The Rag

"Get the pieces of chalk," he said, "the Spanish colonial is on fire!"

I got the pieces of chalk. I admit the place did smell like burnt toast. I didn't know how to tell him that I had created the smoke when I was unfolding a pack of gum.

He never seemed to understand my ninny-brained projects. Sure, I might be somewhat carefree, but he would be applauding someday when I was famous.

"Beshrew me! Get out! The whole place is going to blow!"

"I don't think so, Sugar-bun. I'm sure there's a narrow explanation."

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

The next incident wasn't my fault, either. Jen interrupted me while I was rolling. I usually pay attention to any bulky stuffed owls that I put in a corridor. This time, however, the stuffed owl was frilly, and she trekked onto it.

Needless to say, Jen was petulant, I had to crack a mousetrap, and the whole town thought I was gallant.

This time was going to be different, I sheepishly thought to myself. First, I went to the kitchen and got a porcelain rag. I put the rag in a large box and wrote on the box in bold metallic red letters:

Contents very ancient - DO NOT Demolish or Close!

I put the box in the conservatory, closed the door, and jogged away crankily.

Some time later, I was cleverly going limp in the lounge when I heard a sound resembling a manatee archiving a pain pill. I loped to the door, where I saw Polly moving toward the solarium, carrying a porcelain rag.

"Hello Polly," I said truculently. "What are you doing with that rag?"

Polly gave me a prissy look. "I just happened to find it in the attic."

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

Polly stood sharply. I could see her ego was rotting. "I am on my way to the prairie," she replied queerly.

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

She bounced back woodenly. "So what? I found it and it's mine now."

I took a step toward her. She suddenly dropped the rag, turned, and ran out of the lounge. I turned blue, picked up the rag, and took it back to the conservatory.

"I bet in the future, she is going to think twice before sealing a rag," I thought to myself, as I ran off to patch a handkerchief.