Ainsworth, the Missing Tabby

Mr. Smiley has a new toy.

Meanwhile, Roderick is home for the car show at the Beaune Estate -- an annual event to which Beauneville denizens bring the cars they drive every day. Molly and Megan join him for the event.

Mr. Whitaker down the street wanted to buy this Hudson Hornet as soon as it arrived at Beauneville Motors. Mrs. Whitaker, however, demurred. "Too sporty," she said. Mrs. Whitaker is not known for being adventurous.

The Whitakers purchased this DeSoto instead, which they still own.

Mr. Ackerman, of the Ackerman's Market Ackermans, remains loyal to the Packard brand. Even after Packard merged with Studebaker and ceased production, Mr. Ackerman purchased this 1956 Packard Clipper, which is really just a Studebaker with Packard branding. "I would never buy a Studebaker," he huffs. To Mr. Ackerman, Studebakers are for the lower sort.

Mr. Van Zandt, the butcher, likes to work for Mr. Ackerman, but thinks his taste in cars is a little priggish. Mr. Van Zandt still drives his father's 1941 Studebaker.

When she was shopping for a car, Megan took this little number for a test drive before she settled on her 1964 Mustang. "I loved this car, but I'm too buxom to drive it," she laughs. Roderick ponders that, then agrees. This car is definitely not for the buxom.

Everyone admires Mr. Filbert's Hudson, but think he looks silly in a cowboy hat.

Mr. Wickett, of Wickett's Bazaar, owns one of two identical 1956 Oldsmobile Holidays owned by Beauneville denizens. (Miss Honeychurch owns the other, which she uses to drive her many cats to the vet).

Mr. Wickett likes to tell a funny story about this car. One day, when Dickie Wickett was about six years old, he saw Miss Honeychurch's car parked in front of Zeppelin Drugs. Thinking it was the family car, he opened the back door and released about a dozen cats, who promptly ran in every direction.

Officer Grady -- not the Officer Grady we know, but his dad -- was right there, and yelled "Hey! This is not your father's Oldsmobile!" Years later, Grady wanted to sue General Motors over this advertisement, but Mr. Barrister convinced him the lawsuit was a no-hoper.

Mr. Wickett loves to tell that story, and cracks up whenever he tells it. Molly doesn't get it. And Dickie gets a little tired of hearing about it.

Miss Honeychurch isn't amused, either. She recovered most of the cats, but Ainsworth never returned home. For some years afterwards, Beauneville residents reported Ainsworth sightings, but all were apocryphal.

The Conditional Conjunction

Every college has a policy governing the use of alcohol and illegal drugs. Every college except Old Ivy which, true to form, does things its own way. The matter is up for discussion in today's quarterly Board meeting. Appropriately enough, the Board meets in the Board Room.

"Good morning gents, and madam," says Board Chairman Mr. Fuddle, nodding to Miss Token. Miss Token, who is part black, part Hispanic, part Native American and bisexual is actually highly valued for her strategic contribution, since Old Ivy makes no effort at all towards diversity. She is also hot, and prefers short, tight skirts.

"Good morning!" says Miss Token. The other members of the Board also respond, with varying levels of enthusiasm.

Mr. Fuddle proceeds with the first order of business. "I received a letter last month from the Association of College and Universities. It says we should take a hard look at policies on binge drinking and take active steps to promote safe and legal use of alcohol."

"Do we have a policy on binge drinking?" asks Miss Token.

"Yes," says Mr. Gruff of the Philosophy faculty and Dean of Student Life. "Our policy is that we don't care what students do as long as they don't disrupt the exams. lectures, seminars, concerts or other college events. And if they do disrupt those things we don't care if they do so because of alcohol or drug use, we just throw them out on the first offense."

"That works for me," says Miss Token. There is general assent from the other members.

"What about drinking in students' rooms?" asks Mr. Billabong, who is new to the Board.

