Fritz Twist Grist Mill was the best flourmaker in the district, a local institution that Mogey and Smush visited frequently. Counterintuitively, however, they usually kept their modest cereal crop at home and turned it into just that - cereal (Froot Loops, or occasionally, Sugar Smacks) - so the pals rarely had any grains for Fritz Twist to grind. The product they really came to traffic in was the second specialty of Fritz Twist and millers everywhere: gossip.
"Oy oy, Fritz," said Smush as the pals strode into the grist mill, "what's the good word?"
"Grmph," grunted the be-overalled artisan without looking up from his spinning millstone.
"Got some news for us then, Twisty my boy?" Mogey queried.
"Ech," Fritz replied, even gruffer than before.
"Surely you've heard some update about who poisoned Oink O'Dooley's prize pig?" Smush asked. "Or the Pickleburt twins: which one chose true love and which one chose to inherit their father's duck, bean, and oatmeal farm?"
"Meh," Fritz responded, with a shrug of his shoulders. But just then, Byron Pickleburt himself entered the mill carrying an immense sack of oats, his normally immaculate hat covered in bean vines and duck feathers.
"Oh ho ho!" Mogey exclaimed, pointing at the twin and tsking his tongue. "I see we have our answer. Choosing money over love - it's no wonder they call you 'Buy-ron.' But how can you live with yourself, knowing that the lovely Miss Dahlia Chung will be on the arm of your infernal twin Pepper Pickleburt forever more?"
"Wot?" said Byron in a daze.
"Everytime I think you can't possibly out-tittle-tattle yourself..." Smush murmured to the grist mill's proprietor. "Fritzy, you old scandalmonger, you've done it again!"
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