A short time later, the castaways (including the Skipper, clad in his bare feet while his shoes and socks continued soaking in the Professor's solvent) stood before the Professor in front of the finished Mock Minnow simulator. Atop the bamboo table, which remained solidly stuck to the deck, sat a bucket of water. Nearby, an orange circle had been drawn upon the planking while a thick gangplank extended from the edge of the deck to the ground.

"Now it's essential we all understand the purpose of this exercise," began the Professor, gesturing with the burlap sack in his hand for emphasis. "If and when an earthquake occurs, we must act swiftly and efficiently to ensure our safety. There may be very little margin for error. This practice drill will allow us to learn the proper steps to take in an emergency situation so that we can later perform them without thinking."

"Sounds right up my alley," said Gilligan gratefully.

"Of course, Professor, we'll do whatever you suggest," said Mrs. Howell, adjusting her parasol against the tropical sun. "But when we're finished, can't we begin preparing for our party? I've barely started organizing the program of entertainment, and poor Mary Ann has been so busy she hasn't even had time to press the linens!"

"Mrs. Howell," said the Skipper, lifting his cap as though to release the steam, "how can we make you understand? The party is just not at the top of the list right now. We have more important things to do!"

"The Captain's right, Lovey. Do be reasonable, my dear," said her husband. "We must consider our priorities." He looked at the men. "For example, we haven't yet had one cricket practice. Have you gentlemen ever played before, hmmm? Can anyone here besides Lovey and myself tell the pitch from the green? Have any of you bowled anywhere but in an alley? I tell you, the whole tournament is going to be a shambles!"

The Skipper boiled over. "The same goes for you, Howell! We can play your game anytime! The Professor and I are trying to ensure our survival!"

"Well, I mean really," Mr. Howell muttered, but fell silent.

The Professor took command again. "Now, before we begin the drill, has everyone done what I asked? Ginger, have you prepared the bandages in case anyone becomes injured during the quake?"

"Uh..." the actress glanced nervously at Mrs. Howell. "Sorry, Professor. I did get started, but I'm not quite finished. I got a little...distracted, I guess."

The Professor caught that surreptitious glance, and scowled. "I see. Mr. and Mrs. Howell, dare I even suppose that you've been gathering conch shells?"

Thurston bristled a little at the sarcasm, but held his ground. "So sorry, old man. This seems to be a bad year for conch shells. Lovey and I combed the jungle all morning and couldn't find a single one."

"You look for conch shells on the beach, Mr. Howell," growled the Skipper.

"You don't say? Well, really, Captain, I suggest you Navy types ought to brief your men a little more efficiently. I daresay the Marines would have."

At this the Skipper nearly exploded, but the Professor beat him to it. "Ladies and Gentlemen, we cannot hide our heads in the sand! I've told you what's about to happen, performed scientific tests under strict controls, and yet you are determined to allow your self-centeredness to jeopardize your very safety!" He rounded on the farm girl. "Mary Ann! I can't believe you'd be part of this Vanity Fair. What's the status of the first aid kits?"

"I – I did get started, Professor," said the brunette, eyes downcast. "But there's just been so much to do..."

"Don't forget, Professor," Gilligan cut in, before the Professor or the Skipper could respond. "Mary Ann lost time because she went out to the valley to find me. It wasn't her fault."

Mary Ann touched Gilligan's arm gratefully as the Skipper sighed and nodded. "That's right, Professor. Well, at least Gilligan did bring back the bamboo in case we need to rebuild the huts." He turned back to his first mate. "That was good work, little buddy, but she wouldn't have had to get you if you'd just kept to the job. The same goes for all of you. Don't let yourself get distracted by silly things. You've got to stay on course!"

"Well said, Skipper." The Professor had regained his composure by now. "Now, ladies and gentlemen, as our drill will involve a good deal of physical activity and possibly loss of balance, it is imperative that we don protective headgear."

Gilligan and the others did a double take. "You mean helmets, Professor? Like those crazy things we made out of upside down buckets?"

"No, no, Gilligan. We've taken a much simpler approach." And with that, the Professor reached into the sack and pulled out what looked like a strange, quilted, dome-shaped hat.

Mr. Howell's dark eyebrows formed a single line of disbelief. "Good heavens, Professor, what on earth is that? It looks like one of the tea cosies Mary Ann made for Lovey and I."

"That's because that's precisely what it is, Mr. Howell," said the Professor, smiling.

"I beg your pardon?" Mrs. Howell was peering incredulously through her lorgnette. "Oh, Professor, when you asked to borrow the whole set this morning, I actually dared to hope you'd changed your mind about our party! What's the meaning of this?"

The Professor squeezed the thick, spongy material for emphasis. "Your tea cosies are the perfect size, Mrs. Howell. They'll provide excellent cushioning for our heads while the Mock Minnow is in motion."