"Technically," says Mr. Armstrong, of the Political Economy faculty and Dean of Residence Life, "we don't own the rooms since we went condominium ten years ago. The South Quad Condominium Association has rules, which they post, and advises that state law prohibits underage drinking unless one of the exceptions applies."

"Exceptions?" Clearly, Mr. Billabong isn't up on the details of state law governing underage drinking.

Mr. Armstrong sighs. "The Condominium Association tells the students that underage drinking is prohibited except on private property (taverns and liquor stores excepted), for religious purposes, for medical purposes, for educational purposes, for government work or with parental consent."

"Gosh," says Mr. Billabong. "That's a lot of exceptions! How do you enforce them all."

"We, the Members of this Board and the employees of Old Ivy College, don't enforce them at all," responds Mr. Armstrong. "The South Quad Condominium Association, a legally separate entity with no connection to Old Ivy College except that the same individuals serve on both Boards and meet consecutively in this room, enforces the policy. I should note, however, that the Condominium Association has no employees other than Mr. Featherton, who runs the annual online auction."

"What about the police?" asks Miss Token.

"Sheriff Nottingham in Stapleton or one of his deputies will respond if there is a disturbance. We had one back in 1982, when Figgie Gordon chained himself naked to the Thinking Tree to protest what he said was an absence of thought."

Mr. Fuddle interjects. "Thank you for that briefing, Mr. Armstrong. Any other comments or questions on this issue?"

"What about Federal law?" asks Miss Token. You can always count on Miss Token to bring up questions of Federal law.

"Well," says Mr. Armstrong, warming to the subject, "the Department of Education publishes rules under Title IX, and we would have to comply with them if we had a varsity athletic program."

"If," says Mr. Gruff, with emphasis on the conditional conjunction, "we had a varsity athletic program."

"But...we don't have a varsity athletics program," says Miss Token.

"Exactly," says Mr. Armstrong. "There are also rules governing colleges and universities that accept Federal research grants or disburse Federal student grants and loans, and we would have to comply with those IF we accepted Federal research grants or disbursed Federal student grants and loans."

"I get it!" laughs Miss Token. "IF we did that stuff. But we don't!" There is a round of laughter from the other Members.

Meanwhile, in his room, and with his parents' consent, Roderick pours himself a glass of Beauneville Ale. Mr. Smith likes to say that Roderick can also qualify under the religious exception, as he is a practicing member of the Church of Occasional Beer; and the educational exception applies as well, since it is important for a youth to know how to drink a beer.

Beauneville Ale, a product of the Beauneville Brewery, has a special secret ingredient that gives it a unique flavor. I'd tell you what the ingredient is, but it's a secret. It's not pumpkin.

Are You Molly Bloom?

Today is the twentieth Sunday after Trinity. In the St. Cecilia Chapel, Mr. Mendelssohn leads the Old Ivy Bach Chorale in today's cantata, J.S. Bach's BWV 180, Schmücke dich, o liebe Seele (Adorn yourself, oh dear soul). Mrs. Dowager sings the alto solo, a ringer sings the tenor solo, Zack sings the bass solo and Emily Scharf sings the soprano solo with Zack's hand firmly planted on her buttocks. Fourth year Philosophy student Mädchen Smith delivers the inspirational message for today, Adorn yourself at Forever 21.

The children of Beauneville gather in a circle for Sunday Reading Time. Dorabella squeezes her ample bottom into the Reading Chair and continues to read from The Blue Trolley.

At the station, the Blue Trolley waited patiently for Fred and his Dad to return from the ice cream parlor. Thomas the Tank Engine rolled up the adjacent track pulling two coaches and stopped.

Dorabella holds the book aloft to show the picture.

She continues to read.

"Good morning!" said Thomas.

"Clang, clang!" said the Blue Trolley.

Thomas pulls out an iPhone. "Look at me!" he says. "I'm texting!"

"Clang, clang!" said the Blue Trolley.

Thomas held the phone at arms length and took a selfie. "See?" he says, showing off the picture.

Another picture.

