3 bar menu

Vol.7, Ch.2, P.8

“Nap” was the word. I don’t know if you’ve ever had the pleasure, but it was most extraordinary down here in the bush. Absolutely bed-ish, if you know what I mean. The air was cool, the turf soft, the flowers sweet, the bugs non-belligerent, and a thievish view of the outside was courteously provided. Amenities of the first water, no question about it.

But, it’d been amidst that restorative doss when I was rudely roused by a general hustle. Thrusting face through foliage, I peeped out, and found that Polliwog and his well-oiled tongue of a chum hadn’t been lying: a company of their blood-sucking fellows really had come to set up shop at the old bookhouse.

Sweat exuded. Had I gone in for the more manmade side of the accommodations over there, then pip, pandemonium, and