"Good afternoon, gentlemen. First off, I'd like to thank this board for taking the time to hear my proposal."

Although Milo Thatch had probably practiced his presentation for the Smithsonian Board of Directors 1,000 times, he was still a little nervous. This was, after all, the first time he had presented for an audience.

He had to convince to board to fund a trip - a quest, really - to find the lost city of Atlantis. The lifelong dream of Milo's grandfather, Thaddeus Thatch, was to find Atlantis. It was all Milo heard growing up. Now the dream was as much his as it had been his grandfather's.

Before he could find Atlantis, he'd need to find the Shepherd's Journal. It was, as his grandfather told him, a first-hand account of the whereabouts of Atlantis. If he had the journal, he'd be able to lead the trip to Atlantis.

"I plotted the route that will take myself and a crew to the southern coast of Iceland to retrieve the journal."

As he pointed to the map, his clock chimed 4 times. He stopped the presentation and caught his breath. Half an hour to the presentation.

"How was it? Did I rush?" he asked.

Eleanor Cooper, his friend and fellow Atlantis enthusiast sat in front of him in an otherwise empty seating arrangement. She wore a bowler cap in order to look more like Mr. Harcourt of the board.

"No, it was perfect. They'd be fools not to fund this," she said, removing the cap.

Whosh!

A message came through the tube. Milo unfolded it and read the note aloud.

"Dear Mr. Thatch, this is to inform you that your meeting today has been moved up from 4:30 P.M to 3:30 P.M."

Eleanor stood up and took the note from Milo's hands.

"What? But it's just after 4…"

Whoosh!

Down came another note. Too stunned to grab it, Milo looked at his map of Iceland. Eleanor took the second note and read it.

"Dear Mr. Thatch, due to your absence…the board has voted to reject your proposal!"

At the word "reject," Milo snapped to action. He gathered his charts hastily.

"They can't do this to me!" he screamed and ran toward the door. Eleanor collected the notes and followed quickly.

Milo's legs were longer than Eleanor's and, besides, he didn't have to worry about a long skirt. She struggled to keep the loose notes in her arms while sweeping her skirt away from her feet. Milo rounded a corner just as she dropped the section of the presentation about the Iceland exploration.

"Golly, Eleanor," she chided herself. "Can't you do anything right?"

As she gathered the notes, a family taking a tour asked her about one of the paintings on the wall. Eleanor was always eager to help guests - it wasn't often that she had the opportunity to do it. Mr. Harcourt frequently reminded her that her job was to sit and look pretty at the front desk. In fact, he had told her just this morning that she couldn't possibly know what she was talking about, so she should just keep quiet.

Oh, if only I had the courage to stand up to that bully, she'd said to herself. But now, as she lead a mini tour around the hall of paintings, she felt a sense of satisfaction.

Eleanor finally met up with Milo at closing time. She was surprised to find him dripping wet.

"What happened to you?" she asked. "Decide to take a swim?"

"Hah," he grumbled. "It's a long story."

Milo walked past her and toward the boiler room, taking the notes from her arms and thanking her as he did.

"I've got time," she suggested. She had to look down to keep from slipping in the puddles quickly forming at Milo's feet.

"I don't," he replied. "I have to pack my things. I resigned."

"What?!"

But she didn't get an answer. Milo shut the door to the boiler room and bolted it behind him. She knocked gently, but when she got no reply, she gave up and left. If she didn't know any better, she'd say that she heard weeping on the other side of the door.