“Edgar Bergen. Charlie McCarthy. Mortimer Snerd! I haven’t seen you boys in forever. How long has it been?”

“How long has it been since you opened this old trunk, you big dummy?” Charlie quipped.

“Since he left the circus, no doubt,” Edgar added.

“Hyuck, hyuck. When he was a clown,” Mortimer noted.

“Well, he was a better clown than he was a ventriliquist,” Charlie said.

“That goes without saying,” Edgar agreed.

“Well, nobody was as good as you Edgar,” Mortimer fawned.

“Well, thank you Mortimer.”

“As long as you didn’t care if his mouth moved,” chided Charlie.

“Hey! I resemble that remark.”

“Oh Edgar. You always did have thin skin.”

“Thin skin? Him? You were always the one with thin skin, you big dummy. Those kids laughed at you when you rode your unicycle and juggled. And you cried. But they were supposed to laugh at you. You were a clown, for Pete’s sake. And when you brought us into your act, everybody thought we were the dummies, but it was always you.” Charlie was as blunt as ever.

“I suppose.”

“Hyuck. You shoulda juggled the three of us instead of trying to throw your voice.”

“Yeah. Wouldn’t that have been a treat. We coulda upchucked on you while you were doing it. Of course, it woulda been sawdust and wood chips.”

Edgar jumped in. “Hey now. Don’t be so tough on the kid. He was our meal ticket you know.”

“Meal ticket! Hah! He barely made enough to eat his own food. And he stuffed us with the leftover straw and sawdust from the ground. Who knows what it had in it.”

“Hyuck hyuck. That’s why I smell so bad. Elephant…”

“No. You smell so bad because that big dummy stuck us in that trunk so long,” Charlie said.

“Well, boys. It’s been fun. Although, I’m not sure I’ve heard Charlie in such fine form as today.”

Footsteps echoed in the attic.

“Hey, Dad. Whatcha doin’?”

The retired clown turned to face his boy. “Hi son.” He turned back to his old trunk where his son was gazing. “Just taking a trip down memory lane.”

The boy stepped forward and looked into the old trunk. “Whoa! You were a ventriliquist? That is so cool.”

“Not so cool when you watched his mouth move,” Charlie said.

“Wow! They move without you doing anything.”

The retired clown opened his hand, and showed his son the mechanism he had pulled out when he first opened the trunk. It had three sets of controls. “See, I can move their mouths with these buttons, their heads with these, their eyes with these, and so on and so on.”

The boy’s eyes went wide. “Can I try?”

The retired clown handed the mechanism to his son. “Be careful. You never know what they’re gonna say.”

The boy pressed the mouth button for Charlie.

“You can say that again.”

For Mortimer.

“You can say that again. Hyuck. Hyuck.”

For Edgar.

“Sigh. I was the puppet master way back when.”

“This is so cool.”

“Well, you’ve got your kid fooled, you big dummy”, Charlie said.

“He’s definitely not like your normal audience,” Edgar agreed.

“Hyuck. Hyuck. You got me fooled too. I always thought you were great. Hyuck.”

“Thank you Mortimer. You were always so kind.”

“Suck up is more like it.”

The retired clown sighed. “I think it’s time to say goodbye now fellas.”

“Hyuck. Goodbye now fellas.”

“Nooooo!”

“Sorry Charlie. Goodbye Edgar. Goodbye Mortimer.”

“I hope that it won’t be another decade or more before we see you again.”

“We’ll see, Edgar. We’ll see.”

The retired clown took the batteries out of the mechanism, put the mechanism into the trunk with the dummies, then closed the lid. He and his son walked toward the attic stairs. His son looked back.

“Do you hear that?”

The retired clown sighed. “Yeah. They always kick and scream when I put them away.”