Chapter X. Port In a Storm

SCRIBBLERS

C 2004 By Gracie Prior

CHAPTER X. PORT IN A STORM

The Scribblers were busy putting the finishing touches on their clubhouse. It was a cool November day. Terry hardly noticed how Mary's hair blew in the breeze as she helped put the last of the tiles on the roof. He saw Butch zip his jacket, look around at the whole scene and say, "This is so great. Look at it. Ain't she a beauty?"

Terry's mind was not on the club house or Mary or Butch. It was very much on his dad who had been sick again. Terry's eyes were red and puffy from lack of sleep. Dad's coughing had kept the whole house up, with Mom running around trying to help him. He was glad Dad was going to a doctor today. Maybe there was something the doctor could do to help.

Jimmy sat on a large rock in Butch's yard. He dangled his feet and observed, "Just like home. Now the Scribblers have a base. Let's give it a name. Something clever. We're writers. We should be up to it."

Butch walked around the clubhouse. "Great idea. Take five everybody and think of a good name."

Terry sat on the ground and Mary and Butch stood. "Why don't we go inside and get the feel of the place," Terry said. "That might help us." His mind was going back and forth, now on Dad, now on a name for the place. The group took his idea and all four crowded in and sat on the floor which was covered by a large area rug cut down and fitted. The clubhouse would be dry inside, even when it rained. Right now it was empty, but there was enough room for chairs, a small desk, and bookcases, the most desirable item. Terry felt the comfort of his friends and he, with effort, took his mind off Dad and put it on the job at hand. "How about 'Comfort Corner'," he suggested.

"Not bad," Jimmy said, brushing dirt off his leg. "I was thinking of 'Scribblers Settlement'. What do you think?"

Butch had his head down deep in thought. He came up out of a seeming coma and said, 'Writer's Block'". They all looked at him. Mary started to laugh. "As a name for the clubhouse, I mean," he said.

"That's bad luck, don't you think?" Terry said. "Mary how about you? We need a fourth choice. Then we'll vote."

"So far, I like 'Comfort Corner,' though it doesn't have anything to do with writing. How about 'Writer's Haven.' I got the word "haven" from a book. It's like a port in a storm. Or we could be artsy and call it 'Havenword,' a place where our words are safe."

"O.K., let's vote. I forgot paper, so we'll have a show of hands. 'Havenword'," Butch said. Four hands went up. "All right then. Tomorrow, we'll get a bottle of pop and Christen the place like a ship. I now declare this first meeting of The Scribbler's society at Havenword officially closed."

(Next time - more of Terry's problem and the play they are writing gets a new twist. See you on Friday. Nancy)

Chapter IX. A Place Of Our Own

SCRIBBLERS

CHAPTER IX. A PLACE OF OUR OWN

C 2004 By Gracie Prior

(In the last chapter, we took an interlude while Mary got to know her boys a little better. We return to Butch's problems.)

Butch sat in his room on the twin bed. He had pennants up on the wall from major baseball teams. He didn't have a favorite team and he didn't listen to games much, but he liked to get into sports talk once in awhile. Other boys had sports decorations on their wall. He didn't want to be different. He didn't consciously think about all this. The pennants were just there. They didn't speak to him. His heart was in reading and writing. He was running out of ways of telling his mom and dad what he liked and why.

"How embarrassing," he said to himself. "Mom has to be right there when the club comes over. Terry has the basement, Jimmy has a den, Mary, I don't know yet, but I bet her mom isn't there doing ironing." He pondered the problem. "What I need is a clubhouse. Dad and Mom always want me to go outside. Well I would like to live outside, to get away from them." He felt guilty for that last remark. His parents were old, older than Terry's even. He was sure they were much older than Mary's or Jimmy's. And as he was an only child, they babied him too much. "A clubhouse is just what I need. I even have money saved from when I delivered those phone books. I'll see if Terry and Jimmy will help me. Then we can do our club outside and please everyone."

Butch went downstairs and looked around for his mom. She was in the kitchen, making salads for dinner. "Mom, I have a project, for outdoors, that I'd like to try. Can I do it?"

"Butch, you know that depends on what it is."

"Let me make a clubhouse on the back of our property. We've got lots of room. Dad can help if he wants, but I can figure it out. It doesn't have to be fancy. It just has to be a place where I, where we can be alone."

