Sorry, Chief…

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Max Smart — known to Control as Agent 86-peered down at the wing-tipped brown-and-white oxford that the shoe clerk had just fitted snugly to his right foot. His left foot was already wearing its mate. As the clerk, still kneeling, glanced up hopefully, Max tested the feel of the shoes on his feet.

“Would you like to walk in them?” the clerk asked.

“What else?” Max replied. “What would I expect to do in them-fly? Just because they’re wing-tips?”

“I meant,” the clerk explained, “would you like to walk around the floor-see how they feel?”

“Good idea,” Max said, rising.

He strolled around the section of chairs, then seated himself again. “They’re a lit-tle snug around the middle toe,” Max said.

The clerk stared at him, perplexed. “The middle toe? That’s the first time I’ve ever heard that comment.”

Max’s eyes narrowed. “This is the first time I’ve ever had these shoes on,” he said.

The clerk nodded dimly.

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