University of Virginia Library

Fred Heblich

Ratman And Robert Vs. The Squire

Who knows what evil lurks in
the hearts of students?
The Ratman knows...

It was a quiet day in Gothic
City, and our famous
thought-crime fighters were
relaxing in their secret rathole,
hidden in the basement of
Dabney House, drinking ginger
ale and playing a rousing game
of Old Maid.

"Holy crew cut, Ratman,
you've done it again,"
exclaimed Robert, shuffling
the cards.

"Sorry, Boy Blunder, but its
a game that requires great skill
and years of experience. Next
time I deal you should be sure
you cut the cards," replied
Ratman, sipping his ginger ale.

Suddenly, their trusted
servant Nanette, who alone
knows the true identity of the
Diarrheic Duo, rushed into the
inner sanctuary, the Ratnest,
scattering the Ratcards and
panting in an excited voice.

"Holy Hernia! What is it
Nannette?" exclaimed Robert.

"General Fruit from the
JAG school just called and said
one of his informers heard that
some devious devils were
planning to disrupt today's
paramilitary ceremonies over in
Smut Stadium," spewed
Nannette breathlessly.

"Curses!" shouted Ratman.
"Will evil thoughts never!
cease?" He jumped to his feet
and picked up the Ratphone.
"I must call President
Shenanigan and see if he knows
what's up." The phone rang
several times before a secretary
answered.

"I must talk to President
Shenanigan," said Ratman.

"I'm sorry but he's out of
town and doesn't want to talk
to anyone," answered the
secretary.

"No, he's not. I just saw him
an hour ago."

"I'm sorry but you must
have been mistaken, sir. He just
left for his Navel Reserve duty
giving water-skiing lessons in
Haiphong Harbor and won't be
back until at..."

"This is urgent," cried the
frustrated furry crimestopper.
"Tell him it's Ratman!"

"Oh, it's you, Ratman,"
said the rankled receptionist.
"I'm sorry, I thought it was a
reporter from The Cavalier
Daily. I'll put you right
through."

President Shenanigan spoke.
"Hello, Ratman. First let me
express my deep concern and
sympathy at this tragic event
and let me say that..."

"Cut the crap!" the Rude
Rodent interrupted. "I called
to ask you something."

"Well, this is an honor. Fire
away," President Shenanigan
chuckled. "You know, that's
an old expression we use in the
Navy when–I am an admiral in
the Navel Reserves you
know–and that's something we
say when–"

"I know, I know," the
Crude Crusader interceded.
"Listen, General Fruit called
from the JAG school and said
that some unscrupulous
undesirables were planning to
disrupt today's clambake over
in Smut Stadium and I wanted
to know if you knew anything
about it."

The president sighed. "No,
no, I'm sorry Ratman, but no
one tells me anything
anymore." He brightened,
"But listen, how about if I call
up Frank Berkeley and
Fredson Bowers and a few
other people and I'll appoint a
committee to investigate and
report back to you when we
find out something."

"No, I don't think that will
do. I have to know now,"
answered the Masked Mouse.

"Well, if you want to know
right away, why don't you call
Commissioner Camblos; he
seems to know everything
these days," suggested the
Suggestive Shenanigan.

"Leaping Lizards! A sterling
idea!" exclaimed Ratman.

"Good luck, Marvelous
Mammal, and fire away!" said
President Shenanigan hanging
up.

"Holy hierarchy!"
exclaimed Robert. "Does he
know who the raunchy rascals
are?"

"No he doesn't, Athletic
Adolescent, but perhaps
Commissioner Camblos does,"
answered the Whiskered
Warrior, dialing the Ratphone.
Commissioner Camblos
himself answered. "Why
Ratman! Just who I wanted to
talk to. I tried calling you but
the Ratline was busy," said the
Local Lawman.

"No time for apologies now,
Commissioner. Robert and I are
hot on a case of what looks
like clear cut subversive
thought," said Ratman.

"Ah, ha. That's what I was
calling about. My department
has word that one of your
formidable foes is on the loose
again," said the commissioner.

"Curses!" exclaimed the
Addled Administrator. "Who is
it? The Black Panther? The
Pink Panther? The Deadly
Doran? The Fig Newton? The
Cursed Collector? The Foul
Mouthed Feminists? Who is
it?"

"Sorry, Ratman, but I don't
know for sure. My reports are
incomplete. But I know it is
one of your most erigmatic
enemies on the prowl,"
apologized the Arbitrary
Attorney for not knowing.

"Thanks anyway,
commissioner," thanked
Ratman.

"Good luck, Ratman. I have
faith in you. Fire away," added
the commissioner.

"What?" said the Surprised
Sleuth. "Oh, never mind."

Ratman scratched his
forehead and turned to Robert.
"Robert, we have a perplexing
riddle before us."

"Holy Ghost, Ratman. What
do yo mean?" exclaimed
Robert.

"Well, Robert," mused
Ratman. "For one, we know
that someone is planning
Un-American bad-think things
for today's ceremonies. For
another, we know that one of
our most Deadly Detractors is
on the loose. Hmmmmm..."

Robert counted aloud on
his fingers. "Let's see, one plus
one equals, ah, TWO!"

"Summering Sums! Robert,
that's it! TWO!" shouted the
Excited Exclaimer.

"That's what, Ratman?"
asked his Puzzled Pal.

"TWO, Boy Blunder. One
and one does equal two. We're
on our way. Put on your
Ratclothes," said Ratman
already fastening his rattail to
the ratass of his costume.

"Holy Roman Empire,
Ratman. Where are we going?"
exclaimed Robert.

"Don't you see, Robert?
one and one equals two. We're
going to the second floor of
Newcomb Hall. There we will
find our answer."

And with that the Douched
Duo scurried out of the secret
rattunnel under the Castle and
made rattracks over to neurotic
Newcomb Hall. They rushed
up the stairs, into the corrider,
past the contract cafeteria and
stopped.

"Ah, ha! Just as I thought!"
said Ratman pointing to a bare
wooden table.

"Holy Grail. What is it?"
queried Robert.

"To the untrained eye, it
may appear to be just a bare
wooden table with no one
behind it, but to the
disciplined mind, the intellect
trained in scientific criminal
investigation and clean
thinking, it adds up to one
thing," explained Ratman.

"Two?" suggested Robert.