Connoisseur of Vomit

Objects have fallen from an overhead locker.

The flight attendant runs up.

She sees Terence, a hessian sack, an inert frog, two thin legs, and lumps of red vomit.

Whose are these? asks the flight attendant.

Ours, says Gaius. I opened the locker on hearing a knocking sound.

Oh! says the flight attendant. An infant! What was he doing in the overhead locker?

Yes, what was I doing? says Terence. I should have my own seat.

And you will, says the flight attendant. Thank goodness you're not hurt. But this is a dead frog.

Let me see it, says Gaius.

He examines the Growling Grass Frog, and the vomit.

This is tell-tale vomit, says Gaius.

Sweezus looks at the vomit. He has seen plenty worse. It's small vomit.

Put two and two together, says Gaius.

Arthur is a connoisseur of vomit.

The frog's eaten a red-back, says Arthur.

When? asks the flight attendant.

The answer is important for passenger safety.

This morning, says Sweezus. In the shed. When I was looking for hessian.

As for the hessian, says the flight attendant, I'm afraid I'll have to confiscate it. There may be more spiders. And I'll dispose of the frog. Don't touch it. I'll get some gloves.

What does that mean, dispose of? asks Terence.

She returns before anyone can think of a comforting answer.

Right, says the flight attendant. Stand back.

She reaches down with a rubber-gloved hand to pick up the dead Growling Grass Frog.

She drops him into a plastic bag full of passenger rubbish.

Goes away. Comes back with larger bag, marked Dangerous Substances.

We really need this hessian, says Sweezus. Can we have it back when we get to Sydney?

You'll need to request it in writing, says the flight attendant. Listing your reasons.

It's prototype hessian for marketing purposes, says Arthur. We're cutting it into small bags and stamping each bag with words.

What words? asks the flight attendant.

Prognosticating Sea Salt, says Arthur.

No kidding! says the flight attendant. Is that a thing now?

It's a totally new thing, says Sweezus.

Wow! says the flight attendant. Have you got any on you?

Yep, says Sweezus. Want to try some?

She does.

He gives her what amounts to half a teaspoonful.

What do I do?

Scatter it, says Sweezus, and see what it tells you.

She scatters it on the hessian bag.

It disappears through the loose weave of the sacking.

A lesson for later.

You can't blame the Sea Salt. It tried.

B for bite of a red-back spider.

Ouch-Dammit! cries the flight attendant.