"Well I don't know. You'll have to ask Dad. You and your friends will still be sitting around reading and all. You need exercise."

"The last time you said I needed to be outside. The clubhouse will be outside. There won't be any electricity. Just whatever battery stuff we can bring in. If you like, we can run around the house every hour or so, just to stay fit."

"Don't you get that attitude with me, young man." Her carrot cutting became faster and more vicious.

Butch grabber his jacket. "It's just, Roy's mom is always on him because he never reads books. He's always playing baseball. You get on me because I read and don't play baseball. How is a guy supposed to be a kid in this day and age?" He slammed the door and went outside.

As Butch ran down to Jimmy's house, he noticed what a beautiful day it was. "Look at that sun!" The very last of the red and yellow leaves fell gently in the wind. When Butch called, Jimmy came out at once. "I have a great idea for the Scribblers. Do you think you and Terry can help me make a clubhouse out back in our yard? That way, we can always have a place to meet. Won't that be cool?"

A pensive mood framed Jimmy's face as the boys took seats in the green metal chairs on Jimmy's porch. "It's just what we need. Then we can get boxes and store our stuff and we'll really be in business. Besides, we won't have to keep calling to see where to meet. It will always be at the clubhouse. Will your parents let you? Do you have money for the materials? Do you know what you, we, are doing?"

"Yes to all the questions. Mom and Dad haven't agreed yet, but they will. They pretty much let me do whatever I want, as long as it isn't something bad. They are fair I have to admit. Don't tell them I said that. I don't want them to think I'm an easy kid to handle."

"Why not? I am. Easy, that is."

"It just works better to have leverage."

Butch and Jimmy looked over the trees in the yard and breathed deeply. After awhile, Butch said, "Let's call Terry and Mary and tell them the good news."

"Shouldn't you wait for official confirmation from the parents?"

"Butch squeaked the chair against the rough wood on Jimmy's porch. "Nah," he said. "It's a done deal."

(Next time: More news on the clubhouse. See you then. Nancy)

Chapter VIII. The Waltz

SCRIBBLERS

C 2004 By Gracie Prior

CHAPTER VIII. THE WALTZ

It was an exciting time at Elsbeth Wilson Elementary School. The gym teacher was going to start dances at noon because there was nothing else to do with all the kids after their lunch, and it was too cold to go outside, winds and snow whipping around the corners of the school. Mary put on her black and white checked jumper, her white blouse with the ruffles, and her black patent leather shoes. Mom said she could wear them to school once in awhile. She also pulled her long hair into a ponytail. It was the style and she wanted to try it. She topped this all off with a scarlet bow around her hair.

In the morning class, Mary busied herself with her studies. Behind her was Butch with Jimmy to the back right. Terry was still behind Butch. They talked together whenever there was talking time. At lunchtime, the bell rang loudly and Mary went to the cloakroom and got her lunch money from her pocket. She went on ahead of the boys to the lunchroom. Wanting to get to the gym early, she quickly ate her sandwich and finished her graham crackers with leftover chocolate icing. Then she walked alone to the gym. She was eager to see what this dancing was all about.

When she got to the gym, there were already kids dancing. Mary sat on the bleachers and watched them. There were girls standing around on the floor, giggling and visiting, but Mary wasn't ready fort that yet. Roy, a boy in her class, came over to her.

"May I have this dance?" he asked. The sixth grade had been taught in gym class how to ask a lady for a dance, how to place your hands properly, and how to escort them back to where you found them when the dance was finished. Mary got up and smiled. She didn't like Roy very much. He made out-of-place remarks in class, but Mary was eager to dance. The record player was playing "Tennessee Waltz," her favorite, and she couldn't resist.

They started to dance and Mary realized that Roy was all feet. She tried to help him without actually taking the lead. It was useless. She concentrated on the lonely, beautiful words and melody of the song. Someone had tapped Roy on the shoulder while she was looking away and she saw with delight that Terry was now her partner.

"May I cut in?" he asked as he whirled her over the floor. The dance ended.

Mary realized that Terry didn't know where she was before the dance so she walked slowly back to the bleachers. Terry followed her. "This is where I was ...before," Mary said.

"See you later then ," he said.

