No Other Story by Dr. Cuthbert Soup Page B

asked.
    â€œI have some paper, but no pen. I’m sure Stig wouldn’t mind if you used some of his cave paints.”
    â€œPaint?” Mr. Cheeseman spouted. “I cannot compose with paint!”
    â€œHmm.” Jones thought further. “I’d loan him my eyetop, but I haven’t used it in so long I totally forgot the password.”
    â€œWhy do you need a password for a computer that’s attached to your eyeball?” asked Teddy.
    â€œWell, in case someone steals my eye, of course,” said Jones, as if this made perfect sense. “Don’t you have crime where you come from?”
    â€œNot the kind where people steal your eyeballs,” said Gravy-Face Roy.
    â€œI have a pencil,” said Professor Boxley. He removed the stubby writing instrument from his pocket and found that the point had not survived the avalanche. Luckily, he also had a small plastic sharpener.
    He handed the items to Ethan, and Jones sent Teddy to get the paper, which was sitting on a small metal shelf across the room. Teddy retrieved it, but not without a very dramatic huff. It was bad enough to be bossed around by your own family, but to be ordered about by complete strangers was something else. He returned with the paper and handed it to the person whom he had known his entire life as his father, but was now forced to refer to as Signor Gioachino Rossini.
    â€œ
Grazie,
” said Ethan in perfect Italian. Up to that point, his knowledge of the language had been limited to words like
spaghetti, pepperoni
, and
mama mia
.
    â€œLet’s get you set up at the kitchen table, Signor Rossini,” said Jones to Mr. Cheeseman. “I’m sure Gurda won’t mind if you do a little composing while she smashes roots.” Jones spoke to Gurda in that guttural caveman language. Gurda returned a few grunts and Jones smiled. “See?” he said to the others. “I told you she had a great sense of humor, LOL.”
    Once Mr. Cheeseman, a.k.a. Signor Rossini, had taken his position at the table and had begun composing his latest opera, Chip, Penny, and the professor gathered around the fire pit to discuss the situation with Jones. Meanwhile, Teddy, sick and tired of being bossed around, wandered throughout the cave, with Pinky on his heels, snuffing and snorting at each and every corner. Teddy found the underground home much larger than it appeared at first glance.
    In two years on the run, Teddy and his family had stayed in some pretty interesting houses. There was the old white farmhouse with the creepy attic. There was the little house that smelled like damp wood, which was odd for a house made of brick. And who could forget that house with the flat roof that had been painted the color of pea soup? It featured burnt-orange carpeting throughout, which Penny and Teddy would pretend was molten lava, forcing them to make their way through the house by jumping from one piece of furniture to the next.
    But of all the houses they’d been in, this one was the strangest. There were several passages throughout the caveleading to several different rooms, all of them illuminated by the same type of tiny lights that hung across the wall of the main room.
    Some of the rooms were empty. One was heavily stocked with food and other supplies. Another appeared to be a bedroom, the floor covered with animal skins and woven blankets. A room much smaller than the rest, located near the very back, contained nothing but a small, cardboard box. Teddy could not resist. Quietly, he inched into the room, toward the mysterious container. Pinky gave the box a curious sniff, then Teddy’s curious fingers reached out slowly and pulled back the tattered flap. Cautiously, he leaned over and peered inside the box, then nearly fainted at what he saw.

Advice for an Enjoyable Night at the Opera
    Last weekend, I went to the opera, because I am a sophisticated and refined person of impeccable taste, and because I won two