Goodtime Slim was nervous. After breakfast he'd heard nothing more from Captain Doobie, who had hoovered up a bowl of coco-pops and a mug of milo and disappeared out into the shed. Goodtime Slim hadn't really been that sorry to see him go and had settled in to do the crossword in the paper. However, over the space of the intervening two hours (he was stuck on 15 down: Goddess of tillage and corn) he noticed that Captain Doobie had made several trips from the shed to the road, his arms laden with detritus. Now, as the sound of hammering started to reach his ears from the end of the driveway, he thought he'd better have a look.
When he looked out of the front door he was greeted with a sight that was, on the whole, unexpected. He could see Captain Doobie crouched behind the agapanthus with a large dynamite plunger, peering down the road and poised to plunge. Wires trailed from the plunger to a large wooden arrangement consisting of a stand firmly anchored to the footpath (there'd be trouble with the council now, Goodtime Slim knew) and a lever leading to a large piece of chicken wire some 5 feet by five feet stretched between a wooden frame. The whole apparatus looked like nothing so much as a large fly-swatter.
"Oi!" Goodtime Slim called to his hunched housemate, "What do you think you're up to?"
He was then favoured with a look from Captain Doobie which told him that what he was doing should have appeared obvious. "Oh, for heaven's sake," he replied primly, "I'm catching the bus."
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