The Tillyville Times

A freak hailstorm ____Tillyville Thursday. Hail the size of ____ pelted down ____. Resident Geneva Owl said, "I know hail can be damaging; it can ____ crops and ruin ____, but this was ____! When it was over I was ____!"
   Out on Zig Zag Boulevard, Farmer Zig had this to say. "My dogs Zag and Pinch sure love the stuff. They really eat it up." Asked about the destructive nature of the white pellets, Farmer Zig said, "Oh, no—see, for this year's crop of hail, I got me a spell sorcerer. That fended off most of the worst of it.
   "A spell sorcerer," Farmer Zig went on, "he neutralizes the hail by changing the pH factor. See, the way the spell's supposed to work, the h's get changed to p's. Presto, we have pail instead of hail! Buckets of hail, all neatly caught in mid-air and ready to go to the beach. The kids were really looking forward to it. Something went wrong, though. The spell sorcerer says it's probably due to that Hm from outer space messing with the atmospheric conditions. The upshot was that the spell went a little balooey. Instead of having the h's changed to p's, that Hm changed all the h's to m's. So it looks like I'm going to be answering letters until Halloween."
   According to Tillyville meteorologist Gordon Fitz, the exact way hail is formed is not known for sure. Some scientists think hail is rain droplets caught in updrafts of thunderstorms and tossed into the cold upper air. The tiny hailstones freeze and fall, picking up fresh moisture on their way down, but then they get caught in another updraft, get thrust upward again into the colder upper air, where a new layer of ice freezes over the first, like a little overcoat. This happens again and again until the hail is heavy enough to fall all the way to earth.

Letters to the Editor

Dear Editor:

How long does it take for hail to melt? I guess they don't stand a chance against ball bearings.

Sincerely, Lois

Dear Lois,

Hail comes to be from being bounced up and down in the upper air, so I'd say hail has more fun. The other thing to keep in mind is that once melted, our hail returns to its birthplace, which means more free rides. The poor ball bearing, meanwhile, is endlessly stuck on earth, and as it gets old and out of round, no amount of oil will completely cure its strident squeak.

Yours, Tilly

This Week in Tillyville

You and I know it takes a lot more than a pair of sunglasses to be a cool person, but on Sunday try telling that to Lemon Boy ... I mean, to L.Bo.

Monday Tillyville's favorite mailman, Herbert Swan, muses about the curse of the self-stick stamps.

On Tuesday it's Saturday. Don't ask me, I only work here. Skinny needs a new alarm clock and Tilly needs a new calendar. You need to read "Cause for Alarm."

In Wednesday's Story D'Jour Tilly has a problem with Skinny's Soup D'Jour.

Thursday there's a new kid at the ball diamond, Warren Rabbit, who's a threat to take over Tilly's position at shortstop. Tilly is hopping mad.

Dorian's got another bedtime story for Audrey this Friday, about Prince Notgood's even weirder brother.

No one pays attention to old Max Pym. His idea of a good time is swatting the tassels on a pillow. That is, until he meets the Hm this Saturday. Meow!

Tillyville citizens who have not already done so are reminded to visit the Tillyville City Hall, Office of the Zoning Commission, and select their free lot so that they can construct their dream house.

Hail

"If you're serious about wanting to play the trumpet," Tilly said to his friend Skinny McKinney, "I mean if it's not just some passing fancy ..."

"Oh, it's not, it's not," Skinny said. "Trumpet in the marching band. Can't you just see me high-stepping it, blaring to beat the band?"

"I can see you," Tilly said. "Whether I want to hear you or not is another question. Playing the trumpet is hard work. It takes years of practice."

"Sure, practice," Skinny said. "Practice and genius. I've got 'em both."

"A lot of people start playing trumpet," Tilly said. "Most of them end up playing cards."

"You have no faith in me?"

"I'm not saying that. I'm just warning you that it does take some dedication. But if you're serious, I think my buddy Herbert Swan has an old trumpet he might let you borrow."

"Yay!" Skinny yipped. "Yay, yay, yay! Let's go borrow it right now. I want to get some practicing under my belt before dinner."

Unfortunately, just as Tilly and Skinny were about to set off for Herbert Swan's, it started to hail. Chips of ice the size of bees pelted down, pinging the grass, the streets, the sidewalks, not to mention Tilly and Skinny. "Ow, ow, ow," said Skinny, hustling back inside the house with Tilly hot on his heels. "How come hail stings so much?"

"It doesn't usually last long," Tilly reassured his friend.

But this hail kept coming. Several minutes later and the hail still hadn't stopped. The yard was white, the street was white, the whole world was white and crackly.

"What if it doesn't stop?" Skinny wondered. "How will I ever get my trumpet?"

The hail continued to rattle down, and the more it rattled down the more it mounded up. Ankle deep at first, then knee deep. Then almost up to Skinny's waist.

"Relax," Tilly said. "We'll just wait it out."

"I can't wait much longer," Skinny said. "I'm getting hungry."

"Hungry for music?" Tilly asked.

"Hungry for munching," Skinny said.

"Did you say marching?" Tilly asked. "This hail storm racket makes it hard to hear."

"Munching," Skinny yelled.

"You don't have to scream," Tilly yelled back.

"Did you say you don't have ice cream?" Skinny said.

"Too fattening," Tilly said. "If you're going to be in the marching band you've got to stay in shape. Eat right and get plenty of exercise."

Skinny shrugged. Tilly put on his fireman's hat and went out to harvest some hail for supper. He served it baked with snow peas on the side. "Not bad," Skinny said, licking his fingers. "But I'm a big boy now—I prefer my hail raw."

"Dessert," Tilly said. And after dessert they played gin rummy while waiting for the hail to stop.

story by Walter Galen

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