Mortimer Butterfield—the richest man in the PL—has many sweet factories dotted across the land.
The professor was in one, some time last week.
I was shopping for chocolate (too many different types to choose from, muddles the brain) when Fats Henry appeared—not literally, of course.
“Well, P.VJ,” he boomed, “what are you up to?”
“I’m shopping for sweets,” I said.
“Yeah, me too,” Henry returned. “I like sweets.”
“I can tell.”
Henry shot the professor a mean look. “Oh, can you?”
“Have you ever thought about going on a diet?”
Henry scowled. “Diets are for those sad people who hate their fat! I love mine!”
“Hehaha.” Daddy Salami skipped up. “That’s sick, twisted, and sadistic, Fatty.”
“Stay out of this!” Fats Henry turned back towards me. “If you continue to pick on my fat, I’ll smother you with it!”
“Huff-Hum to you, madam,” I said—and I shouldn’t have. But the professor really didn’t give it much thought. In truth, it was a mistake. I think I meant well.
“What?!” Henry roared.
Salami laughed. “Take it like a fat boy, Fatty. Hehaha.”
And that’s when it happened.
Henry swung around and hit Salami in the mouth.
A sudden intake of breath by Salami. “Ya cur-trout!”
Salami jumped on Henry, and the two began to wrestle.
The professor made his getaway—without any sweets, I’m afraid.
Just a picture. This is a shot of one of Daddy Salami’s huts.