A fast song came on and the kids who knew how to do the Jitterbug began holding hands, hopping around, twirling and moving in and out. There were girls with girls and girls with boys. Mary loved to dance fast, too. The music made her feet move. At home, she liked to practice her moves in front of the tall mirror on the door. She got up bravely and moved around the floor. She nearly bumped into Jimmy who would be game for anything. "Jimmy," she smiled, holding out her hands. Girls weren't supposed to ask boys to dance, but they could certainly look interested.

Jimmy turned and said. "Oh, Mary, isn't this fun?" He raised his eyebrow up and then down. He had that adorable smile. "I'd ask you to dance, but I don't know how."

Good enough, Mary thought. "I'll show you." They were playing "Tan Shoes and Pink Shoelaces." She took Jimmy's hand and stepped back away from him . "Like this," she said. She danced in to touch his other hand and then back out. Back and forth they went. Jimmy looked unsure, but he smiled. Mary wanted to go under his arm and twirl and do a few other moves, but Jimmy was obviously not ready. The song ended. Jimmy escorted Mary to where they started.

"You're a good dancer," Jimmy said. "Thank you for the dance, My Lady."

Mary giggled and nodded. She looked around to see what other fun was to be had when she saw two boys approaching her. Butch and Terry came over and looked like eager puppies. "We want you to choose. Which one of us would you like to dance with?"

Mary was surprised and delighted. Her heart right now went out to Terry but Butch was very cute, and she hadn't danced with him. "Butch," she said, smiling sweetly at Terry so as not to discourage him.

Butch gave Terry a superior victory smile. He took Mary's hand and started moving to another song that pulled at her heart. The voice on the record was so low and yearning. Butch was by far the best dancer of the day. He moved her around as if he knew what he was doing. He smiled at her. She just enjoyed the moment. Never before. Never once before had boys paid this much attention to her. Not like this. Was it the new school, her friendship with the Scribblers, the ponytail? What was different?

(Join me next Friday when the Scribblers get involved in a wonderful new project.)

Chapter VII. The Beginning Of Terry's Troubles

Scribblers

C 2004 By Gracie Prior

CHAPTER VII. THE BEGINNING OF TERRY’S TROUBLES

Terry's dad hadn’t been feeling too well again and Terry wanted to make sure he wasn’t needed at home. As he came in from the side door, he saw that his older brother Philip was home. Philip lived alone a few blocks away. Terry became concerned. He looked at Philip and asked, “What’s going on?”

“Dad was coughing pretty bad again last night and Mom wanted me to come and check on him. He seems rested now. She had to go to the store and didn’t want to leave him alone.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Terry looked closely at his brother. He didn’t sense any alarm in his face.

“Just relax. I’ve got things under control here. What are you doing today?”

“Butch, Mary, and I were going to ride bikes, but not if you need help.”

Philip smiled and ruffled Terry’s hair. “Go on and do what you want. I’ll be here when Mom comes home, and I’ll tell her you checked in. You won’t be in any trouble.”

Terry felt bad that Philip thought he only cared about whether he was O.K. with Mom. He was very upset about Dad and wasn’t sure he should go and play. He sat down and rested in a chair, thinking it over.

Mom came home then, bringing her groceries in the back door. Terry and Philip ran to help her. They all put the food away together. “How is Dad doing?” Terry asked.
Mom looked at him and smiled. “He’s resting fine, isn’t he Philip?”

“Sure is,” Philip said. “I told the squirt he was fine, but he didn’t believe me, I guess.”

Things weren’t going the way Terry liked. “If he is fine, I’m going riding with Butch. Is that alright?”

Mom looked at him and nodded. “Get some sunshine. This nice November weather can't last forever. See you at dinner.”

Terry rounded up his Blue Racer bicycle and peddled over to Butch’s house. Butch pulled out of his driveway and they decided to go and get slowpoke Mary. The boys were surprised to see the strange car in Mary’s drive. When she came out, Terry asked, “Who is that?”

“Oh, that car belongs to a friend of my dad’s. He’s going to be coming to town for a special event later,” Mary said.

“What event?” Butch asked.

“Oh, nothing,” Mary said. “Where's Jimmy?"

"He's not much of a rider," Terry said. "Ready?"

Mary nodded. "Let's ride."

The three of them rode around the neighborhood for a long while. Their street was mostly deserted with only a few cars coming and going. There was just a little snow left from an earlier snowfall. Terry remembered that it wasn't unusual for the street to be empty for a whole day. They regathered at the bottom of their street near Mary's house. Butch said, Race you all to the top of the hill.

