Evening of the twenty-second day of the first month, 214.
"We here at the Church of Tubbius, mmph mmph, hold a special responsibility to Myrken Wood. We steward much of the remaining food and drink stores, hmph, which we have given to the least fortunate in town so that others might eat and know such bounty, mmph. Most of us here are among the wealthiest in the town."
Aloisius Horatio Treadwell pauses in his brief speech, here, to tug down at his yellow, ceremonial robe.
"Those who are, hmm hmm, have extensive families and staff waiting on us at home. Yet we cannot stop there, we children of Holy Tubbius!"
A huffy wheeze of breath; a rest of yellow-gloved, pudgy-fingered hands to belly behind the lectern that the rotund councilor and priest leans upon.
"The local businesses must know our support, in money and, if asked, other ways. Therefore, two mornings from now, I wish to see a group of us to gather here, mmph mmph, so that we might go together to the tea house of Petronela Kaczmarek, hmm hmm, to show support for her work here in town. She provides services, assistance, mmph, yet her business is knowing fewer customers as of late as people fall short of money. A dozen of us, I think, should go pay a visit. That should be a good, round number of good, round bodies, mmph mmph."
A nod. A lift of a baggy, yellow sleeve!
"Two mornings!. Dress yourselves well. Bring your wives, should they wish to come; tea and sandwiches and polite conversation are the matter, there. Nothing sordid, hmm hmm, nothing unsavory. We must help Myrken's shop owners and businesses, hmm hmm, if we are going to have a Myrken left!"
= = = = = = =
Noon, the twenty-fourth day of the first month, 214.
The tea house of Petronela Kaczmarek.
As promised to one of her girls earlier in the week, Councilor Treadwell and his entourage of Tubbian faithful arrive at the tea house. Yes, it is noon, but as they have already shared in a sizable lunch, no untoward gluttony or lack of manners will befall the location. Instead, with Aloisius politely leading the way with his beloved Alice beside, his arm around her waist, a group of eighteen steps up to the front entrance.
They are dressed in their finest of suits, robes, and dresses, these dozen men and half-dozen wives willing to accompany them. No priestly garments have been worn--at Treadwell's command! He wanted this to be a social gathering, not an opportunity to spread Tubbian faith to any others possibly in attendance. Unusual restraint is the command of the day.
Thus, social it is. Hats are lowered to mountainous middles by the various portly fellows. Treadwell gently thumps once with his cane, partly adjusting how he stands, and partly letting any others inside the tea house know of their arrival. An equally polite knock-knock follows on the door--one more signal, merely to see if the business is currently open.