This professor was nervous.
And I’m usually never nervous. (Well, in all truth, I’m only nervous on a few severe occasions that pop to mind.)
In fact, they are thinking about getting married. (Personally, this professor has struggled with how a prince could marry a queen, but I suppose it’s possible. They’re around the same age, I think.)
Anyway, back to why this professor was nervous. I was nervous, because I had decided to bring Daddy Salami along to the ball.
He wasn’t invited.
It was a lowdown, dastardly thing to do, I know, but I was curious as to how Daddy Salami would affect the ball.
I totally regretted my decision—as soon as we were admitted into the ballroom.
It was rather busy, you know.
Prince Beef spotted us, and made his way over.
He looked delighted.
“My man,” he said to me, “look about you once, twice, then thrice; and tell me: do you see Mr. Ratherquite or his pesky fly-ladies?”
The professor looked about.
“I do not,” I answered.
The prince nodded happily. “And you are right! Now…do you know how I could possibly have this ball and not have those things here?”
“I’ll give you a hint,” the prince continued, staring loftily at the ceiling. “It has to do with my discriminating wit.” [Editor’s note: In the PL, “discriminating wit” refers to the highest of intellects.]
“You know,” this professor said, “I really don’t know how you did it. If it was my party, I wouldn’t have been able to accomplish it—without a weapon of some sort.”
This made Prince Beef even happier.
“I,” he began, “I kept them away…by—are you ready for this?—by inviting them!”
The prince laughed happily. “That’s how it’s done!”
Now, Daddy Salami had kept quiet—and stationary—the whole time, which is a few wonders, and maybe some more on top.
But he finally broke his silence here.
“Listen, cur-face,” he said to the prince, “enough of yer stupid stories. Where’s the prince?”
It was the worst insult ever.
Prince Beef began to shake involuntarily. And he turned red.
“Arrest him!” he screamed, pointing to Daddy Salami.
A chase followed, and I fear that the whole party was rather ruined.
Luckily, Salami was in a rather decent mood. He was laughing and skipping as they chased him about.
When it was over, and Salami had been chased out of the palace, Prince Beef looked about at his soiled party, annoyed guests, and…well, me.
“I don’t remember inviting that hound,” he announced, both hands on his hips. “Didn’t he come in with you, P.VJ?”
Luckily, I was saved from answering.
At that moment, three more people entered the ballroom.
“Oh my,” one said, “I am so sorry I’m late. The Ladies—they can take forever to get ready, you know.”
It was Mr. Ratherquite and his Ladies.