To start at the beginning click here:Ski bums and sagbutts: A madcap frolic in the snow. (Part 1fb)

 

We left Mr. Gordon wondering what to do if Miss Darling returned before Frankie had brought  Mr. Gordon his other pair of pants, to which Frankie responded: “Just hold on to that blanket, Mr. Gordon, and she’ll never know. ”

We resume the tale as Frankie assures Mr. Gordon:

” I’ll be back in a flash with some dry duds.  Don’t you worry about a thing.”

“I’ll try not to, Mr.  Elliott.  My room is though that door behind you.”

Frankie disappeared through the doorway and returned in a few moments holding up a pair of trousers.  “I found them for you, Mr. Gordon.  Now just stick your out feet and we’ll have you all dressed up in no time.”

It was at that moment that Polly returned from the kitchen.  Frankie, seeing her coming from the corner of his eye, quickly stuffed Mr. Gordon’s pants into his coat.

“Mr.  Elliott,  before I forget to tell you,  Father would like you to get back to the hotel as soon as possible so that the band has some extra time to rehearse with you before the after dinner crowd starts to arrive.”

“Right away?”

“Yes, I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay, Polly, any bandleader worth his salt would want a few extra run-throughs with a last- minute, fill-in musician.  I’ll start back right  away.”

“Mr. Elliot!  Mr.  Elliott!  You can’t leave now.”

“You heard what Polly said, Mr. Gordon.”

“Yes, but not right this instant.  Aren’t you forgetting something?  Polly dear, don’t you think you should go check on Mr. Wellbright?  You know how helpless men can be in the kitchen.”

“Phil’s fine, Mr. Gordon.  I left him stirring the cocoa.  You just sit back and relax and let us take care of everything.  You will tell father I sent you back as soon as I found you, won’t you Frankie?  I do so want him to trust me with responsibility.”

“I’ll be sure to arrive out of breath so as to give your old man the impression you instructed me to make the utmost haste.”

“The utmost haste?  That sounds very responsible. Thank you Frankie, that would be wonderful of you.”

“Mr. Elliot, not that much haste.  Please, aren’t you forgetting something?”

“I’m sorry Mr. Gordon, I’ve got to run.  Polly’s good standing with her father is at stake.  Tell Phil I’ll see him after our set.  Good-bye for now.”

“There goes Frankie.”

“There go my pants.”

“Your what, Mr. Gordon?”

“My–my chance.  There goes my chance to get some instruction on the sagbutt from Mr. Elliott.”

“Don’t look so down-hearted.  I’m sure you’ll get another chance.  Just be patient.”

“I’m not sure how long I can wait.”

“I didn’t realize getting instruction on the sagbutt was that important to you.  If you’re feeling well enough now, we can try to catch up with him.”

“No! No, that’s fine, I’ll stay here and wait for another pair, I mean another chance.  There’s no point in us chasing after Mr. Elliott in the snow.”

At this moment Phil came in from the kitchen, carrying a serving tray with four cups on it.  “The cocoa’s all ready.  Wait till you have some of this, Mr. Gordon.  This will cheer you right up.  Say, where’s Frankie?”

“He had to hurry back to the hotel.  That was the message my father wanted me to deliver.  Frankie said he’d catch up with you after their set.”

“Okay, that leaves more cocoa for the three of us.  I’ll just set the tray on this table, and, let me see, this chair right here–”

“No, not that chair Mr. Wellbright.”

“What’s wrong with this chair, Mr. Gordon.”

“It’s just that, that I spilled a whole pitcher of water on the seat cushion earlier, and Mr.  Elliott was kind enough to push it up facing the fire like that to help dry it.  I’m sure it’s still too wet to sit on.  There are chairs at the kitchen table,  two of those will fit nicely for now.”

“Alright, I’ll be right back.”

“Mr. Gordon, would you like to sit up to drink your cocoa?”

“What’s that?  Sit up?  Why I should say not.  I’ll just lie still like this, nice and cozy, and covered.”

“But Mr. Gordon, how will you drink the hot cocoa lying in that position?”

“With a straw.”

“A straw?”

“Yes, I always like to drink hot cocoa with a straw.  I like to blow bubbles and watch them burst in the cup.”

“Whatever you say Mr. Gordon.  Here’s Phil with the chairs.  Phil, Mr. Gordon says he likes to drink his hot cocoa with a straw.”

“A straw?  Mr. Gordon, I looked through every cabinet in there while I was finding all the stuff to make this cocoa, and I didn’t see any straws.  Now here, let me prop you up on some pillows so you can drink this.”

“No, no. I don’t want to be propped up.”

