Monday, May 1, 2017

the gardener, the bartender, and the brontosaurus

a summer day.

george the gardener was working assiduously in the garden, especially on the asters and the camellias, because her ladyship wanted it to look especially splendid for the home secretary’s visit, which was scheduled for the day after the following day.

although it was a warm day, george was in no way slacking in his duties when he chanced to look up and saw bob jones, the bartender at the two dragons inn, walking up the high road at a more than steady pace, swinging a great thundering walking stick as he strode along.

“what brings you here, bob, at this time of day?” george enquired earnestly as bob approached. “surely there must be some weary travelers looking to wet their whistles at the inn on such a hot afternoon?”

“terrible news, george!” cried bob. “terrible news!”

“and what might that be?,” asked george.

“a brontosaurus is loose, and is terrorizing the town!” cried bob.

“a brontosaurus? and where is this creatine loose from, if i may be so bold as to ask?”

“who knows? from a zoo, from some mad scientist’s laboratory, from another dimension - it matters nowt! the important thing is that he is here and must be stopped!” bob flourished his hickory stick at george. “listen - can you hear his footsteps?”

“but look here,” asked george. “what do you want from me? i be only a poor gardener, not some sort of scientist or man of action.”

“well, george, it was thought that perhaps some nice flowers might soothe the beast - it is worth a try at least."

“you mean - you mean - some of her ladyship’s flowers, that are meant to welcome his excellency the home secretary? nay, nay, none of that!”

“but, george, the situation is desperate. listen - listen! he is coming! he is coming up the road!” bob the bartender cried, and turned and pointed down the way he had come.

the ground was indeed beginning to shake.

george looked toward the horizon. a shadow was falling across the fields and the road, and he suddenly beheld a dark form materialize.

“a few of your flowers, george, just a few! it is our only hope!” bob shouted wildly.

“never! not on my watch! never!” cried the loyal gardener.

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