MUSIC HATH CHARMS
"Wow, Professor… Do you think any more natives will drop by?" Mary Ann asked, as the seven crowded on top of a hill that overlooked the lagoon. They were watching their second set of natives who came to the island after hearing Gilligan's drums, mistaking the castaways as a threat.
"Probably not, Mary Ann."
"Why did you have to give them my drum?" Gilligan sulked. He had his arms folded over his chest and he was missing his small instrument.
"It was the only way to fully convince the chief we meant no harm Gilligan," Roy Hinkley, the ever-so-wise Professor explained to his young and very naive friend.
Gilligan only sulked. "Fine, I'll go make another one!"
"Gilligan! If any more natives come because of your dumb drum, I'll give them you instead of it!" the Skipper bellowed, annoyed as usual at his first mate.
"Maybe Gilligan could play something else? I kind of liked our little island orchestra," Ginger suggested, to keep the peace.
"Forget it, Ginger. I don't want to play anything anymore, not with him anyway! Go blow your horns, Skipper – maybe that's what brought them here. You certainly have enough air in your pot!" Gilligan went on, to angry to think.
Skipper clenched a fist, threw off his hat and began yet another long chase, with Gilligan being too fast to catch. Gilligan naturally out-distanced the large captain, and crawled into a small cave. He then went to gather supplies to make a new, yet smaller drum. It made a quieter sound as he tapped on it an hour later.
"Rat-a-tat-tat! Some drum, diary!" he muttered to his inanimate friend. "Guess I might as well write; the Skipper is still probably mad at me, anyway," he sighed as he lifted his book.
Dear diary,
I thenk the iland got mor lik hom. we made musec that disterbid the nateves. prafesor gav away my drum. Hes mean sumtymes. I did like our consert tho.
Gilligan