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Part Two: Snow way to treat a friend

We left Phil and Frankie standing at the open doorway of a remote cabin.  They had been tracking the source of a strange sound, which they supposed to be made by some frightening animal, but were surprised to find themselves facing not a wild beast, but Phil’s neighbor,  Mr. Gordon.  With equal surprise, Mr. Gordon’s first words as he sees the boys were:

“Mr. Wellbright, Mr. Elliott!  How did you two find me?”

“We weren’t looking for you, Mr. Gordon.  We didn’t even know you were up here.”

“That’s right.  We kept hearing a strange sound, and we followed it here to this cabin.”

“You must be referring to my sagbutt.”

“Gosh no, Mr. Gordon  I wasn’t referring to you at all.  Like I said, we heard this strange sound–. ”

“Let me try again.”  Mr. Gordon held up a something resembling a large trombone ,  “This is my sagbutt.  I was practicing on it.  That is the sound  you and Mr. Elliott must have heard.”

“Oh, that’s a- a sag butt, did you say?  It looks sort of like an over -grown trombone.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s one way to describe it.  The sagbutt is a predecessor to the modern trombone so favored by todays jazz musicians.  You gentlemen might as well take off your snow shoes and  come in.  Be careful when you close the door though, there is a great deal of snow on the roof and we don’t want to cause an avalanche.  I plan on going out later to rake it off.”

” Look at that, must be at least ten inches of snow up there.”  Said Phil.

“I’ll bet that would make quite a pile if it all came down at once.”  Frankie added.

“Say Mr. Gordon, let me save you the trouble of doing that,”  Phil said “I’m already dressed up warm, with boots and hat and coat and gloves.  You just take it easy and let me do this for you.”

“Thank you,  Mr. Wellbright, that’s very kind.  The rake is right there beside the door.”

“Is there another one of those things around, Mr. Gordon?  I’d be glad to help.”

“I’m afraid not, Mr.  Elliott, but thanks anyway.”

“While Phil’s doing that, do you mind if I take a look at that sagg -a , that musical instrument of yours?”

“Of course Frankie, if you’d like to examine my er-saggbutt, here it is.”   He handed the instrument to Frankie then, stepping into the open doorway Mr. Gordon addressed Phil again.  “I certainly appreciate this, Mr. Wellbright.  .  Just try to drag the snow so it doesn’t fall in front of the door.”

“I’ll start down at the other end and work my way back, then I’ll have a clear area on the roof to drag the snow to the side before I bring it down.”

“Good idea.”

“Mr. Gordon, have you been playing the sagbutt for long?”  Frankie asked.

“No, Mr.  Elliott, I’m still just a neophyte.”

“Oh, uh huh.  Mind if I give it a try?”

“Be my guest.”

After the note subsided, Phil said, “You’ll probably think this is pretty stupid, but when we heard you blowing on that thing, we thought I was some kind of strange animal.”

“Yes.  That is,  compared to the sound Mr. Elliott was able to produce, I’m sure mine must have sounded rather like a wounded water buffalo.”

Frankie responded, “Don’t be ridiculous,  Mr. Gordon.  Everyone knows there aren’t any water buffalo around here.”

“We were thinking more of a love-sick moose.”  Said Phil.

“Or a mammoth.”  Frankie added.

“A mammoth?  Of course.  A mammoth is much more plausible.  What brings you gentlemen here to this remote country?”

“Frankie got a job playing at the resort.  He talked me into coming with him.  What about you Mr. Gordon?  What brings you up here?”

“Mrs. Gordon suggested, and I agreed with her, that I could use a little rest, and some peace and quiet.”

“You couldn’t have picked a better place for it.  What could disturb you in a remote place like this?”

“I was just thinking the same thing myself.”

“You ought to get plenty of rest and peace, especially now that we’re here.”

“Now that you’re here?  What did you have in mind?”

At this point perhaps I should pause the narrative to inform those readers who may be unfamiliar with the prior history of Phil and Frankie and Mr. Gordon, of what happened on the very first day they met, and also to give a brief summary to all readers of certain events that had transpired since the day of their first meeting.

It was on Christmas Eve, that Phil and Frankie first met Mr. Gordon, and on that day  Phil accidentally knocked Mr. Gordon unconscious with a snow shovel.  Mr. Gordon regained consciousness in a  moment or two, and immediately forgave Phil for his unintended action; such was the character of Mr, Gordon.  Although he could forgive, it was more difficult for Mr, Gordon to forget.  For one thing there was the lump on his head that lasted several days and made putting on a hat something of a delicate procedure until well after the New Year.  More than that though, there were Phil’s efforts, usually accompanied by Frankie, to do something kind for Mr. Gordon, that never seemed to go as intended.

First there was the Pumpkin Pie incident, in which Phil and Frankie eagerly insisted on delivering the pie Mrs. Springinton had baked for the Gordon’s.  The two friends paraded across the street, locked arm in arm, carefully holding the pie up in front of them, singing Deck the Halls.  Mrs Gordon, having been alerted by a telephone call from Mrs. Springinton, was waiting at the front door, which she swung open as Phil and Frankie reached the porch.  Still shoulder to shoulder and still singing, the two men marched across the threshold and tripped over each others feet.  Walking from the kitchen to greet his guests, Mr. Gordon had the briefest of moments to glimpse  the pie, looking like a miniature harvest moon, sailing toward him.  A pumpkin pie in the face always does something to ones sense of balance,  and the added impact of Frankie and Phil colliding with him midships as they stumbled forward caused Mr. Gordon to tumble backward to the floor.  All three man came down in a heap with a tremendous thud, like a giant sack of toys that had fallen down the chimney.  Always one to look on the bright side, he was at least able to honestly say that the pie was delicious.