“You can’t get all the way up that hill, Butch.” Mary said. “It’s too steep.”

“Sure I can," Butch said. “Let’s try it. Ready set go!”

Terry was ready and shot off like a rocket. Butch was right behind. Mary had a late start. Terry looked back briefly and realized Mary didn’t know their game yet. Get the other person distracted, then go. He was pumping heavily and there was only a little more street to go but his energy was going fast. Butch was by his back wheel. Mary was just coming to the steep part. Terry gripped the handlebars, made one last effort, and pushed up to the top of the hill. He straddled the bike waving his hands in the air. Butch crossed the imaginary line next. Mary was nearly to the top, but got off and walked her bike up the rest of the hill. “Awe, Mary, you could have made it,” Terry said.

Mary wiped her face on her sleeve, “Sure I could, but why? You are the winner. Let’s go try it again.”

Butch looked at Terry. “You up for it?

“I have to get home. Next time we’ll make sure you’re ready, Mary,” Terry said.

“Next time I’ll beat you,” Mary said.

“Bet she will, too, Butchie Boy,” Terry shouted as he flew down the hill.

Chapter VI. Watering the Seeds

SCRIBBLERS

By Gracie Prior

CHAPTER VI. WATERING THE SEEDS

(In our last story, Jimmy had just come up with a great new story idea for the Scribblers writing group.)

In her pink gingham bedroom with a matching bedspread and canopy, Mary sat on a Chintz covered chair and picked up her diary. She had kept one since about third grade when her teacher, Mrs. Wright, taught the class how to put thoughts and everyday occurrences on paper.

September 1958

Dear Louisa,

I am supposed to meet with Butch, Terry, and Jimmy today for our meeting of the Scribblers Society. When they asked me to join, it was so sudden, so unexpected. Here in front of me are three boys and they want me or at the very least something about me. Jimmy has written a one-act play about a heroine named Congruent, who is wild and free. She lives in the desert and has a secret mission. I think I'm going to like playing her. Her helper is a little Silly and not very smart. Jimmy will probably play the part. It seems like Jimmy. We are going over the script today and blocking our the action. This will be our fall play and then Jimmy wants to see if we can turn the play into a book. I like that idea. We're all getting along so far. Butch McNeil is cute. I think he has a thing for me. Terry Raymond is the cool one, and I don't think he likes girls yet. Too bad. Well, the boys are all friendly and they all love to write, so I am content. I'll sign off now. Your loving Mary.

* * *

Mary entered Butch's house from the back porch. The group sat around the couch. There was one spot left for Mary. Sitting in the corner was a chair and a television console, the only other furniture. Butch's Mom was irioning in the adjoining room. She had a huge pile of laundry and showed no signs of leaving.

Mary, always the bold one, noticed the lack of privacy and asked, "Can't we work in the basement?"

"It's a mess down there. Mom doesn't want us to go down. This is fine."

Mrs. McNeil smiled at them over a huge shirt she was holding up.

Terry began, "Jimmy, it's obvious that you and Mary are the leads in this play. I have typed the scripts for you on Dad's Royal, and you can read them over. I'll coach you, Mary, and Butch can coach Jimmy."

Terry passed out the scripts and Mary and Jimmy looked them over. "What's this about a yummy?" Mary asked. "I don't understand about that."

"I think it is pretty well explained," Jimmy said. "It is simply a fruit of which you are unfamiliar my dear Mary."

"Let's start." Terry said. "Jimmy, you are talking to the horse about your quest when he loses a shoe and you are forced to stop in the desert. Start with 'Aaron sits down and ponders what to do.'"

Jimmy sat down and started, "The sun is getting higher in the sky and we are stuck. (Jimmy started to cry as the script indicated.) "Why, oh why, was I ever chosen?" Jimmy lay against a pretend rock and slept.

Mary strode confidently over to Jimmy, looked down at him, put her hands on her hips and said, "Humph, what have we here?"

Mary and Jimmy read through the entire play, which was quite short, blocking out the movements as they went along.

"Good read through," Terry said. "I think there is real grit between you two. You guys did good."

"I like the idea of making this into a book," Mary said.

"What? Whose idea was that?" asked Terry.

"Jimmy's," Mary said. "I thought you all knew."

