Greed

Who said you have to speculate to accumulate? Thurston Howell III has the Midas Touch. Being continually investigated for income tax evasion has never dented his profits, ruined his luck, destroyed his own confidence in himself. Thurston Howell the III is the Wizard, the Wolf of Wall Street. One of the wealthiest men alive.

And there's another proof of Thurston Howell III's luck. He is still alive. No thanks to that knucklehead who calls himself a Captain and that dunderheaded crewman of his. Liabilities, the two of them! If he didn't know better, he'd say it was collusion!

It is perhaps fortunate that due to yet another one of those looming tax investigations, Thurston Howell III saw fit to bring aboard the S.S Minnow a sizeable chunk of his ruthlessly acquired fortune. And perhaps he shouldn't be too hard on the poor Captain and his hapless mate, because now all of Wall Street thinks he's missing presumed dead, and here he is, safe with his money- hundreds of thousands of dollars stacked in carefully wrapped bundles, waiting to be taken out daily to be admired. Stroked. Kissed. Coddled and spoken soothingly to. How many times had Thurston Howell III returned to the sanctity of the Howell Hut after a hard day playing golf and shouting at Gilligan to flop onto his bed with an armful of hundred dollar bills and his beloved Teddy, muttering quietly to himself. Nothing can hurt me now.

Teddy understood. Teddy appreciated the importance of wealth and the need to stay in control. You couldn't pull the cashmere over Teddy's eyes!

After the gold mine fiasco- how dare they all try to smuggle gold aboard the raft?- Thurston Howell III discovered that Gilligan had found four pearls inside four oysters. Not just one, as he'd led the millionaire to believe. How had Thurston Howell found out? He could smell them. He could sense them, burning holes in the boy's pockets as he carried them around. The finely tuned Howell internal pearl radar bleeped constantly. What does he want with pearls? He doesn't have a clue what they're worth, except that they're worth something to me! He plays with them in front of me as if they were marbles. Marbles! You may as well give him steel ball bearings and a hearty handshake and send him on his way. He'd be just as happy.

It irks Thurston Howell III immensely. This lack of appreciation for the thing itself, except for the power it brings to its owner. Why, that supercilious smirk the boy wears sometimes. Knowing that I'd do anything to have those pearls. Just four pearls! What's it to him?

If Thurston Howell III looked at himself properly in the mirror, he'd see that the 'supercilious smirk' he attributes to Gilligan sits perfectly comfortably on his own face, and the desire for absolute power is a trait that belongs solely to him.

His dear wife Lovey long since gave up the need to possess those four pearls for herself.

For goodness' sakes, Thurston, if they make the boy happy, let him keep them!

Goodness has nothing to do with it, Lovey. That boy knows I want them! It's a conspiracy!

Yes, dear. You keep telling yourself that.

You don't understand, Lovey! It's sheer greed! Gilligan is hoarding his wealth!

And with that, Thurston Howell III instinctively skips over to his hidden wall safe, peers over his shoulder to make sure no-one is looking (not even Lovey herself), pulls the grass panel aside and rattles the combination to make sure the safe is...well, safe.

"Gilligan! My dear boy." Thurston Howell III slips an arm affectionately about the first mate's skinny shoulders as they stroll along the jungle path. "Have you ever thought of investing your fortune?"

"Investing my fortune?"

Why must the boy repeat everything so! Thurston Howell III rolls his Teddy-like brown eyes and shakes the irritation away.

"Yes, Gilligan. Markets go up and down. You must know when to buy and when to sell!"

"Markets go up and down? Gee. I used to go to the market with my Mom and my brother on Saturdays, and it never went up or down, it was always there in the same place. At the bottom of the hill near the Town Hall in a big open square where they had guys with carts selling ice creams and hot dogs and cotton candy and licorice whips and..."

