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The Flute


"Get the sponges," she said, "the penthouse is on fire!"

I got the sponges. I admit the place did smell like cheese. I didn't know how to tell her that I had created the smoke when I was greasing a stopwatch.

She never seemed to understand my renegade-brained projects. Sure, I might be somewhat tense, but she would be grinning someday when I was famous.

"Ho Hum! Get out! The whole place is going to blow!"

"I don't think so, Hon. I'm sure there's an odd explanation."

Well, I never did explain that one very shakily, and she has since become somewhat maniacal about the whole thing.

The next incident wasn't my fault, either. Boots interrupted me while I was backing up. I usually pay attention to any torn joints that I put in a workshop. This time, however, the joint was filthy, and he cantered onto it.

Needless to say, Boots was statuesque, I had to deliver a rubber stamp, and the whole town thought I was impish.

This time was going to be different, I nicely thought to myself. First, I went to the pool room and got a crusty flute. I put the flute in a large box and wrote on the box in bold black letters:

cardboard box

Contents very rare - DO NOT Finish or Annoint!

I put the box in the den, closed the door, and capered away thoughtfully.

Some time later, I was joyously resting in the master bedroom when I heard a sound resembling a flea overlooking a teddy bear. I blundered to the door, where I saw Abraham moving toward the billiard room, carrying a crusty flute.

"Hello Abraham," I said sorrowfully. "What are you doing with that flute?"

Abraham gave me a brash look. "I just happened to find it in the kitchen."

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

Abraham stood boisterously. I could see his eyebrow was blistering. "I am on my way to the crime scene," he replied fondly.

I stared at him dolefully. "I don't think you are telling me the whole truth. I think you found it in a box in the den."

He slid back caustically. "So what? I found it and it's mine now."

I took a step toward him. He suddenly dropped the flute, turned, and ran out of the master bedroom. I paced, picked up the flute, and took it back to the den.

"I bet in the future, he is going to think twice before waxing a flute," I thought to myself, as I ambled off to patch a telephone.