"Well, we didn't all knew." Butch said. "Jimmy, you're holding out on us."

Jimmy blushed and said, "I only just thought of it, really. Ideas kept coming to me and I wanted to do more with it. What do you think?"

"I think you're getting a little too big for your britches. That's what I think. You have so many ideas (Butch rolled his eyes and blinked his lashes.) This is a writing club. We all have ideas. That's what we're here for."

Terry caught Butch's eye and nodded at his mom. "Let's do the play the best we can," Terry said. "Then, if the crowd loves it, we'll put off plays for a bit and all try writing the book. O.K?"

Butch's Mom looked up from her ironing, wiped her brow and said, "Butchie, you need to go outside and play ball or ride your bike. I don't like to see you spend all your time indoors."

"Yeah, O.K., Mom. The group is leaving and then I'll ride my bike." He looked around. "You guys want to join me?"

"I do," Mary said. "Wait here and I'll go and get my bike." She left and ran down to her house at the end of the street. When she got there, an unknown car was in Mary Brewster's driveway and she went inside to investigate.

(Whose car is in Mary's driveway? Next time, here on Friday.)

Chapter V. Seeds Of a Story

SCRIBBLERS

C 2004 By Gracie Prior

CHAPTER V. SEEDS OF A STORY

(In our last installment, the Scribblers had just finished a dramatic scene from their new play.)

Jimmy sat in his bedroom, which was decorated with Earnest Shepherd's drawings of Winnie the Pooh on the walls. He meant to redecorate now that he was older, but Mom said he would have to get his own things. She certainly didn't have the money right now. His mom, Mrs. Falcon,was a freelance artist. She painted watercolors for magazines and sent them in. He could get some new ideas from her at least.

He went over and lay back on his bed on this lazy Saturday, and thought how well the play "Terry, the Pirates, and Ponce Virle De Polo," had gone. Mary was indeed needed in the group as she turned out to be an excellent salesperson. Her mom, Mrs. Brewster, had gotten some excitement going at the library where she worked. The staff there felt they should encourage budding playwrights. Also, Mary had walked up and down her street, getting to know the neighbors better in the process.

The big rescue scene had gone well and Terry (Ponce) remembered to drop the scarf, fight off all of the pirates, and escape their treachery. The proceeds were actually bigger than expenses. The group used old costumes, some worn scenery, and very little poster board. The audience laughed at some of the wrong places but that is show biz. At least there was a large measure of applause at the end.

He grabbed an old "Time" magazine with a desert picture and swirls of circles of sand getting ever bigger. That intrigued him. Into his mind came a beautiful girl on a white horse and as she rode across the sand, a funny idea popped into the scene. Why not put a little fraidycat guy with heart in there with her and take them on an adventure? We've done ships with water. Let's get into sand.

The phone rang and Jimmy answered. "Jimmy here." As he recognized the voice of Terry, Jimmy interrupted and added, "Head Scribbler at your service." Jimmy wrote a few notes on a paper and said, "Sure, Terry, we can get together. Get Butch and Mary, especially Mary. I want to talk to her about something. See you in a few minutes."

Jimmy scribbled down all the great ideas flowing in his head about the desert adventure. Often, the seeds of an idea came like a gift, right away in a flood. He just needed to catch them on paper. He knew the next phase, after the flood, would be hard going. It was still a gift, but one he had to work for. He grabbed his notes, his zipper jacket, and his thinking cap that looked very much like a fisherman's cap and hurried down the stairs and out the door.

Butch, Mary, and Terry were waiting for him on Terry's porch. He hadn't realized how long the flood had lasted.

"You're late, Martin," Butch said. "Better have a good excuse."

Jimmy smiled at the mention of his middle name, but said nothing. Butch often used silly nicknames.

We got here on time, Mary said."

Terry, who had known Jimmy the longest, looked at the fistful of notes in his hand and announced, "The man's been busy. Anybody can see that."

"God our next story?" Butch asked.

"Do I have a part," Mary asked, "or are you boys going back to your brother thing?"

"What I have," said Jimmy, "is the great American play. It has scenery and a hero (written just for me, he thought,) vicious villains, and of course, a damsel."

"In distress I suppose," Mary said.

"That's the great part," Jimmy said. "When I first saw her, she was not in distress. I really saw her, Mary. I don't think you have to worry."