Then there was the day that Phil and Frankie helped the Gordon’s take down their Christmas tree. No one has yet been able to figure out how the trunk of the tree came to be fully inserted into Mr. Gordon’s  coat, entering at the bottom and coming out at the collar.  The tinsel icicles hardly bothered him, nor did the occasional cranberry or piece of popcorn.  What  made the experience most unbearable for Mr. Gordon were the dry and scratchy evergreen needles that fell off the tree by the hundreds and seemed to work their way into every stitch of clothes he was wearing, including even his undergarments, where they caused him a great deal of discomfort.  He had to endure this for quite some time too, for Mr. Gordon was too polite a host, or perhaps too modest, to excuse himself to change clothes until his guests had completed their mission and bade farewell.

The final incident, and one that I am happy to say ended without injury thanks to the abundant layer of snow on the ground, happened when the boys were helping Mr. Gordon take down the garlands  around the outside of the house and Frankie forgot one of the cardinal rules of moving a ladder, which is  to always look up first.  Indeed, the only thing that finally alerted Frankie to Mr. Gordons presence was a sound, not unlike the wail of a wounded water buffalo, followed by a glimpse out of the corner of his eye of  Mr. Gordon coming to earth.  Not wishing to miss an opportunity to spread Christmas cheer, Frankie spread himself out on the ground not far from Mr. Gordon and encouraged the other to make snow angels with him.

With all of this, you can readily understand how Mr. Gordon began to feel like a hunted animal as far as Phil and Frankie were concerned.  He knew the two men meant him no harm, but he began to feel decidedly unsafe in their presence.  Mrs. Gordon could see the toll this was having on her husband, and gave him the sage advice to remove himself to a locale far from Phil and Frankie,  with the hope that their zeal for doing her husband good deeds would abate in his absence.

You can also doubtless understand why Mr. Gordon may have sounded as though he were being pursued when he first saw Phil and Frankie at his door, and why now, he seemed to be nervous at their presence.  Imagine yourself in his shoes, or slippers, balancing the conflicting emotions of dread that something terrible must be about to happen to you, and relief that something terrible hasn’t just happened to you.  Such a strain would surely unnerve the stoutest of us.

To get back to the story, Mr. Gordon had just asked Phil what he had in mind, to which Phil replied:

“I mean doing these little chores for you, so you can relax, take it easy.  Let us do the work.”

“Of course.  I’m sorry if I seem a bit nervous, I hope I haven’t behaved inhospitably.  It’s just that seeing you two gentlemen here came as quite a surprise.”

“That’s okay Mr. Gordon,  Frankie and I were surprised to see you too.  Hey,  this snow is starting to pile up.  Have you got one of those snow shovels around here?  I’ll clear a walkway when I’m finished.”

“Thank you Mr.  Wellbright.  Yes, there is a snow shovel, I believe it’s around by the back door .”

“Okay.  You sure you trust me with it?”

“What’s that?  Oh yes.”  Mr. Gordon rubbed his head.

“I still can’t tell you enough how sorry I am about that, Mr. Gordon.”

“It’s quiet all right.  You needn’t apologize any further, but, just to ease your fear of doing me bodily injury, I’ll stay in here with Mr. Elliott, where it’s safe.”

Then, just at that moment, a most singular thing occurred.  I suppose if Frankie and Mr. Gordon had been a couple of highly trained acrobats, or perhaps two skilled precision dancers it would have taken them hours of rehearsal and many  a run through to accomplish what they were about to do, but they did it and did it well on the very first try.

Frankie definitely had the lesser demanding of the two roles.  For his part, he started with his back to Mr. Gordon, holding the sagbutt downward, then, as he started to play, he turned, took a step toward the door where  Mr. Gordon stood, raised the instrument, and extended the slide as he blew a note.

While Frankie was executing this movement, Mr. Gordon turned with impeccable timing, and, leading with his chin into the room, was greeted with stupendous effect by the extending slide of the sagbutt.  It is not easy to say which of the following difficult elements Mr. Gordon performed with the greatest degree of excellence.  Was it the explosive recoil  as he reeled from the glancing blow of the sagbutt to his chin, the seemingly effortless way in which he went from upright to head -over- heels in backwards flight, the velocity he achieved while in the air, the distance he travelled, or the landing in a mound of snow beneath the eaves directly in front of the open door?  I suppose if one were a judge at the Winter Olympic Games, one would have to give him all perfect scores, although if one were looking for any deficiency, one would have to admit that his landing did result in a great burst of snow being thrown up, something, I believe, for which the judges usually take at least a minor deduction.

In any event, Mr. Gordon sat there with a sort of dumbfounded expression on his face, like an athlete who’s Olympic dream has just come true, but doesn’t know what to make of it yet.  His reverie lasted only a moment before the deafening roar of the crowd, in the form a Frankie’s frantic shouting  roused him to semi-awareness:

“Mr. Gordon! I’m sorry!”

Mr. Gordon looked at Frankie, or, from Mr. Gordon’s perspective, looked at two of Frankie.  “What, what happened?”

“Let me help you.”  Frankie rushed forward and in his flight through the doorway instinctively grabbed the door handle and pulled it forcefully closed behind him.  There followed in a moment a rumbling sound, as of a great weight letting loose and shifting above…

To be continued…

Click here to read the previous adventures of Phil and Frankie: Amazon.com: Friends, Snowmen, Countrymen, Be of Good Cheer: A Tale of Christmas Time (9781708759025): Morris, Richard K: Books

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Click here to read Ski bums and sagbutts: A madcap frolic in the snow. (Part 1fb)

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