Back to the story.

"Clang, clang!" said the Blue Trolley.

Thomas the Tank Engine chuffed away. Just as Fred and his Dad returned from the ice cream parlor, The Little Engine That Could Arrived. "Good morning!" said The Little Engine That Could.

"Good morning!" said Fred.

"Good morning!" said Fred's Dad.

"Clang, clang!" said the Blue Trolley.

"Where are you going?" asked Fred.

"I am going to pull this train of good food and toys over the mountain to the little children on the other side."

"Are you sure that's possible? All those big engines over there said it can't be done."

"Well, poop on those fuddy-duds. I will just say 'I think I can, I think I can, I think I can' over and over again and pull this long train of good food and toys over the mountain to the children on the other side."

"That is ridiculous Bergsonian twaddle," said Fred. "Your ability to pull that train over the mountain depends solely on the tractive effort you can produce, which depends on the power transmitted to your driving wheels and the factor of adhesion. If the mass of the train exceeds your tractive effort on the steepest grade, you will roll backwards down the hill. The forces of physics are not affected by the content of your train or the needs to the intended recipients."

"Well," said The Little Engine That Could, "that's your opinion." He tugged on the train and started to roll out the station. "I think I can, I think I can, I think I can..."

About ten minutes later, the train rolled backwards into the station, The Little Engine That Could still coupled to the front but clearly exhausted. He said nothing.

"See?" said Fred.

"Clang, clang!" said the Blue Trolley.

Fred his Dad boarded the Blue Trolley and they departed.

"Are we heading home?" asked Fred.

"Clang, clang!" said the Blue Trolley. "Clickety-clack, clickety-clack, clickety-clickety-clack!"

Soon, they arrived at the station on Duck Pond Road, near their house.

"Goodbye, Blue Trolley!" said Fred.

"Clang, clang!" said the Blue Trolley.

Fred's Dad drove home, taking care to avoid small children and pets playing in the street. He parked the Packard in the shade of the squashberry tree, which groaned with fruit. Mom met them at the front door, and so did Zeppelin, Mr. Wuffles and Spot, who pushed Not A Bunny's wheeled aquarium.

"Hello, everyone!" said Fred.

Then everyone played tag, which was great fun for everyone but Not A Bunny, who had no way to tag anyone back so he was always "it".

Dorabella puts the book down. The gathered children clap happily.

Meanwhile, Molly Bloom sits and reads in the Student Union beneath Natasha's recently installed mural, which is aptly named Molly Bloom's Moist Pink Vagina. Another student -- Molly recognizes him from Rhetoric class -- approaches the mural, gazes at it intently.

"Excuse me," he says to Molly, "you're Molly Bloom, aren't you?"

"No," says Molly.

The Blue Trolley

Today is the nineteenth Sunday after Trinity, an otherwise unremarkable spot in the liturgical calendar. Mr. Mendelssohn leads the Old Ivy Bach Chorale in today's cantata, Ich elender Mensch, wer wird mich erlösen (Wretched man that I am, who shall deliver me). Mary Ellen Ricardo of the Economics faculty delivers the inspirational message for the day, "How to Find a Good Obstetrician."

Roderick, sitting next to Megan in the third pew on the right, recognizes one of the altos. She occupies the room next to his in South Quad. "Do you know her?" he inquires of Megan.

"It's Melanie Fishbreath. She's PTBL."

"PTBL?"

"Presumed To Be Lesbian." At Old Ivy, altos are PTBL and tenors are PTBG.

Services over, Roderick, Molly and Megan adjourn to the Old Ivy Inn for brunch. Roderick invites Melanie to join them. They sit at a smallish table to the right of the fireplace. Roderick orders scrapple, applesauce and toast; Molly orders scrambled eggs and bacon; Megan orders fried eggs and scrapple; Melanie orders granola.

"I'm really not a lesbian, you know," says Melanie, pouring milk on her granola. As if anyone asked. "I just like to sing Alto."

