It was a busy day at Mogey and Smush's florist and ironworks shop, Petals to Metals, but the proprietors still found time to deliver excellent service to those customers who seemed like they needed assistance and/or did not have much knowledge about the actual prices of various flowers and/or metallic sculptures.
"Excuse me?" said a man wearing a sweater vest and dockers. Smush gave Mogey their standard sign for an excellent "customer service" target - an elbow to the ribs and a loud oink. "I'm sorry to trouble you," the man continued, "you must be overwhelmed with so many people in the shop."
"Nonsense," Mogey replied. "We always have time for each and every one of our marks-- er... customers. What can I do for you?"
"I was hoping to buy a bouquet for my sweetheart."
"How wonderful. And what sort of flower does this sweetheart - she sounds lovely, by the way - what sort of flowers and/or metallic sculptures does she typically like?"
"She's quite fond of baby's breath."
"Ah yes, of course, of course," Mogey said. "Well if she likes baby's breath, she's going to love its cousin: an absolutely stunning blossom called drunkard's belch. Smush? Oh, Smush?" Mogey called.
"Mmmyes," Smush answered as though he hadn't been standing two feet away listening intently.
"Have we got any of that drunkard's belch left?"
"We do have just enough for one bouquet. And may I say that if someone was looking to make a bouquet for his, let's say for hypothetical reasons and with no prior knowledge of the situation, his sweetheart, the drunkard's belch pairs very nicely with these blooms here." Smush gestured to a bunch of greenish gold blossoms.
"What are they called?" asked Sweater Vest Wes, as Mogey had begun mentally describing their guest.
"Sardine eater's exhale," Smush replied.
"I'll take them! How much do I owe you gentlemen for this fine bouquet?"
"Let's see," said Mogey, tallying some numbers up on the back of wanted poster he'd ripped down from building next door because the suspect looked like him, only more dashing, "a bouquet of drunkard's belch and sardine eater's exhale comes to... what've you got in that little money pouch of yours, anyway?
"Looks like I have 22-- no, 23 gold guineas," Sweater Vest Wes responded.
"That'll be 23 gold guineas," Smush announced.
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