The best Captain Ray could make of my legs was that one was broken and the other was pretty bruised. But we wouldn’t know for sure until we entered port and saw a doctor. In the meantime, the guys had rigged up a splint for my one leg and loaned me a makeshift crutch to get around.
The sun was just starting to set. All of the commotion had died down. The minisub had been loaded, and we were about to get under way. I was leaning against the rail when Eric passed by and asked, “You okay? You look a little pale.”
I nodded, leaned over the railing, and did what I did best for that time of day. I heaved my guts out.
Eric glanced away to give me some privacy. “You’re sure getting good at that,” he said, trying to lighten the mood.
“I’ve had lots of practice.”
He looked to his watch. “But you’re a little late this afternoon. Must be all the excitement, or the storm.”
I glanced at him and rolled my eyes. Luckily the storm had skirted around us and had never fully hit. But that didn’t stop the waves from rolling in. For the past hour or so the words rock-n-roll had taken on a whole new meaning. But I wasn’t sick because of the waves or the excitement or the time of day. I was sick because of what I had done.
There was a loud banging and clanking of iron hitting steel. I turned to watch one of the crew members cranking up the anchor. The Bullwinkle’s engine revved, she gave a little shudder, and we were on our way.
“We’ll be in port by midnight,” Eric said.
I looked back out to the water and shook my head. “How could I have been so stupid?”
“Hey, we were both stupid. It was my idea, remember?”
I continued shaking my head, barely hearing. “Risking my life and doing all those dumb, dangerous things. And for what? A bunch of gold?”
Eric took a deep breath. “Remember what I said a couple of days back when The Sea Witch first threatened us? Remember how I said greed makes people do weird things?”
I nodded.
“Lawyers, hard hats, farmers, even sailors—put a little money in front of us and watch out, we go crazy.”
I nodded again and gave a hearty sniff. “My pastor is always quoting from the Bible. He says, ‘The love of money is the root of all evil.’”
Eric inhaled deeply and looked out over the ocean. “He may be right. He just may be right.”
Suddenly I saw the splash of water off the stern. My heart leaped. “Look!” I shouted. “It’s her. It’s the mother dolphin!”
Eric turned and took a hard look. Then he shook his head. “That’s not the mom, Wally. That’s the kid. See how small he is? And check out the markings.”
Of course, Eric was right; it was Babe. And, of course, I felt even worse. Now the little guy was totally alone, orphaned. And he had one person and one person only to thank for it—me. I looked down at the railing, feeling my eyes start to burn again.
“Hold it, wait a minute,” Eric said, still looking.
I glanced back up.
“That’s not just one dolphin.” Eric’s voice grew excited. “There are two. There are two dolphins out there!”
I peered hard, straining to see. He was right! There were two dolphins! The first one, Babe, was doing all of the jumping and splashing—but there was definitely a second one. It was staying more under the water and doing a lot less jumping, but it was definitely there.
“Is it . . .” I swallowed back the excitement, trying not to hope too hard. “Is it her?”
Eric brought his binoculars up to his face and looked. My eyes shot from him to the dolphins and back to him again. Finally, he broke into a smile and nodded.
“It’s her!” He handed the binoculars to me. “See for yourself.”
I grabbed them and looked. Sure enough, there was Babe leaping all around, and beside him was Momma. She was a lot less energetic than before, but she was definitely moving.
My heart swelled. I gripped the binoculars tighter and continued to stare. “I thought she was dead,” I said. “I mean, her eyes were closed, and she definitely wasn’t breathing—”
“Dolphins are mammals, Wally. They don’t breathe underwater.”
“But she wasn’t moving.”
“I guess she was just stunned, maybe knocked unconscious.”
I continued to stare as Babe did his jumps and circles all around Momma like he was really happy. I guess he had a reason to be. “Do you think she’s okay?” I asked. “I mean she’s not doing any jumping or anything.”
Eric chuckled. “I imagine she’s got herself quite a headache. I probably wouldn’t be jumping around if I got hit on the head with a torpedo either.”
