My traveling fox and his stories…
Before Bartholomew, the stupendous hat of Arnold Bean found itself the topic of a great scandal in the Montgomery account, a collection of old letters.
The old tale of Bartholomew Jones, who happened upon the stupendous, yet mysterious hat of Arnold Bean, in the days when its dear owner was lost. (currently being revised)
While the legend of Arnold Bean’s stupendous hat has many beginnings, there is one so incredibly unnecessary it is entirely necessary.
Yet again, but three days from your departure I hear of you. Had I ever been so daft not to see that sparkle of mischief in your eyes, not to suspect my furry “pet” — to be so foolish a word — of so famed a respect. Thankfully, I learned well to admire the surprising talent and cleverness you draw about. So, not a dull fish in its dull bowl, but the good company of an odd little fox.
I suppose our friendship should be so, as I myself am odd as you. And, I admit, I have given in and put flowers in my tea! You’ve rubbed off, my friend. Even this moment, if you’d believe it, I’ve mixed a few dandelions with my usual lapsang.
Still awaiting your teaching me Castilian. Your continual holiday leaves make this endeavour so very troublesome. I am glad we worked on a little Italian, lest that turned to the nonsuccess of French, which I know your fondness of, yet Castilian seems to be following its same path. (Please do not reply with a letter for translation — you know that does me little good.) Either way, I suspect we will be about it shortly. I can smell it in the air, Sire. Perhaps your next return.
You will be pleased to find your package of brooches and custom ties has arrived. It came about shortly following my letting you off at the station. Also, I should mention, there was a small tear in your knit coat, for which I did my best to mend. I will send a letter to Conall for an appraisal of its replacement, and perhaps he may add a few special adjustments to better fit your usual ‘active’ lifestyle. The burn marks are still singed into your denim bowtie; I haven’t any idea how that could have happened.
I expect, good sir, to hear of your recent traverses on my next letterbox inspection, though I won’t hold my breath. Your desk’s archive is ever so dusty, it would be a shame to remain so much longer.
Awaiting your holiday’s return.