What Ho!
You all slide into place around the feed trough. As promised, the food is quite good, french even, and a few happily silent minutes are spent by all in the throes of mastication.
Peering through your monocle, you regally glance about at your fellow inmates. As advertised, there is old Ghastley himself, looking even longer in the tooth now, but still retaining that evil piercing glare. Thankfully, he is doing little but grunting at the odd particularly moving bit of sustenance as it heads down to his gullet.
There's some odd bird in an explorer's outfit showing a belly scar to Fatty, who nods appreciatively. And next to them, in a well fitted herringbone suit, is a bored looking MacGillicuddy, Mr.
Soon, the scrumptious dinner is over, thankfully without any accompanying reminiscence, or for matter any other potentially awkward conversation. Rising from your seat, you cast a secretive glance at Cuddy, as you feel now is the time for the dim girl to introduce you to Poppa Dogfood. She frowns at you and elbows you in the ribs.
"Petey, stop goggling about," she hisses "Ya look like some lame-brained fish. Now be good, here's Daddy" She grabs your arm and nearly wrenches the appendage out of it's socket as she pulls you over to meet the family elder.
"Oh, Daddy, this is that entrepeneur I told you about. He is SO very interested in Charles' idea about building an orphanage in London."
"Really, dear?" MacGillicuddy gives you the narrowed eye "Hrmph, didn't think there was much money in orphanages. What the devil do you see in them Mr......"
"Postletwait, Peter Postletwait," you say, smiling winningly.
"Don't smirk, Petey," hisses Cuddy.
Somehow MacGillicuddy doesn't hear this last from his scion- no doubt he has years of practice of not listening to her. He seems a bit lost in thought. The thought comes to him and he speaks.
"Winifred, dear, wasn't there some character by that name who you mentioned once?"
"Good looking and entrepeneurial?" you suggest.
"No, no, she said 'dim with too much money for his own good.'"
You glare at Cuddy while she looks innocent "No, must be someone else."
"No doubt. Now, what were you saying about your orphanage rationale?" Mr. MacG says, holding onto the conversational thread with an iron grip.
"Ah, yes, the rationale de la Orphanage," you say, flexing your french. You start to flog your noggin for a good explanation. "What ho, what ho, you see the thing is the little fellows are quite profitable in fact." Your mind continues to race desperately. "You see, that is, we get them young, quite cheaply actually, mostly by the score or the occasional gross. Once we've got them, they owe us for room, board and whatnot. Since we get all that mass produced, it doesn't cost us but a shilling on the guinea. They end up having to pay it all off with interest over time, so we put them to work where we can fit them in. Of course, orphans don't take up much space, ha ha! Frankly, we make so much from them, it seems almost criminal, ha ha ha!"
MacG goggles. "You mean you have them effectively indentured for life?"
"Oh, whatever you call it. But we do make the stuff by the wheelbarrowful!" you think about tittering cheerfully again, but Cuddy is for some female reason glaring at you, so you think better of it.
Her father doesn't notice, but polishes his rimless glasses in an impressed manner. "My God. I had no idea the labour laws were so flexible over here in England. I should have started my dog food factory here. With your orphans, I could have trebled my profits!
"Still, Mr. Pottlepate, I really must say I misjudged you at first. At first glance, you seem like a complete idiot, but beneath that obviously false front is the heart of a shrewd man of business!" He thumps you on the back. "What a refreshing change of pace from Winifred's usual soppy 'feed the poor' friends."
"Oh, well, you do go on so," you say, blushing with embarassment. You look triumphantly at Cuddy, but for some reason she's still having that mood. Right now, her eyes are shooting largish kitchen knives at you.
Cuddy grabs Fatty from the fearless explorer, bringing him over to you. Teeth bared, she hisses, "Now, hash that deal. And no more nonsense!"
A bit wounded, you nonetheless-
Peering through your monocle, you regally glance about at your fellow inmates. As advertised, there is old Ghastley himself, looking even longer in the tooth now, but still retaining that evil piercing glare. Thankfully, he is doing little but grunting at the odd particularly moving bit of sustenance as it heads down to his gullet.
There's some odd bird in an explorer's outfit showing a belly scar to Fatty, who nods appreciatively. And next to them, in a well fitted herringbone suit, is a bored looking MacGillicuddy, Mr.
Soon, the scrumptious dinner is over, thankfully without any accompanying reminiscence, or for matter any other potentially awkward conversation. Rising from your seat, you cast a secretive glance at Cuddy, as you feel now is the time for the dim girl to introduce you to Poppa Dogfood. She frowns at you and elbows you in the ribs.
"Petey, stop goggling about," she hisses "Ya look like some lame-brained fish. Now be good, here's Daddy" She grabs your arm and nearly wrenches the appendage out of it's socket as she pulls you over to meet the family elder.
"Oh, Daddy, this is that entrepeneur I told you about. He is SO very interested in Charles' idea about building an orphanage in London."
"Really, dear?" MacGillicuddy gives you the narrowed eye "Hrmph, didn't think there was much money in orphanages. What the devil do you see in them Mr......"
"Postletwait, Peter Postletwait," you say, smiling winningly.
"Don't smirk, Petey," hisses Cuddy.
Somehow MacGillicuddy doesn't hear this last from his scion- no doubt he has years of practice of not listening to her. He seems a bit lost in thought. The thought comes to him and he speaks.
"Winifred, dear, wasn't there some character by that name who you mentioned once?"
"Good looking and entrepeneurial?" you suggest.
"No, no, she said 'dim with too much money for his own good.'"
You glare at Cuddy while she looks innocent "No, must be someone else."
"No doubt. Now, what were you saying about your orphanage rationale?" Mr. MacG says, holding onto the conversational thread with an iron grip.
"Ah, yes, the rationale de la Orphanage," you say, flexing your french. You start to flog your noggin for a good explanation. "What ho, what ho, you see the thing is the little fellows are quite profitable in fact." Your mind continues to race desperately. "You see, that is, we get them young, quite cheaply actually, mostly by the score or the occasional gross. Once we've got them, they owe us for room, board and whatnot. Since we get all that mass produced, it doesn't cost us but a shilling on the guinea. They end up having to pay it all off with interest over time, so we put them to work where we can fit them in. Of course, orphans don't take up much space, ha ha! Frankly, we make so much from them, it seems almost criminal, ha ha ha!"
MacG goggles. "You mean you have them effectively indentured for life?"
"Oh, whatever you call it. But we do make the stuff by the wheelbarrowful!" you think about tittering cheerfully again, but Cuddy is for some female reason glaring at you, so you think better of it.
Her father doesn't notice, but polishes his rimless glasses in an impressed manner. "My God. I had no idea the labour laws were so flexible over here in England. I should have started my dog food factory here. With your orphans, I could have trebled my profits!
"Still, Mr. Pottlepate, I really must say I misjudged you at first. At first glance, you seem like a complete idiot, but beneath that obviously false front is the heart of a shrewd man of business!" He thumps you on the back. "What a refreshing change of pace from Winifred's usual soppy 'feed the poor' friends."
"Oh, well, you do go on so," you say, blushing with embarassment. You look triumphantly at Cuddy, but for some reason she's still having that mood. Right now, her eyes are shooting largish kitchen knives at you.
Cuddy grabs Fatty from the fearless explorer, bringing him over to you. Teeth bared, she hisses, "Now, hash that deal. And no more nonsense!"
A bit wounded, you nonetheless-