Dr. IMA Stalk was having a terrible night's sleep.  Even though he had fashioned a comfortable bed of lettuce in the crisper drawer of the Lab's refrigerator (where he slept nightly to maintain freshness), within an hour he had completely tossed it.  Something was preying on his mind.  So he pushed open the door, checked his watch by the light of the naked bulb, and padded over to sea green hammock that hung in the opposite corner.  He stood for a moment staring at the sleeping body of his friend Professor Electra, his one large eye looming like a giant moon.

"Electra...Electra...," he whispered nudging the hammock with one leafy green hand.  "It's imperative that you wake up!"  But that didn't happen.  In his effort to gently rouse the crustacean-like creature (knowing full well the power of his pincers when he was startled), he had caused a rocking motion instead, and the rhythmic swaying had sent Electra deeper into dreamland.  The peripatetic professor began to sing, "Rock-a-bye doodle on the tree top" with a sweet smile plastered on his face.

Dr. Stalk tried again, this time speaking a little louder and pushing a little harrder, but only Electra's song changed.  "Row row row your doodle gently down the stream..."  Exasperated, Stalk shouted, "Electra, WAKE UP!"  and pushed so hard that the hammock did a three sixty sending the little guy into momentary orbit.  He landed with a thud on the lab table next to a solitary beaker marked CRABBY- a beaker whose contents were uncharacteristically still.

Electra's stalks bent down to his short arms so he could rub the sleep from his eyes.  "Dr. Stalk, is that any way to welcome me home?"  He checked the clock that hung on the wall.  "It's 2 am, are we supposed to be night fishing or something?"

Dr. Stalk sighed regaining his composure, "No, my friend, but I couldn't wait another millisecond to find out if your trip was a success."  He turned to stare at the quiet beaker.  "I was afraid that if you didn't make it to Boston Harbor, this doodle would never morph."  He picked up Crabby's data sheet.  "I'm sure that a drop of the Atlantic is the ingredient we need to turn this mixture into a solution."

Electra smiled, yawned, and side-stepped over to his knapsack.  He reached in and pulled out two items: a stoppered test tube and the front page of a newspaper.  "First things first," he said and handed the test tube to Dr. IMA Stalk, a sample of the ocean bobbing inside.  Stalk put on his protective eyeglass and poured the salty water into the beaker.  Within minutes the contents started to shake, then swirl, then sputter.  "Likes fishing, ocean, crabs (check)... dislikes sharks, people (check)... fears Mitchell (check)...has a friend named Bog (check)...loves pizza (check)...is funny(check check check)!"  Then after a blast of gas and a crack of glass, Crabby stood before them.

"Mission accomplished!" shouted Electra.  "Can I go back to sleep now?"  He began to stuff the paper back into the pouch.  "Only after you show me what else you brought back," said Stalk.

"I'll show it to you in the morning, after you've had some sleep," said Electra nervously.  Dr. Stalk would not wait, "Electra, were you SEEN by the humans?"

"Well, possibly seen but not identified," and he held up the front page of The Boston Globe.  Dr. Stalk's mouth fell wide open.  There was a photograph of Electra with his camera in one claw and a flag bearing the likeness of Patrick Henry in the other.  He was standing dockside at Boston Harbor surrounded by cheering crabs that he had sprung from a giant trap.  The caption read: Unidentified Purple Crab Cracks Casing Shouting, "Give them liberty. Don't give them broth!"