“At least let me tuck that blanket in for you.  I want to show you that I can do you some good.  There, nice and snug, almost like in a sleeping bag.”

“Yes, yes, that is rather snug, as you say, almost like a sleeping bag.  Thank you Mr. Wellbright.”

“Don’t mention it, Mr. Gordon.”

“You know, I believe now that I would like to sit up a bit to drink that cocoa.  Now that you’ve tucked that blanket around my legs I feel more at ease somehow.”

“That’s the spirit, Mr. Gordon.”

“Now if you’ll just set those two kitchen chairs with their backs to the fire, I can sit like this and you can sit there and we can all drink our cocoa and have a nice chat.”

“That’s fine Mr. Gordon.  I sure hope you like it.  Polly put in all the ingredients, but I stirred.”

“It is delicious.  Thank you Polly, thank you Mr. Wellbright.”

“I sure wish you would call me Phil.  After all, we are neighbors, and I like to think you think of me as your friend.”

“Oh, do you live in the same town as Mr. Gordon?”

“Yes Polly, as a matter of fact Frankie and I both live in the same town as Mr. Gordon, and I just want to say to you Mr. Gordon how sorry I am for all the trouble we’ve–what’s that?”

“What Phil?”

“I smell something.”

“Smell something?  Like what?”

“Like something burning.”

“Of course, the fireplace is right behind you.”

“Not the fireplace,  unless you threw some old ropes in there.”

Polly stood up.  “Phil, the chair, it’s on fire!”

Phil stood up. “On fire?!”

“Fire!”   Mr Gordon stood up, clinging to his blanket.

“It sure is!   Polly, Mr. Gordon, you two better wait outside.  I think I can smother the fire with this blanket.”  With that decisive statement, and without hesitating another moment, Phil tore the blanket from Mr. Gordon’s grasp and proceeded to beat at the flames.

It is perhaps fortunate that so engrossed in the spectacle of the fire was Polly that she did not even notice the bare legs of Mr, Gordon as they hurried outside and turned to watch Phil’s struggle against the small conflagration from the safety of the snowy outdoors.

For his part, Mr. Gordon was speechless and dumbfounded, doubly stunned by the fearsome potential of his rented abode going up in flames, and the equally fearsome reality that the only pair of pants he owned within donning distance were at that moment succumbing to the same horrible fate.  How long Mr. Gordon would have remained in this spellbound state is uncertain if it had not been for the sound of approaching sleigh bells gently impressing themselves on his consciousness, followed by the more distinct sound of his wife’s voice calling his name.  Mr. Gordon responded to his beloved’s call like a delirious fever victim experiencing a miraculous recovery upon hearing the voice of a long -lost loved one.

“Martha?  Martha, is that you?”

“Oswald, what are you doing?”

“Martha, it is you.  Then I’m not dreaming.”

“No, you are not dreaming, but I believe you have some explaining to do.”

“Martha?”

“Get a hold of yourself, Oswald.  Look, Sam Rawlings is here, and so are Mrs. Springington, and Alice and Olivia. ”

“They’re with you too.  Yes, I see them.  What a pleasant surprise.  I’d invite you in only. . .”

“Oswald!  Look at yourself!”

“Martha?”

“Your pants!”

“My pants?”

As if on cue Phil came out of the house carrying the charred remains of Mr, Gordon’s pants at the end of a fireplace poker.  “Would you look at this, somebody’s pants were on fire.”

“My pants!  Good heavens.  Girls!  Ladies!”  With awareness suddenly returning to its throne, Mr. Gordon rushed to the cover of the nearest evergreen trees.

“Oswald, I believe you owe us an explanation.”

To which the trees seemed to answer.  “Yes dear.  If I could just trouble Mr. Wellbright to bring me, to bring me what’s left of those.”

“Sure Mr. Gordon, here you go.  I think I saved most of the seat for you.  The legs are pretty much gone though.”

“Thank you Mr. Wellbright.”  The tree seemed to swallow up the still smoking pants.  There was a rustling of needle covered branches, punctuated by an occasional “Ouch.”  In a moment Mr. Gordon appeared, looking from the waist down like one of those illustrations of a shipwrecked mariner whose frayed trousers cover just to the knees.

“Hello Martha.  Hello everyone.  So nice to see you all.  I suppose it’s safe to go inside now.”

“Just one moment Oswald.  You were about to give us an explanation.”

“An explanation?  Yes, well certainly.  An explanation. . . Did you happen to see Mr. Elliott running past you in the opposite direction?”

Mrs. Gordon stepped forward and put her arms around her husband.  “Oh Oswald, my poor dear.  You needn’t say another word.”

 

To be continued. . .

 

Copyright 2017 r.k.morris