“Eric!” It was Captain Ray calling from the pilothouse. The man was not happy. In fact, he had that same glare Dad has when he discovers Mom’s been using his razor on her legs. “Eric, get up here. We’ve got a few things to discuss!”
“Here it comes,” Eric muttered under his breath. “Wish me luck.”
I looked up to him from the binoculars. “Good luck.”
He turned and headed up the deck. Neither of us knew what the Captain would say or do to him. But since Eric had already confessed that it was his idea for me to go into the water, chances were he wasn’t going to be receiving any medals. I knew my punishment would probably be just as bad. Though I hoped to get time off for being a kid and, of course, for being a world-class Dork-oid.
I smelled deep-fried, grease-saturated chips. It was coming from behind me. “Hey, Opera,” I called without turning around.
“How’d you know—MUNCH, MUNCH, MUNCH—it was me?” his voice asked.
“Lucky guess.” I turned to see both Opera and Wall Street approaching.
“Did you hear the news?” Wall Street grumbled.
I shook my head.
Opera explained. “The Mexican government—MUNCH, MUNCH, MUNCH—was monitoring our communications with The Sea Witch. They just called Uncle Ray. They’ll be coming out to pick up the gold.”
“They can’t do that,” I protested.
“Sure they can.” Opera munched away. “The money came from their country.”
“But I’m the one who found it!”
“That’s why they promised to send you a thankyou letter.”
It was weird, but even now, after all I’d been through, I was still trying to hang on to the gold. “But, but, but—”
Before I continued my motorboat imitation, Wall Street interrupted. “Relax, Wally. We’ll hire some hotshot attorney and take it to court. I mean, if they want to play hardball, we can play hardball.” Her voice was getting louder and more intense, the way it always did when she got excited or talked about money (which was almost always). “You’ll get the best lawyer money can buy. You’ll sue them; you’ll make them wish they’d never even heard of—”
“Wall Street,” I said, raising my hand. I had just turned back to watch Momma and Babe off in the distance. Things had suddenly come back into focus.
She continued, “First you’ll hit them with a lawsuit.”
“Wall Street.”
“Then you’ll pull in the North American Free Trade folks.”
“Wall Street.”
“Then you’ll—”
“WALL STREET!”
She looked up to me, startled.
“Forget it,” I said.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “It almost sounded like you said, ‘Forget it.’”
“I did. The gold, the money . . . let it go. I’m not doing anything.”
For once in her life, Wall Street had no comeback. She could only stare at me as if I had just punched her in the gut. In a sense, maybe I had. But I’d been through too much. I’d seen too many things. Most of all, I had learned an important truth: greed is evil. There are no two ways about it. It sneaks up without you even noticing. And if you let it hang around, if you keep feeding it, it will take control and ruin everything.
Wall Street’s mouth hung open as if she were in shock. Maybe she was. Opera took a deep breath and sighed between munchings. “Too bad. All that hard work and for what?” He took another deep breath. “Nothing.”
I looked back out over the stern. By now Momma and Babe were just little specks. In one sense I knew Opera was right. But in another, I knew he was wrong. Because I had gained something. I had learned that, by itself, there’s nothing wrong with money. But if you get to loving it too much, it can be deadly.
I adjusted my crutch and started to hobble off. “I’m going below to finish the story I’m writing. You guys coming?”
Opera nodded and followed. But Wall Street stayed glued to the railing, looking down into the water, still a little numb.
“Wall Street,” I said. “Wall Street, are you okay?”
She said nothing but continued to stare.
“She’ll be fine,” Opera said. “For her—MUNCH, MUNCH, MUNCH—losing all that money is kind of like losing a loved one. Maybe lots of loved ones. But she’ll get over it. In a few months, she’ll be as good as new.”
I gave him a look.
He shrugged. “And you too.” He popped another chip into his mouth. “In a few months you’ll forget this whole thing ever happened.”
“I hope not,” I said as I turned and headed toward our cabin. “I hope I remember this for the rest of my life.”
