Extend the Story - Add a Room

Fatty walks over, as Cuddy gently prods him in the back. Glancing over at Mr. MacG to ensure he's overheard, Fatty lays out his pitch.

"So. Mr. Postletwaite, I believe we had discussed terms previously"

Warming to your role, you look at Fatty imperiously "Ah, yes, my dear Fenwick, but I'm afraid you've waited too long to accept them."

Fatty looks like you hit him between the eyes with a large stick "Wha-what?"

"Oh, yes, the early worm gives the bird, as it were, and I'm afraid you just were not up soon enough. I'm afraid that you'll have to put all the money up front yourself, if you want this to happen. After I see some profit, why then we might back an orphan or two. But not a moment before then!"

You dramatically waggle a finger in front of Fatty's eyes. He flaps his jaw a few times to gather up wind to speak.

"That- that's preposterous!"

"It's my offer, dear boy. It's not as if there aren't scores of orphanages out there looking for that trademark Postletwaite touch, you know." You fold your arms triumphantly.

"Dash it all, Petey, you said that you'd float a cheque for this!"

"Well, perhaps a small advance. Would a fiver do?" you fish in your pocket for said sum and proffer it to Fatty's curiously red face.

He snatches it out of your hand, rips it into shreds and stalks out of the room.

"The devil with you!" he shouts. He pauses to look at Cuddy "And the devil with your stupid plans, too!"

Cuddy bursts into tears and runs out the room, pausing only to give you an obligatory smack across the kisser.

"Please forgive my daughter," says Mr. MacG cheerfully "She's been like that since diapers."

"Ah, yes the female of the species," says the explorer type. "Why, the Mamaba have to kill at least two men before they are deemed courageous enough to get married. Their wives use the skulls of the unfortunates as soup bowls. A bit off putting, of course, but the soup isn't too awful. Pleased to meet you, Sir Robert Burton-on-Trent at your service."

"Ah, just so," you say, massaging your jaw.

"Here lad," says Sir Bob "I have just the thing for you. Upstairs I've got some Nile leeches that will suck that wound clean. Be right back!"

MacG watches him go and turns to you. "Look, Pottlebait, I've got a bit of a job I was hoping a man of your mettle might help with"

Collecting your wits you say

"Oh, whatever oils the waters, eh? Tell me about it"