"You mean you actually want us to wear those things? On our heads?" gasped Ginger.

"Do you realize what it will do to my hair?" said Mrs. Howell.

"Not to mention my image," added Ginger.

Thurston Howell pointed an accusing finger at the fabric. "But look here, old man. They've got little flowers all over them! Even during Happy Hour at the Harvard Club the fellows never looked that ridiculous."

"Yeah," said Gilligan. "I mean, I though the cricket outfits were silly looking, but this takes the cake!"

"Oh, pipe down, all of you! This isn't a fashion show. Here, give me that, Professor!" And snatching off his captain's hat, the Skipper pulled the tea cosy over his head until only his face, framed in periwinkle blue with yellow buttercups, glared out of the opening meant for the teapot handle.

For a moment nobody dared to speak, but at last Gilligan, his eyes dancing, decided to throw caution to the winds. "Hey, that's nice, Skipper. Goes with your blue eyes."

"Is that so?" The Skipper turned to the Professor. "Give me another one of those, Professor!"

The Professor pulled out a lovely little lilac-purple number adorned with dainty lilies of the valley.

The Skipper grabbed Gilligan's sailor cap. "There! You put that on your head, Gilligan, and that's an order!"

Gilligan's eyes glared mutiny, but his mouth had learned its lesson. Taking the offending cosy as though it were Gilliana's blonde wig, he pulled on.

"By Jove! The two of you look as though you took first and second prize at the Tulip Festival in Amsterdam," chuckled Thurston Howell.

"Very funny, Howell! You're next!"

In short order the remaining castaways (except for the Professor) made a colourful pageant of rose pink, cherry red, marigold orange and kelly green, which Ginger had seized, claiming it was the only colour that complimented her red hair. Once she had it on, she gazed into her compact with an air of defeat. "I hope my agent never hears about this."

The Professor gestured to the Mock Minnow. "Now, ladies and gentlemen, if you'll just get into position."

The six tea cosied castaways trooped up the gangplank to the deck, where the men helped the women to step aboard. Then the Professor slung the gangplank out of the way and manned the ropes. "When the deck – that is, the earth – begins to move, you must all get under the table in order to protect yourselves from falling debris. Its legs have been glued to the deck, so it can't move. In addition, that orange circle on the deck-" and he pointed, "-is meant to represent a campfire. You must put that campfire out with the bucket of water on the table, to avoid any danger to the huts."

"But won't this bucket fall over when the deck starts to move?" asked Gilligan.

"I've used a diluted version of the glue on the base. It'll stick to the table until you lift it."

Gilligan wiggled it slightly, and it moved. "Okay."

"Fine. Now, everyone, just stand around the table and try to behave naturally – just as you would any evening after dinner."

"Any evening when we're all standing about wearing tea cosies on our heads, you mean," grumbled Mr. Howell.

"Here. I'll start us off," said the Skipper. He cleared his throat. "Well, that was a very fine dinner, Mary Ann. Best I've ever had on the island."

"Uh...thank you, Skipper."

"What's for dessert?" Gilligan piped up.

"Um...coconut cream pie! Your favourite!"

"Oh boy!"

"Isn't it a lovely evening?" said Ginger, sounding as though she meant the very opposite.

"Oh, awfully, dear," said Mrs. Howell. "And I did want to say how very much I admire your new hat. Have they any more at the shop where you bought it?"

Mrs. Howell was spared Ginger's reply when Mr. Howell upstaged them both. "I say, Professor, are we to stand here improvising all day? Do get on with it!"

But the Professor, straining at the ropes, was having little luck. Though he hauled downwards with all his strength, the Mock Minnow didn't stir. Finally, red-faced and sweating, he gave up. "I'm afraid I just can't move it with all of you aboard. Skipper, I need you down here."

"Yeah," said Gilligan. "Maybe we'll sit a little higher in the water."

The Professor raised his eyebrows. "I simply meant the Skipper's stronger than I am."

Gilligan looked at the Skipper. "Oh." He managed what he hoped was a disarming smile.

It didn't work. The Skipper snatched off his tea cosy and whopped Gilligan on the head.

Gilligan grinned in delighted surprise at the cushioned impact. "Hey, you were right, Professor. These things work great! I should wear one all the time!"

With one last glare, the Skipper turned and climbed down from the deck. Once on the ground, he scooped up his captain's hat gratefully and put it on. "Here, Professor. I'll take over." He raised his beefy arms and took hold of the ropes. "All right, everybody! Battle stations!"

And with a mighty heave, he sent the near end of the Mock Minnow soaring up like a seasaw. The castaways screamed and grabbed at the table for dear life.

Mrs. Howell (in rose pink) was bent double over the table, clutching her husband's hand, when her coral brooch slid loose and bounced down the table's length. "Thurston! Get my brooch!"

