The Selling of the Halfmast, III

    Our story so far: The Halfmast Tavern has been sold, Magillcuddy has packed and left and the new owner stands, as a shadowy figure, in the doorway behind Mr. Kent, who just happens to be standing in front of it. As we join our story this week, the new owner steps out of the doorway behind Mr. Kent into the light in front of him (Mr. Kent, that is, who is standing in front of the door and presently will be behind her. the new owner, who was, for the better part of a week, standing in the doorway waiting for me to write this column. During that time, Mr. Kentt was in front of her, standing in the light and casting a huge shadow that obscured the new owner who was standing behind him in the dark). Got that? Well we're going ahead with the story anyway.
     The shadowy figure behind Mr. Kent stepped forward into the light. We all took a step back and Mr. Kent gave us a puzzled look when we did. Cujo pointed a shaky finger at the advancing figure. Mr. Kent turned around, saw the shadowy figure coming toward him and jumped a mile -- literally. Funny thing is, he never came down, just floated off.
     The mysterious figure stepped forward into the light.
     "Whatsa mattah witch youse guys? Ya nevah seena bahtenda ba-fore?"
     From the back of the room came the voice of Mac Murphy. "Yew gotta be kidden' me!" I turned and gave Mac a look, then turned back to the mysterious figure.
     "I beg you pardon, madam."
     She cut me off with, "I ain't no madam. I own this place, itsa bahr an I expeck ta run a re-specktable joint. An if youse guys know what's good for ya, yew'll go along wit the program."
     I stood there transfixed. She was five foot two of bombast, green eyes that flashed like lightening and, despite her tough talk, a smile as big as all Ireland. I knew I'd be spending more time at the Halfmast. "My apologies, miss. What I meant to say was that my friend Mac was probably having trouble understanding you. Where are you from anyway?"
     "I'm from Brooklyn, U.S.A. an' ya bettah not say a word agin' it!"
     "Uh, no ma'am! So what are your plans for the Halfmast? All of us here have been regulars for several years and it's been a home away from home for most of us."
     "Yeah I know. I been lookin' ovah the chits and I think some of youse should leave home and get a job!"
     Well, that put more than a little pressure on me since everybody worked for the Grumpy Bachelor International Cartel and World-Wide Mega-Monopoly, Ltd. They all had my personal IOUs but little in the way of disposable income. Well, I would inform Miss Kitty that everybody's financial situations would change for the better when the Grumpy Bachelor Spring Collection was finally released sometime this December or maybe February. Exactly how I was going to explain the Spring Collection to her was a stumper. Or the rest of the GBICWWMM,L for that matter. Maybe I could win her over by offering her a teaching job at Grumpy U. The pay's not great, but on the other hand there are no students yet so it was not going to require a lot of showing up.
     I was suddenly yanked from my reverie when I heard a collective gasp behind me. I looked up in time to see a shadowy figure standing in the doorway behind Miss Kitty.

NEXT WEEK: Well, I'll just cross that bridge when I come to it. (Oh, and don't forget the web page at http://grumpybachelor.iwarp.com and the radio program Sundays from 11 a.m. to 1 p.m. 91.9 FM WKCO, Kenyon College radio.)

George Breithaupt is a photographer and copy editor for the Mount Vernon News. And, of course, he writes this weekly column, which, we guess is OK with us for now. It's that much less that we have to write. But if we ever start using a bigger weather map ...