This Be The Verse

From the journal of Rev. Stanley Sims:

“Another crumpet, old man?” I enquired of my dearest friend, Father J.Beckett, as we sat, wrapped in towels, shivering by the parlour fire, our clerical robes and underwear drying slowly on the clotheshorse beside us. It had been one of the most traumatic christenings in the history of our Parish, nearly costing Beckett and I our very sanity! One day, Gentle Reader, I shall record The Flapper's Last Dance for prosperity, but today I reflect upon the queer events that immediately followed that uncanny episode, when our evening’s recuperation was rudely interrupted by a sharp rapping upon the Vicarage door.
“Good Lord, Beckett! Who on Earth could that be?” I cried, clasping the towel tightly around my chubby little waist as I hobbled awkwardly to the entrance-hall, leaving a damp trail in my wake.
“If that’s a certain Ms. Celia Smythe,” called out Beckett, ruefully, “I do believe that I am currently delivering a sermon in a town some miles away from here!”
“Oh, Beckett!” I chortled. “Whatever next!”
However, upon answering the door, my good humour died instantly, usurped by complete and utter dumbstruck horror! For there, upon our steps, stood a stooped, dwarf of a man, ancient of years, reeking of cheap gin, and clothed in the ill-fitting garb of a labourer!
“Is this th’ ‘ome of the priests?” he asked, ungraciously.
“Indeed it is,” I replied, standing my ground.
“Good! Take me to Beckett!”
Obviously, this old ‘ragamuffin’ and manners were not close acquaintances!
“I say!” I cried indignantly, as the ‘hobgoblin’ attempted to force his scrawny body over our threshold.
Alerted by the commotion, Father Beckett suddenly appeared in the hallway behind me, towelled-up like an Arabian Prince, with a face so stern that it froze the old man in his tracks. The creature immediately ceased his struggling and squinted up at Beckett, an awful sneer spread across his features.
“ ‘Ello, Jim,” wheezed this unkempt paradigm of ill-sought pleasures.
“Heaven’s above, Beckett! Surely you don’t actually know this morbid sinner?”
“I’m afraid I do, Sims. I’m afraid I do,” replied my friend, grimly, before addressing the ‘wizard’: “I suppose you had better come in…Father!”

To Be Continued...