"I daren't, Lovey! It's every man for himself!"

The other end of the deck heaved skywards, and the castaways lurched and hung on.

"I don't think I want any coconut cream pie after all, Mary Ann," yelped Gilligan, his knuckles white and his face green. "My stomach's not so good right now!"

"Come on, people!" cried the Professor from terra firma. "Get under the table!"

Gilligan didn't need to be told twice. He dropped to the floor and crawled underneath the table, fingers scrabbling for a purchase on the wildly tilting floor.

The girls had dropped too. Ginger inched forwards, trapped by her long, tight evening gown. "Gilligan, help us!"

Mary Ann's terrified face peeped out of the cherry tea cosy. "I can't hang on!"

Crawling forwards and bracing his feet against the table legs, Gilligan flung his arms out in front of him. "Grab my hands, girls! I'll save you!"

The two women strained to reach him, until at last he could grasp one of their hands each. When the Minnow rocked the girls up and him down, he braced his feet again and pulled.

"Eeee!" The girls shot straight towards the first mate like a pair of red and green fronted torpedoes.

"Incoming!" yelled Gilligan as they slammed into his shoulders. In seconds two pairs of slender arms grappled him with the strength of anchor chains, nearly suffocating him.

"Help us, Gilligan!" screamed Mary Ann.

"Don't let go!" shrieked Ginger.

Gilligan fought to get his tea cosied head in the air. "Skipper!"

"What is it?"

"Permission to abandon ship, Sir!"

"Gilligan, you stay at your post and that's an order!"

Gilligan whimpered, sandwiched in a vice of female flesh. "They said join the navy and see the world, but I didn't think they meant this!"

Meanwhile, the Howells were still topside as the deck teetered and tottered. "Mr. and Mrs. Howell! Get under!" called the Professor.

"How?" called the millionaire, clinging to the bamboo. "There isn't any more room in third class!"

"Gilligan!" shouted the Skipper. "The fire! You're supposed to put it out, remember?"

"Oh, yeah!" Gilligan somehow pried himself loose from the girls and scrambled away, leaving Mary Ann and Ginger to slide down screaming until they wrapped themselves around the table legs. Meanwhile, Gilligan clambered to his feet and grabbed the bucket of water with hand. Hanging onto the table with the other, he staggered his way along as the Howells ducked under into the space he had left. At last, he eyed the orange circle with determination.

"Look out below!"

Gilligan let go of the table to grab the bucket with both hands just as the Skipper gave the mightiest heave of all. The Mock Minnow shot to near-perpendicular and the bucket – and Gilligan – flew as the others screamed. The water hit the Skipper square amidships, as did Gilligan a moment later, knocking the Skipper flat to the ground.

The Mock Minnow's deck settled again, to the remaining castaways' great relief.

"Gosh, Skipper," said Gilligan, picking himself up, "you've gotta stop catching me like this! You're gonna hurt yourself!"

"Oh, Professor," the Skipper sputtered, flailing on his back like an overturned beetle, "how does he do it? Every time! Every time!"

The Professor helped him up as the castaways still aboard ship climbed painfully to their feet, plucking off their tea cosies. "Good heavens," said Mr. Howell, still hanging onto the table even though the deck was no longer moving. "I haven't felt like this since New Year's Eve!"

Gilligan pulled off his cosy as well and put his sailor's cap back on. "How did we do, Professor?"

"Not too badly for a first time, Gilligan, but we're going to need to be much faster than that if we're going to protect ourselves during a real earthquake. We'll have to run the drill again."

"Again?" Gilligan groaned.

"If we're doing this again, I want padding on more than just my head! That hurt!" cried Ginger.

"Amen to that!" said Mary Ann. "At least the ground's not as hard as that deck!"

"I'm sorry, girls, but we'll hurt a good deal more if we're not prepared for the real thing. Come on, folks. Take your places, please."

"Oh, dear," cried Mrs. Howell. "Wherever did my brooch get to?" She suddenly saw it sitting on the table. "Oh! There it is!" She reached out to grasp it, when a sudden cawing sounded overhead and a flame coloured streak swooped down, snatched the bauble up, and flapped off.

"Police! Police!" called Mrs. Howell. "That bird stole my brooch!"

"That's Rusty! Rusty, what are you doing? Come back with that!" Gilligan tore off after the feathered thief.

"Gilligan, we don't have time for that!" called the Professor.

Gilligan followed the flash of red tail plumage into the jungle. After a brief chase he emerged into another clearing, fringed with palmetto trees.

"Rusty! There you are!" Gilligan skidded to a stop as he spotted the beautiful orange bird perched atop a bamboo pole sticking out of the ground. What looked like a perch stuck out from the side of the pool, and a spool of paper hung from it. The bird sat on this perch, jerking its head back and forth as it tried to pull something loose with its beak. Gilligan stood over his pet, gasping for breath. "Rusty? What are you doing? What have you got there?"

