After donning their disguises, Wogglebug and Doc blended into the bustling streets of 1927 Hollywood. As they walked, Wogglebug gazed wide-eyed at the monochrome world around him. Everything seemed frozen in time - the fashions, the cars, the language on the theaters' marquees. It was a scholar's dream come true!

Doc led them briskly through the crowds, clearly with a destination in mind. Before long, they arrived at a stately mansion on a palm-tree lined street.

"Here we are - Pickfair, home of Douglas Fairbanks and Mary Pickford," Doc announced. "This estate hosted the greatest stars during the glory days of silent film. I have a contact here who can help us."

Doc rapped on the wrought iron gates. Moments later, a uniformed butler arrived and ushered them onto the grounds. Wogglebug was astonished at the sprawling luxury.

"Remember, interact as little as possible," Doc whispered. "We can't leave ripples in time."

They were led through lavish gardens and into the palatial manor. Movie memorabilia and signed headshots adorned every surface. Wogglebug was beside himself - they were walking in the footsteps of legends!

Doc's contact turned out to be none other than Charlie Chaplin himself! Wogglebug had to pinch himself when the iconic figure strode into the parlor.

"Charlie! Good to see you," Doc said warmly, shaking his hand. Turning to Wogglebug, he made introductions. "Charlie, meet my scholarly associate. We're here about the situation we discussed."

Though starstruck, Wogglebug maintained his composure. "An honor to make your acquaintance, sir," he said with a slight bow.

Chaplin smiled. "The honor's mine. Please, make yourselves comfortable. We have much to discuss."

As they took seats around an ornate table, Chaplin and Doc launched into urgent whispers. Wogglebug picked out phrases like "ruptures in the timeline" and "reality warping" - it seemed the predictions were worse than he thought.

Eventually Chaplin turned to Wogglebug. "My friend, while we strategize, I must ask you to undertake a mission of great importance. Are you prepared?"

Wogglebug sat up straight. "Absolutely! I am at your service."

"Wonderful," Chaplin replied. "One of my dearest co-stars, Miss Shirley Temple, is currently filming just next door. We fear her role in cinematic history may be at risk. Go to her, assess the situation, and do what you can to keep her legacy intact. But tread lightly!"

"You can count on me," promised Wogglebug. Doc clasped his shoulder. "We know this is a big responsibility. But you're up to the task." Bidding them farewell, Wogglebug set off at once.

After navigating the opulent halls, Wogglebug located the film set on Pickfair's sprawling grounds. He could hear a director barking orders from outside: "Places, everyone! Let's run through this garden scene again."

Wogglebug slipped quietly onto the set. There, dressed in an elaborate coat and hat, was little Shirley Temple! The six-year-old was portraying the lead role in an adaptation of The Poor Little Rich Girl.

Wogglebug observed carefully. To his relief, nothing seemed amiss. Shirley smiled and laughed on cue, projecting her signature charm for the cameras. History appeared intact - for the time being.

After repeated takes, the director called a break. As the crew dispersed, Wogglebug approached Temple. "Pardon me, Miss Temple," he said with a tip of his hat. "I don't mean to intrude, but I wanted to say what an honor it is to see you working today. The world will remember your talent for ages to come."

Shirley's face lit up. "Gee, thanks mister! I sure do love making movies."

As she turned to head back to her mother, Wogglebug felt reassured. Shirley's legacy was safe in her capable little hands. He had completed his mission! Chaplin would be pleased.

Just then, a commotion erupted on the far side of the set. Wogglebug turned to see a trio of workmen arguing loudly. To his astonishment, it was none other than the Marx Brothers - Groucho, Chico and Harpo!

Wogglebug observed the antics unfolding before him. The brothers appeared to be maintenance workers at Pickfair, but were up to their usual comedic hijinks.

Groucho was tossing out insults and wisecracks faster than Chico and Harpo could respond. Chico kept mispronouncing Groucho's instructions, further enraging him. And Harpo was mimicking everything in sight before honking his horn loudly.

It was chaos, but Wogglebug smiled. Even doing mundane tasks, the Marx Brothers were destined to bring laughter into any scene. Their legacy too seemed secure.

Suddenly, the gong rang signaling the end of break. The Marx Brothers scrambled to resume their duties as the film crew returned.

Groucho grabbed a ladder and ascended to adjust some lighting. "What do you think this picture needs most?" he shouted from the rafters. "Better writing, directing, and especially acting!"

The director shook his fist in annoyance. "Someone get those hooligans out of here! They're disrupting my shoot."

As production assistants rushed over to corral the troublemaking trio, Wogglebug had a thought. Quietly, he approached the director.

"Pardon me, but perhaps the Brothers could stay? Their antics seem well-suited to a Temple picture."

The director looked doubtful. "Those hacks? In my movie?"

"Come now," Wogglebug pressed on. "A little harmless chaos could liven up the scenes. Why not give them a chance?"

The director hesitated, then relented. "Oh, fine. We'll try it your way - but those three stooges had better not slow us down!"

Satisfied, Wogglebug retreated behind the cameras. He watched eagerly as the Marx Brothers were integrated into the background action. Their spontaneous comedic business brought an energy that had been lacking. Shirley Temple responded with delight, often having to stifle giggles at their jokes.

After a successful take, the director conceded, "I suppose you were right. The picture does benefit from their buffoonery."

Wogglebug smiled. By recommending the Marx Brothers, he may have made a small ripple - but clearly one that preserved both their legacy and Shirley Temple's.

When Groucho sauntered over, Wogglebug extended his hand. "You boys are destined for great things," he said warmly.

"Glad someone around here appreciates talent," Groucho quipped, shaking his hand firmly. "Say, who ARE you anyway?"

But Wogglebug just tapped his nose knowingly. He couldn't risk revealing too much. Slipping away without another word, he left Groucho scratching his head.

Returning to Doc and Chaplin's meeting, Wogglebug described the success of his mission. They were overjoyed.

"By protecting those legends' place in film history, you've struck a blow against whatever's altering the timeline," Doc exclaimed, gripping Wogglebug's shoulders proudly. "Well done, my friend!"

Wogglebug smiled bashfully at their praise. "I really only made a small adjustment. The Brothers and dear Shirley seem destined for stardom with or without me."

"Destiny is never fixed," Chaplin said seriously. "Your actions preserved something precious. Never doubt their importance."

Their meeting concluded, Doc and Wogglebug bid Chaplin farewell and slipped away unseen. Only when safely back in the DeLorean did Wogglebug fully relax.

"So where to next on our cinematic quest?" Wogglebug asked eagerly as Doc set the time circuits.

Doc's expression turned grim. "Somewhere much darker, I'm afraid. There are troubling signs around the 1940s horror genre. Ready for more detective work?"

Wogglebug straightened his bow tie. "Lead on, Doc! If cinema's legacy remains threatened, I shall do whatever it takes to set things right."

Doc grinned. "That's the spirit! Hold tight - we've got no time to lose!"

In a flash of light, the DeLorean vanished from 1927, carrying the duo onwards through time to face their next unknown challenge. Wogglebug took a deep breath. With his knowledge and Doc's guidance, he felt hope that the history of film could still be preserved. The adventure was just beginning!