What Ho!
The ominous shape of Astley Manor looms before you. You think back to the days when you and Guppy Pillock used to sneak onto the grounds, gleefully stripping the apple trees bare in the spirit of youthful adventurism. That is, until that dark morning when the terrifying Lord Astley chose to take his morning constitutional a bit earlier than usual. Even more unfortunately, he had not negected to bring along his ash walking stick. Your hind parts twinge in rememberance of that dark day.
You silently pray that he won't recognize the boy in the man as it were. Regardless of your inner fears, the automobile pulls into the drive and Timpson hops out and starts hurling your travel cases onto the ground.
Extracting yourself, you see Fatty walking out to greet you. He is looking well, and the extra stone or two about the midsection suits him, you think.
Cuddy squeals with gleeful abandon and half throttles him with a bone crushing embrace.
"Oooooh, my little widdle baa-lamb. Your sweety winkins has missed you so!" Fatty shoots you an embarassed glance. You grieve mightly for your friend.
Dislodging himself from her vise-like grip, he gives you a diffident wave.
"What ho, Petey"
"What ho, Fatty"
"Winifred mentioned that you might be able to, you know, oblige us."
"Oh, it's nothing. Nothing could possibly be too onerous a mission for such dear friends."
"Ah, yes, quite so."
Meanwhile Cuddy is trotting up the stairs, no doubt off to cause discord and discontent within.
Fatty watches her go appreciatively, then realizes you are still standing in front of him.
"Oh, I say Petey, I almost forgot to tell you that you're on for dinner tonight."
"Ah, yes, well, food is fine, I suppose. Um, whatever happened with that unfortunate ptomaine business I heard so much about?"
"Oh, no worries, Old Ghastley sacked that one. He has a pretty french girl who makes a stupendous apple tart now." He rubs his belly laciviously. You are about to comment on the advisedness of going on about pretty french girls when engaged to Cuppy when he interrupts your thoughts.
"Say, can I touch you for a fiver?"
"Eh?"
"Flat broke, I'm afraid. Need to tip the staff and all, and Winifred's got my wallet right now."
Things are clearly worse than even you expected. You tell Fatty
You silently pray that he won't recognize the boy in the man as it were. Regardless of your inner fears, the automobile pulls into the drive and Timpson hops out and starts hurling your travel cases onto the ground.
Extracting yourself, you see Fatty walking out to greet you. He is looking well, and the extra stone or two about the midsection suits him, you think.
Cuddy squeals with gleeful abandon and half throttles him with a bone crushing embrace.
"Oooooh, my little widdle baa-lamb. Your sweety winkins has missed you so!" Fatty shoots you an embarassed glance. You grieve mightly for your friend.
Dislodging himself from her vise-like grip, he gives you a diffident wave.
"What ho, Petey"
"What ho, Fatty"
"Winifred mentioned that you might be able to, you know, oblige us."
"Oh, it's nothing. Nothing could possibly be too onerous a mission for such dear friends."
"Ah, yes, quite so."
Meanwhile Cuddy is trotting up the stairs, no doubt off to cause discord and discontent within.
Fatty watches her go appreciatively, then realizes you are still standing in front of him.
"Oh, I say Petey, I almost forgot to tell you that you're on for dinner tonight."
"Ah, yes, well, food is fine, I suppose. Um, whatever happened with that unfortunate ptomaine business I heard so much about?"
"Oh, no worries, Old Ghastley sacked that one. He has a pretty french girl who makes a stupendous apple tart now." He rubs his belly laciviously. You are about to comment on the advisedness of going on about pretty french girls when engaged to Cuppy when he interrupts your thoughts.
"Say, can I touch you for a fiver?"
"Eh?"
"Flat broke, I'm afraid. Need to tip the staff and all, and Winifred's got my wallet right now."
Things are clearly worse than even you expected. You tell Fatty