Part 8fr:  Rescue dogs and cats out of the bag.

We left Phil and Frankie kneeling nervously beside  Mister Gordon after Phil had accidentally knocked him unconscious with a snow shovel.

“You didn’t kill him, Curly.  Look, his eyelids are twitching.”

“Mr. Gordon.  Mr.Gordon.  Speak to me.  Are you all right?”

Mr. Gordon opened his eyes, looked at Phil and Frankie and said:
“What hit me?”

“It was me Mr. Gordon.  I’m so sorry.  I did it with the shovel.  Oh, it was an accident.  Please, will you forgive me?”

“That’s all right, Mister, Mister…?”

“My name is Phil Wellbright, and this is my friend Frankie Elliott, and the only reason we’re wearing these orange jumpsuits is because we found them in the closet and we needed some clothes to keep us warm.”

“I forgive you Mr.Wellbright.  I should have known better than to approach you with that tree blocking your view.  I wanted to come over here to apologize to you gentlemen.”

“You, apologize to us?”

“Yes. When I saw you two earlier today wearing those orange jumpsuits, I assumed you two were a couple of patients from our nearby rest home who had wandered away.  That accounts for my less than cordial  behavior when we met earlier.  After I telephoned Morning Rise, and the people there assured me they had no patients missing, I remembered that Bill Travers, who used to live in this house, had two of those jump suits that he used to wear up north.  I do hope you gentlemen will forgive me.”

“That’s quite all right Mr. Gordon.  Anyone could make the same mistake.  Officer Carson thought we were from Morning Rise, and even that kind Mrs. Springington thought so, until you called and cleared the whole thing up.  Here, let us help you up.”

“Thank you, I think I’ll sit a moment longer.  I’m still feeling a bit dizzy.”

“Say Mr. Gordon, I just realized something.  How come nobody thought we were escaped prisoners in these orange jumpsuits?”

“The county jail uses orange with white stripes.  If I had seen you wearing those, I would have brought Bessie with me.”

“Bessie, huh?  Reminds me of some of the old timers I know back home who name their shootin’ irons.”

“Bessie isn’t a gun, she’s a dog.”

“A dog?  Oh, I get it, like one of those guard dogs or something?”

“Yes, she’s a trained Rottweiler.”

“Pretty mean, is she?”

“No.  Bessie has a sweet disposition.  But on command she can take a man down and hold him until any threat has been neutralized.”

“I’ll sure glad Bessie wasn’t with you just now.  She might have thought I was some kind of threat, after I konked you on the head with this shovel.”

“Yes, well, I normally don’t take her on a social call.  I don’t really know her that well.”

“You mean you own a dog that on command can take a man down, and you hardly know her?  I don’t get it.”

“Bessie isn’t my dog.  I’m caring for her until we find her a new home.  That’s an interest of mine;  sort of rescuing dogs and cats who’ve been neglected or abused, and finding new homes for those pets whose owners can no longer keep them.”

“You do that, just on your own?”

“Yes.  We all have our strengths and weakness you know.   I find that I’m not much good with people; I am actually rather shy you see, and I’m afraid that often makes me  comes off as stuffy and aloof; and I am also aware that my  appearance, no matter how much I try to soften it,  does not exactly cause people to warm up to me.”

“Oh now Mr. Gordon, I don’t think so at all.”

“That’s very kind of you to say, Mr. Wellbright, but I am well aware of the fact that I look like what some people would call a sourpuss.”

Blushing deeply, Frankie could only say:

“Can you imagine that?”

“Yes.  I am happy to say that dogs don’t seem to mind my appearance, and thanks to them I am able to do some good in my own small way.  With a face like this, it is good to be an animal lover.  Oh, here comes my wife.”

“She must be an animal lover too.”

“Frankie!”

Frankie answered aside to Phil: “Sorry, it just slipped out.  The last time I saw a face like that it was looking into a crystal ball at Dorothy and her dog Toto.”

Phil answered in a hushed tone, “Quiet will ya?  He’ll hear you.”

Frankie cleared his throat and spoke again to Mr. Gordon:

“What I meant was, you know, common interest between husband and wife.”

“Yes, I’m sure.  While Mrs. Gordon does share my affection for animals, she is a nurse and spends much of her time giving first aid classes.  When she isn’t doing that, she busies herself primarily in our town’s arts and literature society you know, always finding writers and poets and artists to come and give talks at luncheons.”  Mrs. Gordon joined the group.  “Hello dear.  This is Mr. Wellbright and Mr. Elliott.  Gentlemen, my wife.”

“Pleased to meet you Mrs. Gordon.”

Mrs. Gordon nodded  to Phil and Frankie:

“Merry Christmas, gentlemen.  Oswald, this is no time to be playing in the snow.  We have a lot to do yet, and you’re not even wearing your gloves.”

