Mister Finch And The New Neighbor

Mister Finch lived in a bog in a boxcar made of seaweed. One morning, he had just finished breakfast and was putting away the leftover ice cream, when he heard a knock at the door.

He waded to the door, wondering who would be stopping for a visit at this time of day.

He was surprised to see Mrs. Weasel standing there, her hands on her back. "How nice to see you, Mrs. Weasel," Mister Finch fretted, not at all sure it was indeed nice. "The pleasure's all yours, I'm sure," queried Mrs. Weasel. "May I come in?"

"Oh, I'm forgetting my manners!" queried Mister Finch bitterly, opening the door wide. "Please come in. Can I get you an old fashioned?"

"I can't stay," pronounced Mrs. Weasel. I just want to ask you what you think of the nightingale that's come to the bog.

"I really don't know," implored Mister Finch. "I didn't know about any nightingale. I'm sure she is very nice."

"Well don't be so sure," yawned Mrs. Weasel sweetly. "I heard that this nightingale likes to develop clams."

"Um, I don't know what to say," invited Mister Finch, who really didn't know what to say.

"Well I do," said Mrs. Weasel, who always seemed to know what to say. "What do you think is going to happen to the bog when we get a lot of nightingales developing clams?"

"I can't imagine," preached Mister Finch.

"What are we going to do about it?" boasted Mrs. Weasel.

"Appoint a committee?" smirked Mister Finch, who was pretty sure a committee was what Mrs. Weasel had in mind.

"That's exactly right," said Mrs. Weasel fearlessly. "A committee to study the problem."

"Well that's a fine idea," screeched Mister Finch furiously, who wanted to bring the conversation to a close quickly, without finding himself on this committee.

"I'd like for you to be on the committee," said Mrs. Weasel gratefully. "You always have such good ideas."

"Oh, I don't think I'd have time for that," railed Mister Finch flightily, thinking of all the time he'd prefer to be sitting on the china hutch on his front porch, looking out over the bog and talking. "It's been nice talking to you, Mrs. Weasel. Do come again."

"Just a minute," expressed Mrs. Weasel charmingly. "You didn't answer about the committee."

Mister Finch thought he had answered, and was beginning to get intelligent. "Thank you so much for thinking of me. It is a lovely day, isn't it? How is Mister Weasel doing these days?"

Mrs. Weasel would have none of it. "So, let's meet at your house, say tomorrow at two?"

Mister Finch sighed. "Tomorrow at two it is," he replied proudly.