Back in Proverb Guy’s flying flyswatter, it’s a fight to the finish. Our hero must destroy this bad guy’s evil Excuse-a-tron or the world will never have another excuse again. Refrigerator repairmen will have to show up on time, car mechanics will have to have the parts, and news reporters will have to tell the whole truth.
As they fight back and forth, they accidentally crash into the control panel, pushing the button that reads:
WARNING: DO NOT PUSH THIS BUTTON
Suddenly the flyswatter takes a nosedive, heading downward faster than a kid’s smile after learning he has to go to summer school.
The two try everything to pull the nose up, but nothing works. Faster and faster they fall toward certain death. And then, just when it looks like you’re getting cheated out of a cool ending to this story, the flyswatter’s front doorbell rings.
“Who is it?” Proverb Guy cries.
“Telegram!” a voice from the other side shouts.
“Listen, can you come back a little later? We’re kind of busy right now.”
“It’ll only take a second!”
Proverb Guy looks to our hero and shrugs. “Sorry, it might be something important.”
Gnat Man nods in superhero understanding and steps back to let Proverb Guy answer the door. When he opens it, he is met by glaring lights, TV cameras, and a smiling Publishers Leering Mouse Guy handing him a check.
“Congratulations!” Leering Mouse Guy shouts over the roaring wind. “You’ve just won a million dollars from our Publishers Leering Mouse Sweepstakes.”
“I don’t believe it!” Proverb Guy yells, trying to look surprised for the cameras. “Why I’ve never won anything in my whole life!”
“What are you going to do with all that money?” Leering Mouse Guy shouts.
“Know any life insurance salesmen?” Gnat Man yells.
“What?” Proverb Guy shouts back.
“All that money’s okay, but we’ve got more important things to do.”
“Like what?”
“Oh, how ’bout living!” Gnat Man points to the approaching ground. “I don’t want to be a spoilsport, but we only have 3.2 seconds of life, make that 2.8, uh 2.3. . .”
“I see your point.” Proverb Guy turns to Leering Mouse Guy and shouts, “Sorry, not interested.” He slams the door and spins back to Gnat Man. “Now, where were we?”
“You were standing over here.” Gnat Man repositions him next to the control panel. “And I had my hands around your throat like this. And——leapin’ ladybugs! What’s that?” Gnat Man points to another button labeled:
EMERGENCY STOP
Use only if You’ve Accidentally Pushed the “Warning: Do Not Push” Button
Both of them leap for the button and push it. As luck would have it (along with some mighty clever writing on my part), the flying flyswatter screeches to a halt just inches from the ground.
“Whew,” Gnat Man says and sighs, “that was close.”
“I’ll say,” Proverb Guy agrees. “Not only did we almost die, but my Jackie Robinson baseball card would have been destroyed.”
“You’ve got Jackie Robinson?”
“Right here,” Proverb Guy says with a grin.
“Wow, that is so cool,” Gnat Man says as he opens up the flyswatter’s door and steps out onto the ground. “I’ve got Ty Cobb back at the Gnat Cave.”
Proverb Guy climbs out after him. “No kidding, I didn’t know you collected baseball cards.”
“For years. Say, you don’t happen to have a Hank Aaron, do you?”
“Nah, I don’t have one. I have two.”
“Two? What could I trade you for one?”
“What do you have?”
“Come on over to the Gnat Cave, and I’ll show you.”
“Great, want to grab a bite to eat first?”
“Why not?”
“How ’bout some Chinese?”
“Sounds super cool.”
And so the once-mortal enemies stroll off together, arm in arm. Well, in Gnat Man’s case, many arms in many arms.
“Sorry about your losing all that sweepstakes money,” Gnat Man says.
“Don’t worry about it. There are some things more important than money.”
“Like a Willie Mays card?”
“You’ve got Willie Mays!?”
As they stroll into the sunset, you are no doubt asking what will become of the evil Excuse-a-tron and all the excuses it has stored up. Not to worry. It may take a while to bring the world’s levels of excuses back up to normal, but as long as there are kids and unfinished homework, teenagers coming home late from dates, and telephone companies claiming you’ll save money when you change over to them. . .well, dear reader, there will always be excuses.