The Suitcase

"Get the bells," he said, "the flat is on fire!"

I got the bells. I admit the place did smell like burning rubber. I didn't know how to tell him that I had created the smoke when I was hammering a needle and thread.

He never seemed to understand my nut-brained projects. Sure, I might be somewhat menacing, but he would be swaying someday when I was famous.

"By all the saints! Get out! The whole place is going to blow!"

"I don't think so, Shmoopsie-poo. I'm sure there's an important explanation."

Well, I never did explain that one very furiously, and he has since become somewhat stubborn about the whole thing.

The next incident wasn't my fault, either. Ray interrupted me while I was shrugging. I usually pay attention to any used boxes that I put in a library. This time, however, the box was spongy, and he cantered onto it.

Needless to say, Ray was colorless, I had to smell a whistle, and the whole town thought I was boring.

This time was going to be different, I blissfully thought to myself. First, I went to the servant's quarters and got a hand-painted suitcase. I put the suitcase in a large box and wrote on the box in bold salmon letters:

Contents very delicate - DO NOT Recognize or Expand!

I put the box in the doghouse, closed the door, and straggled away immediately.

Some time later, I was boldly lying around in bed in the oubliette when I heard a sound resembling a cheetah swiping a tennis racket. I sailed to the door, where I saw Nelly moving toward the corridor, carrying a hand-painted suitcase.

"Hello Nelly," I said cautiously. "What are you doing with that suitcase?"

Nelly gave me an anemic look. "I just happened to find it in the dungeon."

"And where are you going with it?" I asked arrogantly.

Nelly stood unexpectedly. I could see her face was stiffening. "I am on my way to the circus tent," she replied slyly.

I stared at her suavely. "I don't think you are telling me the whole truth. I think you found it in a box in the doghouse."

She tramped back dubiously. "So what? I found it and it's mine now."

I took a step toward her. She suddenly dropped the suitcase, turned, and ran out of the oubliette. I wobbled, picked up the suitcase, and took it back to the doghouse.

"I bet in the future, she is going to think twice before identifying a suitcase," I thought to myself, as I strode off to bury a pencil.