At Work Again

At Work Again

Postby Treadwell » Fri May 20, 2016 3:38 am

"I will not just sit here in this chair losing money, mmph, and doing nothing!"

So was Aloisius Treadwell's declaration to his Alice this morning before he, Gregory his butler, and one of his four guards left to go to the toy shop. Now, on the twentieth of the fifth month, 216, he sits in his wheelchair in the middle of the toy shop, hands resting atop the purple blanket tucked in around his legs, pipe fluffing occasionally in his mouth.

"I need that belt hanging on the wall, Carson," to the guard with a waggle of the feather duster in his hand as he busily cleans at the nearest table of stuffed creatures. "And I will need help standing long enough to put it on." Of course, that means fetching the belt of tools and pouches in question, followed by lifting Mr. Treadwell upright long enough so that he can tie the belt in place around his middle. Back into the chair he goes, again tucking the blanket in around his legs, under belly and belt.

"There! Now, sir, if you would be so kind as to push me there behind the counter so that I can sit and work, hm hm?" Silent submission follows; the chair is hefted into motion, rolling around tables and countertop until the toymaker grunts and nods.

"Feel free to do what you like, hm hm, or look about if anything interests you, or just to sit there by the fireplace, though you do not really need, hmph, to start a fire, I think. Light us some lamps, though, if you please?"

As Carson takes to doing as asked, moving around the shop to fill lamps and see them lit, Aloisius takes to knitting, his plump fingers displaying nimbleness one might not expect as he works. "The fellow who hurt me, mmph, Carson, stole a bag of finished toys from me, mmph, stuff that I was hoping to sell at good profit. Add to that the time I have lost these weeks sitting and lying at home, hrm hrm, eating and sleeping, and I have lost quite a bit of money this month, mmph, and have naught to show. I will not leave, mmph, this building until evening, when Gregory returns with Arnold and the carriage. I have too much work to do!"

Amazing output follows, at least at first; despite the belt's aggravation of his still very tender stomach, the owner of Tready's Toys does exactly what he said he would do: work. When he stops for lunch, a small zoo of stuffed animals rests on his counter. Lunch, however, brings the jolly fellow's pace to a stop. First, there is the matter of tossing out aged food untouched in the last two weeks. Next comes the problem of sending Carson to buy more--not the guard's hired duty, but it is much easier than rolling Treadwell about the market place. Then, there is the matter of fixing the meal for the two, which puts Treadwell on his feet, and that means being in pain, and that means glutting himself on the assembled food, and that?

That means a nap in his wheelchair in the kitchen, much to Carson's softly chuckling amusement.

It is around two, or perhaps three, when Treadwell rouses, bleary-eyed and grumbly about nodding off, but back to work he goes, feverishly adding to his new creations. By the time that Gregory returns with the carriage and Arnold--and the unexpected visitor of the five-year-old Frederick, who comes scurrying into the toy shop and making a line straight for his father's lap once the tool belt is removed--Treadwell is completely tuckered out. Of course, he is not so exhausted as to give the plump child proper squooshy hugs and soft kisses, which prompts a happy wiggling of the boy's most unusual pig's tail that he was born with, which (in turn) prompts a sigh from the father and yet another warning to not let other children or their parents see the child's robe mysteriously squirming at his behind.

Afterward, at evening, as promised, lights are snuffed, pipe is refilled and lit again for the third or fourth time, new toys are arranged on tables, and the butler, father, son, and guard all board the carriage, with the toymaker's chair hefted into the coach first and then the toymaker. The ride home is short enough, though humid. It is a wheezy, huffy Aloisius who emerges from the carriage at home, sinking into his chair and taking his son onto his blanketed lap for the ride into the house.
"Looks like a table to me. Do you think it could hold up someone as bulbous as Treadwell?" -- Dr. Brennan, Myrken Wood Rememdium Edificium
User avatar
Treadwell
Member
 
Posts: 2101
Joined: Sun Mar 16, 2003 5:00 am
Location: NC, USA

Return to Myrken Wood



Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 18 guests

cron