Christ, Ye Olde Miser returned in his usual bluster. You'd think another round of wearing out that old part would get him to lay off for a little while, but oh no, not a chance of that. The bastard wasn't in for five minutes before he started griping about the hedges (for Christ's sake, he checked them before even coming into the house, just left Mama waiting at the door). Now he's running his mouth--with Mama waiting on him hand and foot, listening to his every goddamned word--and throwing me a lecture here and there, for good measure. "Remember thou art worthless." Thank you.
Papa, I've got something to say: To hell with your hedges. I'm going into town. Now reason to stay here.
I did leave a surprise in the bastard's room. Those bottles of whiskey he was expecting to come home to? Ohhh, they're here all right, and waiting in his room... Problem is, they're empty. Let's see whether Papa knows how to solve this little dilemma.
In the meanwhile, I'm getting the hell out of here.