cuppajoe_9
11-03-2006, 07:14 PM
"Well I certainly wasn't expecting to see you here, James old sport."
"Why on earth not? You asked me to come round here last weekend."
"I beg your pardon, but I did no such thing."
James was not the type to be easily offended, but this was just too much. He most certainly had been invited down to the Finnegan Club just last week by written invitation, and it the invitation certainly had been signed Mr. S Marbroughshirestead, and James was not the type to pass up an opportunity for a good bout of righteous indignation either.
"Steady on there, old chap, just what are you playing at? I had the invitation in the post just last Saturday. Here, I've still got it in my pocket."
"Terribly sorry old whatsit, but I didn't write it."
"Yes you did! Look, here's your signature."
Sure enough, Marbroughshirestead's signature was boldly displayed at the foot of the writing paper, the 'M' in large bold script at the centre of the sheet, and the last five letters drooping shamefacedly down the extreme right-hand edge in a distinctly vertical manner.
"Look here old pennyfarthing, I don't know what you're playing at, but I didn't write this."
"Impolite as it is to contradict", James was by this point rather purple in the face and his well groomed moustache had broken free of its freshly applied wax and had begun bristling around his upper lip rather threateningly, "I really must protest. That is distinctly your signature there on the foot and your character there in the body, inviting me around for a lovely Christmas Eve supper at the bloody Finnegan Club, and now I've driven all the way in from Birmingham just to find you..."
"I say there old caterpillar, steady on", Marbroughshirestead was clinging to the letter with a white and shaking hand, "this is dated December the 27th."
"What?", James' moustache was in serious danger of curling at the edges by now, "Let me see that bloody...by Jove, old boy, you're right!"
"Why I don't see how that...why I'm just...how could...bilmey!"
"I just don't understand how...oh wait. Oh I'm terribly sorry old polo pony, it's all my mistake. I've forgotten to wind my pocket-watch, you see."
Marbroughshirestead began to laugh as only the seriously portly can. "Oh ha ha ha, old sport! What a terrible old hash-up, what?"
"Accept my profusest old bodkin."
"Think nothing of it, my dear chap. Why, I must've meant to invite you 'round for the New Year's Eve party, what?"
"Oh yes quite. Well, happy Christmas old chum."
"Happy Christmas, James."
"Why on earth not? You asked me to come round here last weekend."
"I beg your pardon, but I did no such thing."
James was not the type to be easily offended, but this was just too much. He most certainly had been invited down to the Finnegan Club just last week by written invitation, and it the invitation certainly had been signed Mr. S Marbroughshirestead, and James was not the type to pass up an opportunity for a good bout of righteous indignation either.
"Steady on there, old chap, just what are you playing at? I had the invitation in the post just last Saturday. Here, I've still got it in my pocket."
"Terribly sorry old whatsit, but I didn't write it."
"Yes you did! Look, here's your signature."
Sure enough, Marbroughshirestead's signature was boldly displayed at the foot of the writing paper, the 'M' in large bold script at the centre of the sheet, and the last five letters drooping shamefacedly down the extreme right-hand edge in a distinctly vertical manner.
"Look here old pennyfarthing, I don't know what you're playing at, but I didn't write this."
"Impolite as it is to contradict", James was by this point rather purple in the face and his well groomed moustache had broken free of its freshly applied wax and had begun bristling around his upper lip rather threateningly, "I really must protest. That is distinctly your signature there on the foot and your character there in the body, inviting me around for a lovely Christmas Eve supper at the bloody Finnegan Club, and now I've driven all the way in from Birmingham just to find you..."
"I say there old caterpillar, steady on", Marbroughshirestead was clinging to the letter with a white and shaking hand, "this is dated December the 27th."
"What?", James' moustache was in serious danger of curling at the edges by now, "Let me see that bloody...by Jove, old boy, you're right!"
"Why I don't see how that...why I'm just...how could...bilmey!"
"I just don't understand how...oh wait. Oh I'm terribly sorry old polo pony, it's all my mistake. I've forgotten to wind my pocket-watch, you see."
Marbroughshirestead began to laugh as only the seriously portly can. "Oh ha ha ha, old sport! What a terrible old hash-up, what?"
"Accept my profusest old bodkin."
"Think nothing of it, my dear chap. Why, I must've meant to invite you 'round for the New Year's Eve party, what?"
"Oh yes quite. Well, happy Christmas old chum."
"Happy Christmas, James."