you can’t go.”
The minor squabble with Muttonchops of the evening before had reawakened my need for protection. During my here-and-there nocturnal ramblings, I felt at times that I was getting in over my head. I wanted a second man to back me up should I encounter fellows I couldn’t handle alone. Yes, I required a praetorian and wanted to make sure he would be someone who wouldn’t report back to my father.
“Colm Cullen?” Freddy asked.
“What do you think would be a fair price to hire him?”
We were at the barn by then, where inside the same trio of blackguards greeted us, Woodworth, the Sage Hen, the oleaginous Scott himself.
“Delegate!” Scott called out. “I have good news.”
He thrust himself forward and grabbed my father’s hand.
I looked below, locating Savage Girl in the gloom. She slept, or appeared to sleep, curled up like a tabby in a corner next to her cage, watched over by an equally sleepy Toad.
“Very good news,” Dr. Scott repeated. “The three principals here—myself, my friend Jacob Woodworth, and the Sage Hen—youmay congratulate us on our hard work, we have agreed upon a proper level of remuneration.”
“Ah,” Freddy said. “I thought we had determined that formerly.”
“Changed. Negated! Those negotiations we cancel, withdraw, obviate and declare void. Instead of an outright sale, and after laborious give-and-take between the three of us that became quite heated at times—”
“You must grasp the degree of our sacrifice, losing the dear creature,” interjected the Sage Hen.
“We have come to a magnificent compromise,” Scott announced, sounding as though he had reconciled God and Lucifer. “It involves, and I know you will be as excited by this concept as we are, a lease arrangement rather than a complete transfer of ownership.”
“See, we would be losing her forever if we didn’t keep a hold of her somehow,” Jake Woodworth put in.
“That is correct,” Dr. Scott said. “I must say it was the Sage Hen who broke the jam. It is she for whom we must all be grateful.”
“Por nada,”
said the Sage Hen.
Scott raised himself on his tiptoes in a show of ecstasy. “A woman of most surprising capabilities, I have to say, as is evident by her multilingual phraseology.”
“So . . .” my father said. “One thousand, or was it two when we broke off yesterday?”
“Oh, no, no, these new terms require a complete reorganization of payment. We have mutually agreed upon a sum of five thousand dollars for a yearlong indenture.”
“Six months,” said the Sage Hen and Woodworth simultaneously.
“Yes, yes, I apologize, we went back and forth on this also, and such a flurry of numbers and terms always work to dizzy me. The contract is for five thousand dollars for six months, such contract renewed at end of term by mutual agreement of the parties, with a concomitant adjustment in payment.”
“Upwards,” said the Sage Hen. “Of course.”
“Of course,” my father echoed.
On the barn floor, R. T. Flenniken had dropped his somnolent posture and stood directly below us, staring up at the group on the balcony.
“I have taken the liberty of employing my attorney”—Scott snapped his fingers imperiously, summoning an officious little man in a gray frock coat from the shadows at the end of the gallery—“Rodney Estes, to draw up a contract, embedding said terms within legalistic constructs.”
“Rodney Estes, Esquire,” the gray frock coat said, pushing forward a sheaf of papers.
Scott said, “I would rather this be done on a handshake, but the Sage Hen insisted we formalize—”
“May I make a counteroffer?” my father said, interrupting.
“It will not be heard, sir!” Scott said shrilly. “It will not be heard!”
Flenniken had begun making small sounds of distress down below, pulling at his sparse, dirt-colored hair and walking in circles, muttering to himself.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry for my tone,” Dr. Scott said to
The minor squabble with Muttonchops of the evening before had reawakened my need for protection. During my here-and-there nocturnal ramblings, I felt at times that I was getting in over my head. I wanted a second man to back me up should I encounter fellows I couldn’t handle alone. Yes, I required a praetorian and wanted to make sure he would be someone who wouldn’t report back to my father.
“Colm Cullen?” Freddy asked.
“What do you think would be a fair price to hire him?”
We were at the barn by then, where inside the same trio of blackguards greeted us, Woodworth, the Sage Hen, the oleaginous Scott himself.
“Delegate!” Scott called out. “I have good news.”
He thrust himself forward and grabbed my father’s hand.
I looked below, locating Savage Girl in the gloom. She slept, or appeared to sleep, curled up like a tabby in a corner next to her cage, watched over by an equally sleepy Toad.
“Very good news,” Dr. Scott repeated. “The three principals here—myself, my friend Jacob Woodworth, and the Sage Hen—youmay congratulate us on our hard work, we have agreed upon a proper level of remuneration.”
“Ah,” Freddy said. “I thought we had determined that formerly.”
“Changed. Negated! Those negotiations we cancel, withdraw, obviate and declare void. Instead of an outright sale, and after laborious give-and-take between the three of us that became quite heated at times—”
“You must grasp the degree of our sacrifice, losing the dear creature,” interjected the Sage Hen.
“We have come to a magnificent compromise,” Scott announced, sounding as though he had reconciled God and Lucifer. “It involves, and I know you will be as excited by this concept as we are, a lease arrangement rather than a complete transfer of ownership.”
“See, we would be losing her forever if we didn’t keep a hold of her somehow,” Jake Woodworth put in.
“That is correct,” Dr. Scott said. “I must say it was the Sage Hen who broke the jam. It is she for whom we must all be grateful.”
“Por nada,”
said the Sage Hen.
Scott raised himself on his tiptoes in a show of ecstasy. “A woman of most surprising capabilities, I have to say, as is evident by her multilingual phraseology.”
“So . . .” my father said. “One thousand, or was it two when we broke off yesterday?”
“Oh, no, no, these new terms require a complete reorganization of payment. We have mutually agreed upon a sum of five thousand dollars for a yearlong indenture.”
“Six months,” said the Sage Hen and Woodworth simultaneously.
“Yes, yes, I apologize, we went back and forth on this also, and such a flurry of numbers and terms always work to dizzy me. The contract is for five thousand dollars for six months, such contract renewed at end of term by mutual agreement of the parties, with a concomitant adjustment in payment.”
“Upwards,” said the Sage Hen. “Of course.”
“Of course,” my father echoed.
On the barn floor, R. T. Flenniken had dropped his somnolent posture and stood directly below us, staring up at the group on the balcony.
“I have taken the liberty of employing my attorney”—Scott snapped his fingers imperiously, summoning an officious little man in a gray frock coat from the shadows at the end of the gallery—“Rodney Estes, to draw up a contract, embedding said terms within legalistic constructs.”
“Rodney Estes, Esquire,” the gray frock coat said, pushing forward a sheaf of papers.
Scott said, “I would rather this be done on a handshake, but the Sage Hen insisted we formalize—”
“May I make a counteroffer?” my father said, interrupting.
“It will not be heard, sir!” Scott said shrilly. “It will not be heard!”
Flenniken had begun making small sounds of distress down below, pulling at his sparse, dirt-colored hair and walking in circles, muttering to himself.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry for my tone,” Dr. Scott said to
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