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William Johnston

Sorry, Chief…

1

Max Smart — known to Control as Agent 86-peered down at the wing-tipped brown-and-white oxford that the shoe clerk had just fitted snugly to his right foot. His left foot was already wearing its mate. As the clerk, still kneeling, glanced up hopefully, Max tested the feel of the shoes on his feet.

“Would you like to walk in them?” the clerk asked.

“What else?” Max replied. “What would I expect to do in them-fly? Just because they’re wing-tips?”

“I meant,” the clerk explained, “would you like to walk around the floor-see how they feel?”

“Good idea,” Max said, rising.

He strolled around the section of chairs, then seated himself again. “They’re a lit-tle snug around the middle toe,” Max said.

The clerk stared at him, perplexed. “The middle toe? That’s the first time I’ve ever heard that comment. ”

Max’s eyes narrowed. “This is the first time I’ve ever had these shoes on,” he said.

The clerk nodded dimly.

“However, they’ll probably loosen up after I’ve worn them a while,” Max said. “So… I’ll take them. ”

“Yes, six,” the clerk said. “Will you wear them or shall I have them wrapped?”

“I’ll wear them,” Max replied. “When you’ve got a tight middle toe problem, it’s never too soon to start working it out. ”

The salesman rose, picking up the shoes that Max had worn into the store. “If you’ll come to the desk with me, sir,” he said, “I’ll have these wrapped. ”

Together-with Max limping slightly-they went to the cashier’s desk. The girl at the desk put Max’s old shoes into a box and began wrapping it. As she tucked paper around the box, a telephone rang.

The girl looked at the clerk, then at Max, then continued wrapping.

The telephone rang again.

Max shifted uneasily.

“Your phone is ringing,” the clerk said to the girl.

She bit her lip nervously, then said, “That’s what I thought. But then I remembered-I don’t have a phone. ”

Max cleared his throat-but said nothing.

The phone rang again.

“Well, some body’s phone is ringing,” the clerk said edgily.

“Ahhh… I think it’s mine,” Max said.

The clerk and the girl stared at him.

“Your phone?” the clerk said, puzzled.

“My shoe, actually,” Max said. “Excuse me. ”

He took the shoe box from the girl, parted it from the wrapping, opened the box, and took the right shoe from it. Then, as the clerk and the girl stared at him in utter dumbfoundment, he spoke into the sole, while listening at the heel.

Max: You-know-who here, Chief. I don’t want to mention my number because I’m not alone.

Chief: Max? Is that you? Why didn’t you answer your shoe?

Max: It was tied up in a box, Chief.

Chief (disgustedly): Max, sometimes I wonder how you ever got to be a secret agent!

Max (wounded): Chief, you know full well how I got to be a secret agent. I got into the wrong line. I thought it was the line for the Christmas show at Radio City Music Hall. How did I know that Control would be recruiting over the holidays? That’s usually the slow period.

Chief: All right, Max… never mind. Report to my office. I have a mission for you. In fact, it may be the most important mission you’ve ever handled. The fate of the whole civilized world may-