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“What is that thing, anyway?” asks MacGuffin’s subway seatmate, as he careens miserably through the tunnel with the enormous crate wedged against him.

“The stuff nightmares are made of,” says MacGuffin. Ape, with Tangerine rocks itself over to better compress his toe.

“How much you want for it?”

MacGuffin lights up. “A dollar.”

“Would you take,” says his seatmate with cunning, “eighty cents?”

MacGuffin returns from lunch to find it back in his office, of course. Beagle’s mouth is mightily pursed.

“Why won’t you keep it?” he asks.

“It doesn’t work,” says his former seatmate, hand extended for his money back.