(What's this new play Jimmy is working on? Will the others like it or will it cause trouble? Come back here next Friday and we'll continue. Nancy)

Chapter IV. The Rescue

SCRIBBLERS

C 2004 By Gracie Prior

(In our last installment, the Scribblers has just gotten Mary as a new member. We'll see how that plays out.)

Chapter lV THE RESCUE

At Terry's house, Terry, Butch, Mary, and Billy sat in an unfinished basement around a long rectangle table with papers spread all over. Rusty shelves with glass jars holding summer produce provided diversion to the drone of Jimmy's voice. He was reciting the outline of the latest play of the Scribbler's Society. Terry was very interested at first, when Jimmy talked about the pirates and how they would be collecting gold and jewels off ships on the high seas. Then Jimmy started reading about the prisoner and how he or she would be kidnapped, taken aboard and treated roughly if the report of treasure didn't come forth. Terry's mind drifted to his dad who had been sick the night before. He and his mom had been up all night nursing him so he could get some sleep, an occurrence that had been happening too frequently lately.

"'So you'll have to walk the plank,' Redbeard yelled, 'unless you tell us what we need to know.'" Jimmy's voice was threatening, as threatening as Jimmy could make it that is. "Um, right here, Terry. What do you think?"

"Huh?" Terry said.

"I mean, could Mary be the victim and walk the plank? Then, in a scene or two, just when all is lost, Ponce Virle will run from offstage, grab her and take her to the other side. The scene will end. The curtain will come down. There will be intermission. Only nobody will be able to eat, or talk. They will be so excited to see what happens. What do you think, Terry?"

Terry yanked his head away from the fruit jars and looked at Jimmy. "What? Oh, read that last line again for me, so I can get its full effect."

"I'm not asking about the line. I was telling you about the dramatic rescue of the victim and wondering if you think Mary can pull it off?"

Terry's mind had re-engaged. "Of course she can. Well, there's only one way to find out. Scribblers, take ten and let's all write the rescue scene where Mary walks the plank. Don't hold back guys. Put it all in the first time, as they say. O.K. It's 9:50. At l0:00, we'll see what everyone has down. Ready, you have paper and pencils; that's good. Start."

They all began writing. At ten o'clock, each Scribbler read their dialog. Butch had Mary yelling and screaming and fighting to the end, just before the rescue. Jimmy had Mary recite a sterling soliloquy about not forsaking her parents or her inheritance. Mary had her character walking bravely to the end of the plank and diving in, the cowards. Her hero would have to splash in to rescue her. Terry had Mary walk gloomily to the end of the plank, look at the sun coming up in the East and calling out, "O God, send a deliverer."

"At this point," Terry reads "Ponce rushes in from stage left, runs up the plank, grabs Mary, and throws down her scarf, a signal for the pirates to come in. Then, holding her in one arm, and swashbuckling with the other, he fights off two or three pirates at a time. He runs off stage yelling, "Deliverance!" Terry felt Mary's eyes on him as he delivered the lines.

Everyone agreed on Terry's script (though Jimmy was verbal about the merits of his.) "Everybody up," he said. "Jimmy, you and Butch are pirates. Mary, you stand here." He directed her up on a chair. "Now Ponce, (that's me) is coming. Mary, you look that way as if you were walking the plank. Say your line, the one I wrote and let's see how it works." Terry ran off stage, which was into a side room of the basement.

He pulled a blue tablecloth over his shoulders and tied it. He found some black chalk on a tray by a chalkboard and gave himself a moustache "Now, Mary, be bold and say your lines. Pirates, be ready to fight, over on the right. Now!"

"O God, send a deliverer!" Mary called with just the right stress in her voice. Terry ran into the room pulling Mary off the chair. He paused only a second, looking at her startled face (for she was looking away from him,) gave a hoist, and ran over to the left side of the room.

Terry put Mary down and looked at her. Her eyes were wide and looking directly at him. He felt some unknown emotion, but it didn't last. He heard a ruckus. Jimmy and Butch came at him like maniacs, swishing their arms back and forth, back and forth.

"What's gotten into you guys. That was great."

Butch glared at Terry. His hand gave one last thrust directly at Terry's midsection. "You didn't grab the scarf. You forgot the pirates. Take that and die, Ponce Virle De Polo."

(How will this play turn out? Will the Scribblers get it all together? Come back next Friday and we'll have a great time together. Nancy)