how many or when they’re comin’ here or anythin’.” He ran outside to chase the clown down, but he was long gone. “Becky’s gonna have a good laugh at my expense, an’ she’s gonna rub it in my face that I don’t know anythin’ about shippin’. The bad part is, she’s right. Can’t let that happen.” With a flash of insight, he called the Karl’s Kooky Klowns agency.

It was answered with a BEEP! BEEP!

Baloo stared at the phone in amazement for a second before venturing slowly, “Uh, yeah. This is Baloo at Higher for Hire, an’ I was wonderin’ about this klaxon shipment.”

A polite, comprehending BEEP! BEEP!

“Does anyone there speak English?”

AOOOUUGAH! replied the clown; he was greatly offended.

“Pardon me, mister! I wanted some specifics. Can ya tell me what time the klaxons will be at Higher for Hire tomorrow?”

The clown beeped nine times.

“Nine o’clock, huh?” Baloo wrote it down. “An’ how much are ya gonna pay us? My wife’s real particular about that.”

The clown beeped six times.

“Six hundred bucks?”

A confirming BEEP! BEEP!

Baloo wrote that down. “Any insurance?”

BWAAAA, moaned the clown sadly.

“No, huh? Okay. What I got is klaxons comin’ at nine tomorrow, no insurance, rush delivery by noon to Kookamunga for six hundred buckaroos. Is that right?”

BEEP! BEEP!

“Thanks, mister.” Baloo hung up, shaking his head. “Man, what a clown that guy was!” He returned to his easy chair.

Meanwhile...

Above the sparkling blue Pacific Ocean, the Sea Duck flew. A beautiful sunrise glowed in the east, turning the fluffy cumulus clouds into giant orange and pink tufts of cotton candy.

“Course correction eleven degrees north, Rebecca,” Kit said, glancing up from the map to the bearess in the pilot’s seat.

Rebecca turned the Sea Ducka fraction to starboard, flicked her eyes over the gauges, and inquired for the umpteenth time, “How are we doing on time, navigator?”

“Thirty-three minutes to New Fedora. We have to deliver in an hour, which gives us twenty-seven minutes to spare.”

“Fabulous! I just don’t see why Baloo has such a hard time being on time, especially with a wonderful navigator like you to help him, Kit.”

The boy blushed. “Gee, thanks, Miz...um, Rebecca.” He felt compelled to defend Baloo. “But we usually do deliver on time.”

Rebecca laughed. “I know. It’s the stops afterward that make you late.” She surveyed the clear blue sky for aircraft, then briefly smiled over at the thirteen-year-old. “Isn’t this nice, Kit? Just you and me and the Sea Duck and the sky.”

“And Wildcat,” added Kit.

The mechanic poked his head out of the cargo hold. “The Handy Dandy bits are hunky-dory, Ree-becca. They’re all strapped in cozier than a slug in a bug rug.”

“Er...thank you, Wildcat. Everything’s okay up here. Let’s radio Baloo, just to check up.” Rebecca reached for the microphone, a malicious smirk on her face.

Meanwhile at Higher for Hire

Rebecca’s perky voice crackled over the radio. “Higher for Hire, come in!”

Molly sprinted down the stairs to the radio with one of Rebecca’s filmy pink scarves wound around her neck - her secretary outfit. “This is Higher for Hire.”

“Molly, what are you doing answering the radio? Where is your father?”

“He’s coming. He’s taking a nap.”

“A nap? I should have known.” Rebecca sounded peeved.

“Yeah, Becky?” Baloo stifled a yawn.

“What are you doing taking a nap? You’re supposed to be watching the office, not to mention our seven-year-old daughter!”

“I was watchin’ her.” To himself he added, Through the insides of my eyelids. “Whatcha want, Beckers?”

Smugly, she said, “I thought you’d like to know how well we’re doing. This piloting business is a piece of cake.”

“That’s good.” Baloo’s stomach rumbled. Wonder if we got any cake.

“We’re doing fabulous, aren’t we, guys?”

Wildcat and Kit voiced their agreement.

“How are you doing, Baloo?”

“We’re doin’ peachy. Just got done dealin’ with some clown.”

“Clown!” Rebecca scolded, “Baloo, that’s not professional, to call customers clowns!”

Molly piped up, “But he was a clown, Mommy. He made me and Lucy balloon doggies.”

“Well...a clown, huh?” Baloo and Molly could hear the smile in the bearess’s voice. “Mind your Ps and Qs, buster, and stay awake!”

“I will, honey. Take good care of my baby.”

Curtly, she snapped, “You take care of my baby. Sea Duck out.”

New Fedora

Rebecca smiled triumphantly upon completion of her textbook perfect landing at the New Fedora airport. “You stay with the Sea Duck, Wildcat, while Kit and I take care of the finer points of the delivery.”

The petite brown bearess and the small brown cub strolled to Miner’s Supply, a large warehouse situated two blocks from the airport. They stepped through the screen door into the shipping and receiving office.

