I tidied his living room, making neat stacks of his papers, carefully organizing the sheet music on the piano, and arranging his books by author and subject.
Mr. Wintermint had a decidedly eclectic attitude towards decoration. Most of his belongings seemed to have been acquired on impulse from persuasive door-to-door salespersons. A trombone, for example, stood leaning against the wall, next to a slightly spindled original replica print of an etching of a water lily. An overturned teacup threatened to drip tea on the print, so you mopped up the spill, and dried the floor.
Stacks of books, many of them long overdue to the circulating library, filled the floor. Many of them had bookmarks in them at about the tenth page. You organized these, and put the ones that were due to be returned in a stack by the door.
You were sorting his papers by urgency, amount of money due, and the party to whom the money is due, when Rory returned, cheerfully puffing on a cigarette.
"Good Lord," he said. "You are a wonder, Pennyworth. You're hired."
"Thank you, sir. I already took the liberty of discarding the other applicants' letters."
----
And Now, Five Years Later
----
Laden tray in hand, you open the door to the suffering Rory's bedroom.
"Your tray, sir."
"Oh, thank heavens, Pennyworth. You are a celestial messenger bearing tidings of great joy unto me."
You place the tray on the bed, and Rory attempts to heave himself to a sitting position, but then flops back on the pillow, clutching his head.
"I am not well, Pennyworth," Rory intones. "I will likely die before sundown. If I die, I leave you half my kingdom."
"Very good, sir. But before that dreadful event, I wonder if you might care for a beverage."
Rory catches wind of the feast you have arranged for him and seems to perk up.
"The coffee…is that freshly ground?"
"Of course, sir. Finely ground, a dark roast, from Colombia, I believe."
Rory makes a mighty effort and grasps one of the mugs of coffee, drinking deeply. After a deep draught, Rory tucks into the food with a will, while you replace various things knocked off shelves since your last tidying.
"That's the stuff!" Rory says at last, with a contented sigh.
Rory suddenly makes a sour face and claps his hand to his forehead. "Is today Thursday? I had completely forgotten. Aunt Primrose is coming to dinner tonight! She rang up the other day and, like an ass, I said, 'Very well.' We'll have to work swiftly, Pennyworth."
He leaps up, and you whip the tray away so that its contents don't spill. Rory rushes to the vast wardrobe and begins to pull clothes out of it haphazardly.
"As you well know, Pennyworth, thanks to the proviso in my father's will, my Aunt Primrose holds control over all of my money whilst I remain unmarried. Now, this is not usually a problem, as Aunt Primrose sends off my monthly checks as steady as can be. But, this month, I seem to have dug myself into a bit of a trench, debt-wise."
"How so, sir?"
"It's a funny thing, actually. I was absolutely certain of this one particular horse in the third race. They called him Surefire. Can they do that? Isn't that false advertising? At any rate, I spent the whole monthly check on Surefire, and it was not to be. And now the bill collectors are coming round and demanding that I render unto Caesar what is Caesar's, as the fellow says. We may have some small risk of having thuggish debt collectors arrive with lead pipes."
1. "If it helps in any way, I would be willing to work for free this month, sir."
2. "If any debt collectors show up, I'll see them out. Never you fear about that, sir."
3. "Ah…I understand the importance of Aunt Primrose's visit."
4. "Most distressing, sir, to be sure."