He peered over and saw that the object Rusty was wrestling with was a pencil, held by a clasp above the ribbon of paper. As Rusty yanked on the pencil, a jagged line emerged on the long white slip. Gilligan looked at whole length of the paper ribbon, to where it depended to a dancing spool. The paper jerked with the bird's every move, and Gilligan saw that it was covered with similar jagged lines. "Uh oh…" Gilligan breathed, looking nervously towards the bushes where he heard the others approaching. "Rusty, are we in for it now!"

Just then the Howells and the others came panting out of the foliage. "Gilligan!" shouted Mr. Howell. "What's that thieving magpie done with my wife's jewelry?"

Gilligan had almost forgotten Mrs. Howell's brooch. He looked down and saw a glint at his foot. "Uh – here it is, Mr. Howell!" He bent and swiftly snatched it up. "Look! No harm done! Good as new! Well, we'd better get back to the simulator, huh?"

Mr. Howell snatched it away and pulled a diamond-cutter's eyepiece from his breast pocket. "One moment! My insurance company will hear about this. This stone is priceless!"

"Well, Mr. Howell, the bird stole it for the same reason that you did," the Professor explained.

The eyepiece popped out of Mr. Howell's eye like a ball from a cannon. He took a step back. "A Howell resort to stealing? Explain yourself, sir!"

The Professor shook his head. "Forgive me, Mr. Howell. I should have said, wanted it for the same reason you did. This species of bird builds and decorates an elaborate nest to attract a female. He simply took Mrs. Howell's diamond in order to impress his mate."

Lovey smiled. "Aw, the dear little fellow. At least he has exquisite taste. I'm sure his little hen will be delighted."

"Yeah, you see?" said Gilligan. "Come on, everybody! Last one on deck is a rotten egg!"

"Wait a minute!" cried the Professor. "Gilligan, what is that bird doing?"

"Uh…" Rusty was tugging spiritedly at the pencil again. Gilligan looked like he wished they could both sink into the quicksand. "Writing a note to apologize?"

"Why, he's jerking my pencil! He's making false readings on my seismometer!"

The Skipper clutched his hat in disbelief. "What?"

"And those readings started appearing a few weeks ago – just about the same time Gilligan first showed me his new 'pet'!" The Professor put his hands on his hips with a frustrated sigh that said all he was too much of a gentleman to say.

"You mean – it's all been Rusty?" gasped Mary Ann.

"Precisely! All this has been for nothing! There is no impending disaster! Just one mischievous bird!"

The cheer that burst from the Howells and Ginger wasn't exactly the reaction the Professor expected. The Howells actually began to dance around.

"Hoorah! Hoorah! On with the party and the cricket match!"

"No more drills!" cried Ginger. "Thank goodness!"

"At least we're all safe," murmured Mary Ann.

"You're so right, Mary Ann," said the Skipper. "Well, little buddy, I'm too relieved to be sore at you. But maybe you want to be a little more careful choosing your pets from now on, huh?" He plucked the pencil out of its holder and picked up the long spool of paper. "Here, Professor. Unless you want Gilligan's bird decorating his nest with these!" As the Professor stared moodily at the zigzags on the paper, the Skipper turned to the others. "Come on, everyone. Let's go and get that table unglued."

The castaways started back, the Howells chattering gaily about the upcoming festivities all the way. When they had disappeared, Mary Ann, still standing by the seismometer, touched Gilligan gently on the arm. "Oh, Gilligan, it wasn't your fault. Or Rusty's either, come to that. He just did what he does naturally."

"Yeah," said Gilligan, scuffing at the sand with his shoe. "Just like messing things up seems to come naturally to me."

"Now just stop that! That's not true, and you know it!" She softened a little as he looked up. "Now come on...look on the bright side! There isn't going to be any disaster after all!"

"Yeah...." Gilligan frowned. "But what about that quake last night? Rusty didn't cause that – that's for sure."

"Gee, Gilligan, you're right." Mary Ann looked back at the bird, her eyes momentarily clouding with worry before they brightened again. "But the Professor always knows what he's talking about. It must be okay!"

"I guess." Gilligan didn't sound too convinced.

She touched his arm again, smiling. "Come on. Why don't I turn that imaginary coconut cream pie into a reality?"

Gilligan's answering smile was like a sliver of the sun peeking out from behind a cloud. "Okay, Mary Ann. Let's go." He turned back to the bird. "Not you, Rusty. You stay. You've gotten me into enough trouble today!"

The bird of paradise sat watching as the two humans vanished into the jungle. After a few moments, the bamboo pole began to jiggle, and the bird cawed in alarm and flapped off.

The pencil holder continued to quiver furiously, writing invisible warnings onto the empty air.