“I wasn’t playing dear.  I had an accident.  If you gentlemen will give me a hand,  I think I can stand up now.”  Phil and Frankie helped Mr. Gordon to his feet.  As they brushed the snow from Mr. Gordon, Phil said to Mrs. Gordon:

“I sure think it’s wonderful what your husband does to help neglected dogs and cats, Mrs. Gordon.  You must feel pretty good, knowing you’re caring for those animals until you can find them a new home.  I have a dog too, Petey  is his name, and the thought of him being neglected or abused would practically break my heart.  By the way, I’m you’re new neighbor.  I just rented this house.  I’d love to have you and Mr. Gordon come over and meet Petey sometime.  He’s a good dog, and very friendly.”

“Thank you Mr. Wellbright.   We’ll be glad to take you up on your invitation.  We must have you over for dinner one night to welcome you to the neighborhood, perhaps sometime between now and the New Year.   Wellbright…Wellbright?  Seems I know that name from somewhere, oh well, I’m sure it will come to me.  Mr. Elliott, haven’t I seen you around our town?”

“Oh sure.  I’m from around here myself.  Just Curly here is new to the neighborhood.”

“Seems you’re some kind of musician, aren’t you?”

“That’s right.  I’m sort of in between engagements right now.”

“I’m glad to hear that, it means you have plenty of free time.”

“Oh, well, I’m no good at giving lectures on my art, if that’s what you have in mind.”

“No, that’s not what I was going to suggest.  I’d like you to come to one of my first aid classes.  We could always use an extra dummy.”

“A what?”

“I beg your pardon.  It’s just that our local department store usually let’s us borrow any of their extra  mannequins to practice wrapping bandages on, but during the Christmas season they never have any to spare.”

“Oh, well, sure, I’d be glad to lend a hand.  Or an arm.  Pick a limb, any limb.”

“I was thinking about doing a lesson on treating head injuries next time.  Tell me, Mr. Elliott, were you by any chance ever dropped on your head as a child?”

“On my head!  All my childhood traumas occurred at the other end, if you’ll pardon the expression, courtesy of my old man’s leather belt.”

“My mistake. I guess my crystal ball must have been a little cloudy.”

“You’re crystal ball!”

Mr. Gordon said:

“That, Mr. Elliott, is my wife’s sense of humor.  You see, both she and I do make jokes occasionally.”

“Oh, well, that’s a good one on me.  I feel a little embarrassed now.”

Mrs. Gordon seemed not to mind any further and spoke to her husband:

“We must get going, Oswald; I need your help with the tree.  Did you hurt your head?”   They started to turn to go and Phil said:

“Merry Christmas, Mr. and Mrs. Gordon.  Just stop in anytime.  You don’t need to stand on ceremony with me.  Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas Mr. Wellbright, Mr. Elliott.  Oh, and Mr. Elliott, I’m sorry about my little joke about being dropped on your head.  By the way, I’ve heard that you really are a very capable and versatile musician.  I would so love you to come to one of our luncheons and play for us.  You wouldn’t have to give a lecture at all.”

“Thank you Mrs. Gordon.  I’ll take you up on that.  Merry Christmas.”  Frankie answered as  Mr. and Mrs. Gordon walked back toward their house.  “You know, they really are a couple of nice people.  I’m sorry I called Mr. Gordon a sourpuss earlier and made that crack about the crystal ball just now.  I didn’t think either one of them could hear me.  Guess I was wrong.  I feel like a heel.”

“Why don’t you go tell then you’re sorry?  They both apologized to you, you should do the same, if you really are sorry.”

“I’ll do it.  Thanks Curly.”  Then calling to  Mr. and Mrs. Gordon, “Mr. and Mrs. Gordon, would you wait for me a moment?  I’ll be right there.”  Turning back to Phil he said:  “Hey Curly before I go, do you realize you told Mr. Gordon your real name,  and Mrs. Gordon knows it too, and she’s always looking for writers and artists to talk at their society luncheons?   I think you just blew your own cover.”

“Yeah, you’re right, Frankie.  I guess in my panic after knocking Mr. Gordon unconscious, I forgot I was pretending not to be me.  I heard the way Mrs. Gordon said she knew my name from somewhere too.  Looks like I let the cat out of the bag.  I ‘d better go tell Mrs. Springington my real name.  I wouldn’t want that nice woman to find out from someone else.”

“Okay Curly.  I’ll catch up with you after I finish telling  Mr. and Mrs.Gordon how sorry I am.”

“Okay Frankie.”  Phil started back towards the Sprinington house when he noticed something on the ground.  “What’s this?  One of Mary  Elizabeth’s mittens must have fallen out of her pocket.  I’ll give this to Mrs. Springinton when I tell her I used a phony name.  I hope she isn’t too disappointed in me.”

Phil walked up the front step and rang the bell, but instead of Mrs. Springington,  the door was opened a much younger woman.

Phil didn’t speak at first.  He gazed at her a moment, then seemed to remember himself:

“Hello. ”

“Hello.”

“Where did you come from?”

To be continued…