On "Merit"

Hiatus. Long hiatus. We were in Bombay. In the very same place where we were a year back. Horrible things happened then. This time, very cleverly, we went before the rains set in. [Aside: Go and read There's No Place Like Home. Its about Bombay, and rains, and home. And very nice.]

Anyway, we will now relate a short tale. Thanks to that man Keynes and his homosexual intrigues for introducing us to this parable.

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One sunny Spring mid-morning, Lord Pelf-Lucre returned home, after a few well-spent hours scaring poopless some hitherto carefree snipe that had been lurking in the fens adjoining one of the lakes in his private 10,000 acre estate. It was starting to get rather warm, and Pelf-Lucre was somewhat enervated after all the blundering through the reeds. He was fat, and tired, and was rather looking forward to his e. and b., the financial papers, and a snooze in his favourite chair in his favourite spot overlooking the rose garden and the yew alley.

As the hunting party drew up to the massive doors of Hoard Hall, Pelf-L. espied a supine figure on his impossibly green front lawn. Upon huffing and puffing a little nearer, he was able to see that a person of some sort, indeed, lay asleep on the verdure.

"Hoi!!", shouted the peer.

The sleeper awoke, slowly, and dragged himself to his feet. The vagabond (for such he was) squinted in the morning glare. His clothes were tattered, his body reeked, and what seemed to be the sum total of his worldly possesions were tied in a bundle, at the end of his staff.

"What do you think you're doing, eh?", said P-L.

"Jes' ketchin' some sleep guv'nor."

"And who gave you permission to plonk yourself on my property, you bounder?!!"

"Why no one guv'nor! Its jes' that me legs were sore on account of tramping around Shropshire..."

"Well, this is my house, and you can't trespass. So be off, or I'll set the footmen on you."

"An' 'ow did ye' come to own yon 'ouse, guv'nor?"

"You impudent rascal!! Do you have any idea who I am? I'm Lord Pelf-Lucre, and Hoard Hall has been in my family for 30 generations!"

"So i' was yer' fa'ther then tha' gave ye' yon castle?"

"Yes! Yes!! A thousand times yes!"

"And oo' did 'e get the 'ouse frae?"

"His father, you jackass!"

"And oo' did 'e get the 'ouse frae?"

"His father, you [gaali goes here]"

This went on for a bit. After about 5 minutes, they had worked their way backwards through Pelf-Lucre's geneology. Presently, they were talking about the first Lord Pelf-Lucre.

"And oo' did the first Lord Pelf-Lucre get the house 'frae?"

"I've sent for the constabulary, but since we have a little time, and you insist on keeping up with these asinine questions, I'll have you know that the first Lord Pelf-Lucre was a knight of the realm under William the Conqueror. He fought tooth and nail and spilled his blood and wrested Hoard Hall and this estate from some nameless barbarian who probably deserved everything he got!", panted Pelf-Lucre, and wiped his sweaty brow with a silk kerchief.

The tramp unhitched the bundle from the end of his staff (which was rather stout and business like), dropped the bundle on the ground, and stretched to his full height.

"Well, then. Let's fight."

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Meanwhile, in other news, the reservation ruckus continues.

[This Just In (May 22, 2010!): Indisch has drawn it!]