On March 2nd, 1914, my life was changed forever. I was taking a walk
along Baker Street in order that I might reach my office uptown.
Normally, I would have driven but I had been quite angry with my
driver, who could never seem to figure out how to take a bloody right
turn without making me spill whatever tasty elixir I was sipping on
that particular day. Good help is so very difficult to find, isn't it?
I felt that I was making poor time, and so decided to take a shortcut.
I felt I could chance a walk under the Bainsbourough Bridge. I had
never walked under that particular structure before because I had heard
it was haunted by a cadre of ill-proportioned ghosts (call me
superstitious). But anything would be more desirable than having to
listen to the pleas of that wretched vagabond in front of Dr. Monroe's
penny candy shoppe. That creature always makes manages to make me
queasy, and there is a limit to how much change a gentleman can heave
into the gutter to distract a person.
I reached the bridge, and made the sign of the seven-pointed-star
across my chest with my left hand. This was supposed to create a ward
against spiritual assault, but as you will see, it proved wretchedly
innefective. As I entered I spotted a pile of refuse sitting near one
of the bridge support struts. Coming closer, and I saw that this was no
pile of refuse, but a disgusting individual who saw fit to clothe
himself in rags (a disgusting habit to say the least). I cursed aloud,
but then realized my manners and excused my rash behavior.
As the filthy tramp saw me approach, he managed pulled his obviously
inebriated self groggily onto his feet, and made a show of stumbling
towards me. Needless to say, I was mortified at the notion of this
filthy thing coming anywhere near my personage, so I did what any self
respecting gentleman would have done, I took out my firearm, and gave
the old chap a sound pistolthrashing. As the despicable miscreant fell
to the ground, I caught sight of a small paper which had landed on the
pavement. The good fellow had left me a crisp federal reserve note as a
going away present!
And so, friends I leave you with the moral of the story, which had been written upon the note: