The conversation at The Stewed Rat often took on hushed and subdued tones whenever Emma Penn-Worthington dropped by. Lucius Millford, owner of The Stewed Rat, would groan audibly into his cash register when he saw Emma's generous frame corking up the doorway. Emma, an aspiring authoress who had developed a fancy for Lucius Millford, was one of those corpulent, determined females who stare men in the eye as a way of cowing them into submission. Lucius, blessed with a sunny nature and winsome smile, could not withstand one of Emma Penn-Worthington's withering stares. He shrank in dismay behind the counter, hiccuping into his sleeve.
A contralto of cavernous origins rang out: "Lucius Millford, what ARE you doing sniveling behind that counter!? I want you to come to Mother’s flat this afternoon and convince her to attend the Queen’s birthday party at Windsor next week. She positively declares she will NOT attend, despite all my gentle remonstrations, and YOU must come set her right! She MUST attend the Queen – it is her patriotic duty! Lucius! ARE you listening?”
With this last staccato burst, Emma had leant her ample arsenal upon the counter, and Lucius had an absurd idea, as helpless victims often do in the midst of their fear, that the entire counter vibrated with her voice.
“Ah…yes…Emma…that is to say, I’m rather occupied this afternoon here at the, ah, Rat – Mrs. Grindle says I absolutely must stay behind today and check on the books, and….”
Emma rapped her umbrella smartly on the counter.
“Nonsense! You know Mother loves you dearly, and surely anything Mrs. Grindle has for you can wait. I insist.”
“Oh very well, Emma…”
“Wonderful! Come by for tea – I will be waiting!” With that, Emma Penn-Worthington gathered her umbrella (more like blunderbuss, thought Lucius), notebooks, and handbag and once again squeezed through the ancient doorway of The Stewed Rat.
“Hang it all,” said Lucius to himself, “I shall now have to explain to Mrs .Grindle that I won’t be staying.” Lucius had a mental image of himself as a mouse, being scooped up in a dustpan by Miss Penn-Worthington while Mrs. Eula Grindle held the rubbish bin. The female sex certainly had its share of intimidations.
“Oh hang it all and dash it,” he said again and slouched off in defeat.
At that very moment, as our hero hung his obliging head in despair, you, dear reader, should know that on the other side of town at The Pilfered Pig sat one Delia Bunbutter laboring under the unkind discipline of that most unrelenting of tutors: unrequited love. For you see, Delia’s heart belonged to our hero.
*****What will happen to Lucius, Emma and Delia????**********
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1 comments:
I can't wait to read more. Keep going!
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