Pingry was fuming. He'd showed up to add his considerable talents to the Getaway Drivers' Big Day in the Studio, only to end up in the lounge blowing bubbles, gazing at mummy photos and listening to Sheila effuse about reels and strathspeys.
He decided to busy himself in Wendy's well-stocked workshop. Idle sawing and random carving gave way to a frenzied focus as he saw something--It--start to take shape.
But what--what?? His hands shaking, he added the coup-de-grace: a hamster's recreation wheel he'd dashed home to wrestle away from the kids on the solemn promise that Hamstring could run around in it during dad's concerts.
The Getaways emerged from the studio, sweating from the 100th take of Fast Driver, and froze.
"Yes, look and tremble!!" hissed Steve. "This--My Precious--is an expression of musical genius DENIED, denied this day by YOU. The mask you see is nothing less than the physical manifestation of my black, Freudian core, long-imprisoned by a postman's innocent uniform but now unleashed on the terrified world by your cruel, thoughtless act. What is done cannot be undone. For it is written: "Sideline Ye a Cellist at Thine Own Peril."
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