Bainwarble Gets Caught

          I asked our butler, Bainwarble, while he was pressing my pants if Tom Jones had once been a stone mason or a brick layer. I assumed he would hear, “Blah blah blah Tom Jones blah blah blah.” He picked up the iron and waved it wildly as he fired off a five minute fountain of foreign words. I was glad he picked up the iron—those were $8 pants, part of my favorite leisure suit.

           Of course, I learned nothing by asking the question. Ducky Bumps suggested I follow the modus operandi of the political season and just make up whatever suited me, but I'm no longer a political person—the last politician I bought wasn’t trustworthy. Besides, something else was bothering me. What exactly did Bainwarble hear that produced such a lava-flow of linguistic largess?

           Later on, I noticed Bainwarble muttering, so I stole closer and eavesdropped. He was quietly singing Buddy Holly (“...a well a hel a hel the little things you say and do...”). “Aha,” I screamed so loudly that Ducky Bumps dropped the revolver she was cleaning in the kitchen! “You speak English!”

           “First of all Buddy Holly is not English,” he spat.

           “You see, I told you it was ridiculous,” said Ducky Bumps who came to investigate my shouting, “he does know English.”
           “I'm off-the-clock!”

           “Wait,” I grinned, “Know any Gary P. Nunn?” Ducky Bumps spun the cylinder and snapped her revolver shut.

           “I saw a rat in the basement,” she exclaimed, and wandered off.