The reception area [at the college] turned out to be very small indeed. It was really only a conference room furnished with one long table. A few dubious looking refreshments resided on one end and Cousin Bartholomew lounged at the other.
“University food’s rubbish,” he said, glowering at the tray across from him and chewing the end of a pencil with a vengeance, as if to proclaim it more edible than said ‘rubbish.’ “Hallo, Dad. Barney.”
“I’ll just go find Messr. Clyde, shall I?” Uncle Baxter patted Barney briskly on the back. “Do catch up in the meantime, boys; I know it’s been a while.”
The door closed behind his tousled silvery pate, and the two young men were left staring at one another.
“I take it you didn’t mention our meeting yesterday,” Bartholomew said at last. “What! Afraid he’d find out about your tantrum?”
“Barty, I’m really—”
“—wasting my time? Yes. I’d offer you a sandwich, but that would be wasting both your time and appetite. Tea?” He sprang out of the chair suddenly and strolled around the table to the tea tray.
“Bartholomew.”
“Water’s tepid, if that,” his cousin sniffed, fiddling with the creamer jug.
“Bartholomew.”
“Good heavens. Cream bordering on sour.”
“Bartholomew…”
“Hum. Best check the sugar, too. Um.” He crunched a sugar lump ponderously. “Yes. Still good. Then again, better try another one. I mean, sugar can’t go bad, allegedly, but a college setting’s enough to sour anything—”
“BARTHOLOMEW BARTEMIUS BAXTER BLUNT THE THIRD!”
The man in question choked on his third lump of sugar. His red-crested brow furrowed above a pair of violently watering eyes. “Lower your voice, cousin!” he wheezed furiously. “’Bartholomew’ on its own is bad enough to threaten the healthy state of one’s social life. But the full name? Try feeding a pig arsenic—it has that sort of effect on friendships. You can’t just tell people your old man hung “Bartholomew Bartemius Baxter Blunt” about your neck and expect them to continue in company with you, even if it happened before you were old enough to argue the matter. Tacking on ‘the third’ only convinces them that some long-standing multi-generational lunacy resides in the family. And I don’t care if there’s nobody else right here—this place is cheaply built. Walls like parchment-paper. Someone who knows me might be walking by and hear you.” He peered curiously into the sugar bowl again. “I say, I didn’t think sugar would taste so good on its own. Have you tried it?”
“Did you say ‘social life’? The last time I saw you, you were hobnobbing rather closely with some dusty old volumes—but even if one of them does happen to be lying about these hallowed hallways, I think you’re safe. Books don’t commonly have ears.”
Bartholomew chose to ignore this jab. He was better occupied with a fourth piece of sugar.
The last excerpt he was interesting...this one he's just annoying. I feel for poor barney.(that is his name right?)
You catch me laughing when one fellow asks the other if he's tried sugar. :)
That was cheering to read, thank you : )
*laughs* *laughs* *laughs* :o)
Oh, dear... his bit about the full name did have me laughing rather loudly.
Ah--and my sisteryn to whom I hath showed it also agrees on it's being of good quality. ;)