“Ahem,” Rebecca coughed politely.

The man behind the desk, a lazy-looking tan dog, pointed to the sign - on break until 10:00 - then at the clock hanging on the wall. It was 9:58 AM.

“But...” Rebecca began, frowning.

“It’s no use; we have to wait,” Kit whispered.

“Bright kid,” the dog chuckled insolently with a slurp of coffee. At exactly ten o’clock, the clerk wiped his mouth with a napkin and removed the sign from his cluttered desk. “What can I do ya for, lady?”

“Delivering Handy Dandy drill bits from Cape Suzette,” Rebecca said brightly.

“Paperwork.” He snapped his fingers and held out his hand. His squinty eyes flitted over the papers. “Seems to be in order. Okay, you can unload.”

“Where?” asked Rebecca.

“Stack ‘em in the warehouse at back.”

“All the way from the airport and around the building? Are you crazy?” the bearess cried.

Kit took a more tactful approach. “They’re heavy. Do you have any dollies or carts we can borrow?”

“Nope. Sorry,” the dog said, sounding anything but. He returned to his newspaper.

“Can’t anybody help us?” Rebecca pleaded, blocking the article he was reading with her paws.

“Not with that attitude,” he said insolently, pushing her hands away as if they were covered with infectious germs.

Rebecca stormed out of the office. Emphatically, she proclaimed, “We’ll find some way, Kit.”

With much tugging and pushing and puffing and panting, the Higher for Hire trio got the cumbersome crates from the Sea Duck to the edge of the runway.

“We’ll never make it to the warehouse, let alone insidethe warehouse,” Rebecca said gloomily, tears of frustration pricking her eyes as she plopped down on one of the crates. It had taken them fifteen minutes to move twenty crates five yards. It would take them hours to get to the warehouse two blocks away, making them late in getting back to Higher for Hire. The thought of Baloo’s exulting smirk made it even more unbearable.

Kit commented thoughtfully, “Rebecca, I think this guy is jerking your chain, because you’re a woman. Baloo usually unloads the crates from the plane, onto the dock or the ground or wherever, and the company takes care of it from there.”

“Because I’m a woman! Doesn’t he know this is the twentieth century? OOOO! Men! That no-good so-and-so!” Her hands balled into fists, she stomped back to the shipping and receiving office of Miner’s Supply. Kit followed, curious to see what she and her temper would do.

“All done, Miss?” the clerk asked without taking his eyes from his newspaper.

Rebecca fluttered her eyelashes. In a silky-smooth voice, she cooed, “Yes, the crates are at the airport, and that’s all the further we’re moving them. Guess you’ll have to carry them into the warehouse yourself, you big strong man, you.” Taking the newspaper, she smashed it over the astonished canine’s head where it hung like a black and white collar. “Oh, by the way, it’s Mrs.” She stormed out the door. “Let’s go home, Kit.”

When they were in the air and away from New Fedora, Rebecca radioed Higher for Hire to gloat over her success. “That’s right, Baloo. Delivered right on time. How are things on your end?”

“Super, Beckers.”

Looking disappointed - isn’t that bear supposed to be having a horrible day? - she continued, “Glad to hear it. See you in...”

Kit supplied, “At the present speed, tail wind, and heading, we should make it back in one hour and nineteen minutes.”

“One hour and nineteen minutes. That’s ten whole minutes ahead of schedule, darling,” Rebecca said cheerfully. “Sea Duck out.”

Back at Higher for Hire

“Ten minutes ahead of schedule, darlin’,” the big bear mocked in a falsetto tone, banging the microphone down on the desk. “Thinks she’s so dang smart. Nothin’ she can do that I can’t do better! I’ll show her!” He squeezed into the chair behind the desk and gazed with confusion at the stacks of papers. “Now, how do ya do this stuff?”

One Hour Later

Molly, dressed as DangerWoman and playing with her dolls Lucy and Millie on the floor beside the desk, was listening to her father’s half of one in a string of interminable phone conversations.

“Yeah, I got that right here. Hold on a sec, pal. Invoice? Yeah, I’m talkin’ in my voice. Oh, thatkind of invoice! I got it! Ya want me to tally up your bill for a shipment!” Baloo rifled through papers, then hissed to Molly, “Where’s your mama keep her blank invoices?”

Molly opened the middle filing cabinet drawer and handed him one.

“How’s ‘bout a pen?”

With a mischievous smile, the little girl picked up a pen from a holder right in front of his nose.

“Thanks, sweetie.” He patted Molly’s head. “Shoot, mister. One o’clock on the tenth.” He scribbled the information down on the handiest thing he could find - his hand. “Eighty crates of golf balls to 3 ½ Laddiebuck Drive, Gretna Green, Tartanland. With mileage, handlin’ fees, an’ tax, that’ll come to,” Baloo quickly punched a few buttons on the adding machine, “seven dollars an’ fifty cents. That seems awful cheap.” He squinted at the numbers. “No, I mean,

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