“Bravo, Miss Binks!” said Peter. “We’re with you all the way.”
“Then perhaps you can start by persuading Professor Enderble to speak a few words on behalf of the local fauna at the funeral service? Oh dear, I do hope Grandfather’s not too soggy to cremate. It would cost a fortune to have his body shipped back from the West Coast in its present condition. But then, I do have a fortune to spend, don’t I? I shall have to give careful thought to the funeral. One hates to be vulgarly ostentatious, but a multimillionaire mustn’t be chintzy. Dear me, I find myself quite looking forward to affluence. Frailty, thy name is Binks. By the way, Professor Shandy, what happened to the soap-works weather vane?”
“My wife got it back.”
“Oh, jolly good show! Now we can always go and see which way the wind is blowing. An excellent thing for us survivalists to be aware of, shouldn’t you think? Let’s see, we have to collect the ninety million dollars, arrange to bury Grandfather, browbeat Sam Snell into rebuilding the soap factory, and do our bit for the pokeweed. Well, that should do for a start. We’ll tackle the big jobs later. Now, gentlemen, give me five minutes to titivate, and we’ll be off.”
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copyright © 1989 by Charlotte MacLeod
cover design by Mauricio Díaz
978-1-4532-7749-2
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The Luck Runs Out Page 23