Gilligan's eyes begin to glaze over. Thurston Howell III quickly puts a stop to the rambling monologue before it gets any worse, shaking the first mate by the shoulder to bring him round. Gilligan blinks, reorientates himself, puts his hand on his hat to make sure it's still there.

"Gilligan. The pearls!" Howell says through clenched teeth.

Gilligan looks intensely thoughtful. "Nope, they never sold pearls. Although maybe they did." He shrugs.

"Gilligan, you'd benefit from some sound financial advice. Failing that, a coconut should land on your head and knock some sense into you. How about this suggestion- keeping your pearls in a Safe Deposit Box."

Gilligan appears unconvinced. "Why would I want to do that? I need to be able to hold onto them and look at them."

Time for some scare tactics. Thurston Howell III slaps on his best wolfish grin. "Because, dear boy, you never know who might steal them from you in the dead of night!"

Gilligan peers intently at Thurston Howell III. "I know who would steal them from me in the dead of night."

"Oh? Who?" Thurston Howell III keeps his cheesy grin plastered on, although his patience is slowly unravelling.

"You."

With that, Gilligan saunters off, flipping a pearl up into the air and catching it, looking unbearably smug.

Thurston Howell III tells himself to forget about the pearls, but he can't. Sometimes in his dreams it's not four pearls he sees, but four hundred, four thousand, four million. A vast pile of pearls with Gilligan sitting right at the top like a Lord, grinning down at him and waving. Hi, Mr. Howell! Wanna count 'em? There's a few more today than there were yesterday- gee, I don't know how that happens, guess I'm just lucky, huh!

Thurston Howell III usually wakes from these dreams in a cold sweat with his blankets all twisted and Teddy staring sternly at him with beady button eyes as if to say, get a grip on yourself, man!

One day, Thurston Howell III is having some bad luck on the golf course. His avocado pit flies into the rough. He stamps his feet and has a tantrum. Gilligan puts his hand into his pocket and pulls out one of his pearls.

"Here, Mr. Howell. This is my Luck Pearl. Give it a rub, it might help you some."

Thurston Howell III is outraged. "Gilligan, there is nothing lucky about this pearl while it still belongs to you and not to me!"

"Don't be like that, Mr. Howell," Gilligan says, almost mournfully. "I may as well tell you, seeing as you're so interested in them. These pearls do have meaning for me. That one's my Luck Pearl. I also have one for Faith, when I think we might never get rescued and I might not see my folks again. I have one for Happiness, when I see Skipper feeling sad because he still thinks everyone blames him for the shipwreck. And I have one for Love, for when I see you and Mrs. Howell arguing and splitting up and not talking to each other." Gilligan smiles sheepishly. "That one gets rubbed a lot. But it works, I guess, because you always go back to each other." He drags his toe across the scrubby grass. "I hate when you fight. You're always so unhappy when you're apart."

Thurston Howell III looks at the little object sitting in the middle of his palm. It's a small thing, really. A grain of sand once irritated an oyster and the creature built a smooth layer around it to stop itself from being hurt. That's what a pearl is. It's a layer of finely crafted protection designed to stop the pain of an unwanted intruder.

Thurston Howell III sighs. The boy will be the undoing of him! He rubs the Luck Pearl vigorously between his palms and gives it back to Gilligan with a wink and a flourish.

"Gilligan, my boy, time and time again you prove the old saying wrong. You can teach an old dog new tricks."

Gilligan smiles broadly and wedges the pearl back into his jeans pocket. Then he fixes the millionaire with a sneaky look worthy of the Wolf of Wall Street himself.

"Yeah," he grins, "but can you teach him to play golf?"

"Why, the very nerve...!" the indignant millionaire blusters. He shoves the first mate aside in a display of affectionate arrogance, striding to the tee, flexing his arms and waving his club.

Gilligan giggles behind his hand as the millionaire swings his golf club and the avocado pit promptly hurtles skywards and disappears into the trees. "I think I'd better find a fifth pearl," he says. "One for making miracles happen!"