Get Smart 5 - Missed It By That Much! Read Online Free

the reception desk.
    “We just came from the Greasy Ladle Restaurant,” Max said to the nurse. “We were—”
    “The Greasy Ladle?” the nurse interrupted. “Then you want the Emergency Entrance. This entrance is for well people.”
    “No, no, you don’t understand,” Max said. “We’re not sick. We were told that a Dr. Livingstrom was brought here recently from the Greasy Ladle. We’d like to see him if he’s still here.”
    “I’ll check the records,” the nurse said, getting a file box from beneath the counter. After a moment of searching, she pulled a card from the file. “He left here about a week ago,” she informed them. “He didn’t like our food. He said it was too plain.”
    “Did he say where he was going?” Max asked.
    “Yes. Out for a bowl of gnu soup. The gnu is an animal we have here in Africa. To make the soup, you fill a swimming pool with boiling water, add a half ton of carrots, a half ton of onions, a half ton of chestnuts, then toss the gnu into the pool and make him swim to the other end. When he crawls out, you top it off with a dollop of whipped cream.”
    “I see,” Max nodded. “The fact that he mentioned gnu soup, did that tell you where he was going?”
    “Yes. Out of his head,” the nurse replied. “Anybody who can eat gnu soup has a sparkplug missing somewhere.”
    “No, what I mean is, is there, perhaps, a restaurant in town that specializes in gnu soup?”
    “Oh. Yes. The Ye Olde Gnu Soupe Kitchen.”
    “Thank you,” Max said, turning to leave.
    “Just a minute,” the nurse said. “Come to think of it, that’s not exactly right. When we got independence they changed the name of the Ye Olde Gnu Soupe Kitchen. It’s now the Ye New Gnu Soupe Kitchen. But they still serve the same olde swill.”
    Max and 99 left the hospital and took a taxi to the Ye New Gnu Soupe Kitchen. When they were seated at a table, they each ordered a bowl of gnu soup. They then asked the waiter if Dr. Livingstrom had been in lately. He replied that the scientist hadn’t been around in days, and suggested that they ask for him at the Curried Cod Cafe, a restaurant that specialized in corn cobs fried in butter and herbs.
    “Shouldn’t that be the Curried Cob Cafe—not cod?” Max said.
    “They wouldn’t have any customers if they called it that,” the waiter explained. “Who’d eat fried corn cobs?”
    When the gnu soup was placed before them, Max and 99 felt a rambling in their tum-tums. They slipped out without eating and hurried to the Curried Cod Cafe.
    But Dr. Livingstrom had not been there in days, either. The waiter at the Curried Cod suggested that they try at the Chop House, a restaurant near the water front.
    “That sounds more like it,” Max said, brightening. “The Chop House. What kind of chops do they specialize in? Pork Chops?”
    “Nope,” the waiter replied. “That’s rough territory down there by the water front. They specialize in karate chops.”
    “Then why would it interest Dr. Livingstrom?” Max said.
    “They also serve a free lunch,” the waiter replied. “All the boiled olives stuffed with robins’ nests you can eat. Although, no one has ever been known to eat more than one of them.”
    Max and 99 left the Curried Cod, hailed a taxi, and told the driver to take them to the water front.
    “Down there? Not me,” the driver replied. “That’s a den of thieves down there. And murderers. You know what kind of people those people are down there? When the Red Cross has a drive on for blood donations, those people down there donate more blood than anybody.”
    “What’s wrong with that?” Max said. “That sounds public-spirited to me.”
    “It’s where they get the blood,” the driver said. “They get it from the people on the other side of town.”
    “All right, if you’re afraid, just take us as close as you can,” Max said.
    “That’s where we are right now—as close as I’ll get,” the driver said.
    Max and 99 got out of the