Milton hadn’t felt so tired since he arrived at Uncle Evan’s house nearly two weeks ago. He collapsed onto the stool at the driftwood table and inhaled some lukewarm spaghetti and meatballs (which actually wasn’t as bad as he remembered). After a quick rain-barrel shower, he put on a clean T-shirt and shorts, groggily pushed the button that turned on his utility-belt watch’s alarm, and staggered to his couch-bed.
Through it all, Uncle Evan said not more than five words. Being beyond exhausted, Milton wasn’t exactly super chatty either, which was for the best since the plan was to totally blow Uncle Evan away by presenting all their jungle-findings at the same time tomorrow morning. Still, Milton couldn’t begin his much-needed slumber without giving his uncle a hint of what was to come.
“Uncle Evan, I think you’re going to be very happy tomorrow,” he called from his facedown position on the couch-bed. “I mean, ecstatic. Probably the happiest you’ve ever been in your life.”
“You think so?” Uncle Evan said.
“I do,” Milton said. “I really, really do. So promise me one thing—promise you won’t sign anything until you talk to me.”
“Okay, Milt. Sure,” was the last thing Milton heard before sleep as all-encompassing as a Menu-You Bush trap gulped him up.