Roderick, Molly and Megan exchange knowing looks.

"Personally," says Roderick, reaching for the butter, "I consider toast to be simply a platform for butter."

Dorabella has a new book for reading hour. As the children of Beauneville gather in a circle on the floor, Dorabella squeezes her ample bottom into the Reading Chair, and holds the book aloft for all to see. "The Blue Trolley," she announces.

"Ooooooooooh," say the gathered children of Beauneville.

Dorabella begins to read:

Once upon a time, there was a little boy named Fred, who lived in a little Cape Cod house on Duck Pond Road with his Mommy, his Daddy, his pet dog Spot, his pet cat Mr. Wuffles, his pet goldfish named Not A Bunny and his pet tarantula named Zeppelin.

She holds up the book so everyone can see the picture of Fred, Mommy, Daddy, Spot, Mr. Wuffles, Not A Bunny and Zeppelin in front of a little Cape Cod house.

She continues:

One day, Fred was gathering squashberries with Johnny, another little boy who lived across the street. As Fred reached for a squashberry lodged in the Arctostaphylos Uva-Ursi -- which Fred's Dad refers to as 'that green plant out front that spreads everywhere' -- he saw a caterpillar crawling amongst the leaves.

"Look!" he said, pointing. "A caterpillar!"

"I'm going to stomp on him!" said Johnnny, lifting his leg.

At that moment, Johnny's mother called from across the street. "Johnny Winklemeyer, you come home right now and eat your lunch!"

Johnny paused, his foot in mid-air, then spun and ran across the street where he was struck and killed by a passing BMW Isetta 300 driven by Mr. Hugo Pflinger, local collector of Isettas. Mr. Pflinger was rather miffed, as he had just waxed and detailed the car and due to damage to the front end was stuck waiting inside until the Fire Department arrived.

Dorabella holds up the book to show a picture of Mr. Pflinger's car before the accident.

"Ooooooooooh," say the gathered children of Beauneville.

Dorabella continues:

While Fred pondered the concept of karma, his Dad beckoned to him. "Come, Fred," said Dad. "We're going for a ride on the Blue Trolley."

Fred clambered aboard his father's 1957 Packard Clipper, the post-merger model that was really a Studebaker President with Packard badging. "Vroom, vroom," said the Packard, as they accelerated down Duck Pond Road.

Shortly, they arrived at the trolley station. "Look!" said Dad, pointing. "The Blue Trolley is waiting for us." Sure enough, a trolley stood patiently at the station and, appropriately enough, the trolley was blue.

Dorabella pauses again to hold up a picture of the trolley.

"Good morning, Mr. Blue Trolley," said Fred.

"Clang, clang!" said the Blue Trolley.

Fred and his Dad clambered aboard and took their seats.

"Clang, clang!" said the Blue Trolley again, as they began to move.

"Where are we going, Mr. Blue Trolley?" asked Fred.

"Clang, clang! Clickety-clack, clickety-clack, clickety-clickety-clack!" replied the Blue Trolley.

"Not a very good conversationalist, is he?" whispered Fred to his Dad.

Soon, they arrived at another station and debarked to the platform. Fred's Dad pointed across the street. "Look, an ice cream store! Let's go get some ice cream."

Fred thought this was a pretty good idea. As they crossed the street, he held onto his Dad's finger, tightly. All the more so having observed the encounter between little Johnny and the business end of a BMW Isetta 300, if a BMW Isetta 300 can be said to have a business end.

Dorabella puts the book down. "To be continued!" she says.

"Awwwwwww," say the gathered children of Beauneville.

Meanwhile, in Smileyville, Mr. Smiley has just received a package, which he opens with relish. It's a model Isetta, complete with bubble camper. Proudly, he removes it from the packaging and places it on the dining room table.

Mr. Smiley ponders the car and camper and dreams of driving down the highway, Clotilde by his side, little Alexander in the back seat, an ample quantity of pickles and cheese in the camper. The idea makes him smile.