look at the scale covered group storming the place and shivered.
Of course Itchyback was all smiles. He pumped everybody’s hand so much you would think he was a politician trying to be reelected for dogcatcher.
“Ah!” he beamed. “It is good to see your smiling faces again. And you have brought more trophies to glorify these noble walls. Fine … fine! They will all get a place of honor, and your names will be inscribed on the roll of fame. In years to come you will be immortal!”
“Huh!” Frankie thought. “In years to come they would be dead. S’too bad they couldn’t be mounted like fish and draped over a window. At least they wouldn’t smell so bad, anyway! … or would they?”
“Mr. Magoniggle … what have you got this time?” Hiram (Igotta) Itchyback yelled. “It is elegant… whatever it is!”
MAGONIGGLE handed him the goblin on the board. “Dis is a babbilick. At least dat’s what a guy tole me. It’sa cross between a Cabberdoo and a Strachwop.”
“Wonderful! Simply wonderful! A Babbilick is something we haven’t got. How long did I take for you to get him? Did he put up a big fight? What did you use for ‘bait?’”
“Naw,” said the tough guy, “I didn’t use nutting. I found him on the beach.”
That stopped Itchyback, but he passed it over lightly and ushered the pack in. The way they went around “Ohhing” and “Ahhing” at the oversize killies on the wall made Frankie turn green. Now along about this time Fitchsniggle spotted Mike and a chum batting their gums in a corner. He ambled over that way but they saw him coming and canned the chatter.
Mike nudged his chum and they moved back to the crowd, but as he passed a display of fish-hooks, a wriggly little contraption snagged a paper out of his pocket as neatly as can be. Out of curiosity, Frankie picked it up and took a gander at it when he got behind the statue of Neptune. His eyes almost fell out on his cheeks. Some society of dimwits was offering a prize of ten thousand dollars for the most unusual-looking fish caught this year … and if anything was unusual-looking it was the monstrosity that Mike brought in!
It had a body like a fish all right, only the tail blossomed out like the end of an octopus while the front part had a rake-like affair of crab claws. To top it off … the whole thing was the craziest color of green that could be found anywhere! Immediately Frankie Fitchsniggle began to get ideas. The tough citizen was the type of mug that might try to pull a fast one. All that talk about a Babbilick …
ITCHYBACK had the group in a corner. He was working up to a surprise of a sort with a long talk about unusual fish. Then he sprung it. Ten grand to the guy with the most unusual fish … the contest to be held the next day in this very museum! Everybody whooped with joy. There was no doubt but that one of their club members would cash in … especially Mike Magoniggle. Frankie tried to look surprised … but he didn’t do such a good job of it. The smile was sour, but that look in his eyes when the ten G’s was mentioned sure put a suspicious light on the whole affair.
At last the boss got done with his talk and told the bunch that they would all dine with him that night. So saying, he turned to Frankie and gave him orders to stay on watch all night, for with a prize catch like the Babbilick … anything was liable to happen. Frankie snorted … but what could he do? The gang marched out patting Mike on the back and licking their lips with the thought of “their pal” collecting all that dough.
FITCHSNIGGLE locked the door after them and climbed out of the monkey suit. What a life! He walked around looking at the newest additions to the fish fraternity, and when he stood in front of Babbilick he shuddered. What a thing that was! He sauntered out to the kitchen and opened up his lunch. Snookey the mouse … his only friend in this house of nightmares … was waiting for him. He tossed him a hunk of ham sandwich and settled down to the rest himself.
Afterwhile Snooky finished the ham, took a look at his friend who was starting to doze off, then sniffing a most delightful odor coming from the open door of the trophy room, gave a whistle to his rodent companions and a whole stream of them tip-toed into the place. The little furry animals went from fish to fish … their whiskers twitching … and when they got in front of the Babbilick they licked their chops and bounded up to the board …
Frankie awoke when the morning light hit him in the face. He took a look at the clock. Wow! Ten o’clock. In a half hour the gang would be back along with the judges and the spectators who would stand around while the winner was picked. That was a laugh. Who but Mike Magoniggle stood a chance? Him and that sea goblin! He ran to the front doors and threw them open … just in time, for coming up the steps was the whole pack of whacks. Fish … fish … fish! Oh, how he would like to get revenge on them for confusing his life!
REVENGE … That was it! He, Frankie Fitchsniggle, would eat one! While the people came in he ran out the back door to the local fish market. Boy, would it be fun to tear into one. He would have his revenge on the whole species! Joe Mangano stood in front of the stand dangling his wares before the street crowds when he got there. “Joe, gimmee a fish … any kinda fish. I wanna rip him apart!”
“Sure, Frankie, take your pick.” Frankie shoved his hand into a mess of unassorted things, got covered with slime and scales and put his choice in a bag without looking at it. He flicked Joe a quarter and ran back to the place … and it was in an uproar. Loud noises came from inside. He could hear Mike roar, and Itchyback pleading. Curious as to what happened, Frankie went in the front way.
ONE LOOK was all he needed. The judges stood by the remains of the Babbilick. Mike was as green as his goblin … Itchyback was bright red. The fish hung in tatters, and anyone could see that it was made up of a lot of different fishes. That disrespectful citizen, Mike Magoniggle, had pulled a fast one.
The judge shouted, “This fish is a phoney!”
Then Frankie came in. Mike saw him first and let out a yell. In a second Frankie was fighting for his life.
During the scramble Frankie’s fish fell out of the bag. One look at it and the judges pounced on the body and caressed it like a pet poodle.
“Yippee!” one yelled. “A KRASTAFLAZ! The only one in this country!” He held the gooey thing up so that all could see.
Mike got off Frankie’s chest and let him up. The judge came over and pumped Frankie’s hand. “My boy, you win the ten thousand dollars! This is the most unusual fish that ever was!”
Then Mike cut in. “What didja do to my Babbilick!” he roared.
Frankie squirmed. “Snookey musta et ’im!”
Mike passed out.
The cash passed hands while pictures were taken of the ugly thing Frankie had picked out of Joe’s box. Fitchsniggle thought he was going whacky too. When the gang finally left, Itchyback came over to him with one eyebrow up in the air. “Mr. Fitchsniggle! Where did you get that fish?”
Frankie looked at him.
“Where do you think? At the fish store, of course!”
Then Itchyback passed out.
***