What Ho!
You trot up the garden path after the rotund Fenwick. Arriving within hailing distance, you sing out after him.
"Oh, I say Fatty, stop a moment!" He slows slightly and you run to catch up.
Fatty turns towards you with a baleful glare. "What do you want Postletwaite? Have you come to mock me further?"
"Oh, no, not at all," you say catching your breath a bit. "It's just that, well, poor Cuddy is distraught."
"Good."
This is not the hoped for tone. "What do you mean by 'good'?" you ask quizzically.
"I mean 'good', as in I'm glad I'm finally shut of the little wretch, her schemes, her do-gooding, and her waking up too deucedly early, that's what's good.
"I tell you what," continues Fatty, warming up, "I have finally found a real girl who understands my needs, one who won't try to foist stewed wheat berries and skim milk on a bloke in the morning."
You're a bit confused, "Um, you've found someone else?"
"Yes, I have found a soul mate, as it were." He stares longingly into the far distance, "A woman who never skints on butter." He licks his lips.
"Oh no, this won't do," you say frantically. You do not want to be around if Cuddy ends up blaming you for Fatty handing her the mitten. "Why, she's a wonderful girl. Any man would be glad to have her as a mate for life. In addition to her admittedly obvious physical charms, she is gracious, giving, kindhearted and sweet. How can anyone not want to marry her?" you extemporize in your panic.
Fatty snorts. "Why don't you tell HER that?" he says, pointing over your shoulder at Cuddy, who has treacherously snuck up on you in time to hear your soliloquy. "Well, I hope the two of you are happy together," he says sarcastically. "Good luck."
And with that, he strides off leaving you alone with the infernal girl, who is presently staring at you with shining eyes. She clasps her hands together.
She looks at you with shining eyes. "Ya really feel that way....Peter?" There is something deucedly unsettling about the way she says your name.
"Um, well, I say! That is to say, quite!" I mean, you can't just take back everything you just said. Wouldn't be cricket. And she might injure you, besides.
"Oh sure, Petey! I gotcha, and I will! Oh, I always knew ya needed someone to look after you!"
You clear your throat "Um, Cuddy, actually, I wanted to tell you....."
"Stuff it sweety, we'll tell Daddy about our engagement tomorrow."
You swallow manfully. There's a code of honour about these things, after all. Cuddy may be a wretched, troublemaking shrimp, but she is a lady. And to back down from an engagement is trifling with a lady's affections, and won't do, not for a Postletwaite. Sadly, you realize that you are now truly doomed. But there's nothing to be done, really.
Fighting back bitter tears of remorse, you
"Oh, I say Fatty, stop a moment!" He slows slightly and you run to catch up.
Fatty turns towards you with a baleful glare. "What do you want Postletwaite? Have you come to mock me further?"
"Oh, no, not at all," you say catching your breath a bit. "It's just that, well, poor Cuddy is distraught."
"Good."
This is not the hoped for tone. "What do you mean by 'good'?" you ask quizzically.
"I mean 'good', as in I'm glad I'm finally shut of the little wretch, her schemes, her do-gooding, and her waking up too deucedly early, that's what's good.
"I tell you what," continues Fatty, warming up, "I have finally found a real girl who understands my needs, one who won't try to foist stewed wheat berries and skim milk on a bloke in the morning."
You're a bit confused, "Um, you've found someone else?"
"Yes, I have found a soul mate, as it were." He stares longingly into the far distance, "A woman who never skints on butter." He licks his lips.
"Oh no, this won't do," you say frantically. You do not want to be around if Cuddy ends up blaming you for Fatty handing her the mitten. "Why, she's a wonderful girl. Any man would be glad to have her as a mate for life. In addition to her admittedly obvious physical charms, she is gracious, giving, kindhearted and sweet. How can anyone not want to marry her?" you extemporize in your panic.
Fatty snorts. "Why don't you tell HER that?" he says, pointing over your shoulder at Cuddy, who has treacherously snuck up on you in time to hear your soliloquy. "Well, I hope the two of you are happy together," he says sarcastically. "Good luck."
And with that, he strides off leaving you alone with the infernal girl, who is presently staring at you with shining eyes. She clasps her hands together.
She looks at you with shining eyes. "Ya really feel that way....Peter?" There is something deucedly unsettling about the way she says your name.
"Um, well, I say! That is to say, quite!" I mean, you can't just take back everything you just said. Wouldn't be cricket. And she might injure you, besides.
"Oh sure, Petey! I gotcha, and I will! Oh, I always knew ya needed someone to look after you!"
You clear your throat "Um, Cuddy, actually, I wanted to tell you....."
"Stuff it sweety, we'll tell Daddy about our engagement tomorrow."
You swallow manfully. There's a code of honour about these things, after all. Cuddy may be a wretched, troublemaking shrimp, but she is a lady. And to back down from an engagement is trifling with a lady's affections, and won't do, not for a Postletwaite. Sadly, you realize that you are now truly doomed. But there's nothing to be done, really.
Fighting back bitter tears of remorse, you