At precisely 4 o’clock in the afternoon the bell rang. Mr. Stilts looked up from his copy of The Industrialization of Massachusetts and the Resulting Effects on the Financial Outlook of New England by Professor Edgar Felter, determining his next step. It had been the bell of the back door that had been rung and that bell had only been rung twice before in his seven years on 244A Pace Avenue. The first time, he had answered the door to find no one except a large hydrangea bush along the brick that seemed to be giggling guiltily in the voices of several small children. The second time was a few minutes later following that occasion, upon which he had done nothing but return to his chair and remain there. The giggling seemed to find this particular door a waste of time and had moved on, and Mr. Stilts and his back door had been left undisturbed for several years.
He did feel threatened, but he did hope whatever was on the other side of the door would not take long, as his coffee had just arrived at the perfect moderate temperature and he disdained it any other way. He stood up and walked down the side hall, setting Professor Felter’s volume on the small square table next to his cautiously patterned armchair, tugging on his vest to straighten it as he approached the door. He peered through the window of the door as he gripped the brass handle, but it was too dusty and too small to see anything of consequence. As he opened the door, the afternoon sun caught him briefly in the eyes so that he had to blink several times before he could focus on the inquirer, that is, if there had been one standing there. Like the last time the bell had rung, there was no one on the doorstep, but this time the hydrangea bush kept its mirth to itself.
Mr. Stilts looked around for a moment, mumbling about the disturbance, then saw a cane leaning against the vined bricks to the right of the door, a letter attached to the handle. As Mr. Stilts did not use a cane, this was unusual, and also because the cane appeared to be expensive, not something a person would be likely to drop or forget on a quite back door on Pace Avenue. He glanced around once more to look for anything else unusual before bringing the cane inside. As he walked back to his chair, he studied the cane. It was made of a light colored wood, and seemed to be rather sturdy. It was ornately carved with various swirls and patterns of turtles, with the handle carved to look like a turtle shell.
Sitting down again, Mr. Stilts untied the twine that held the letter to the cane and observed it. The envelope, addressed Stilts, 244A Pace Avenue, Back Door, was of brown paper and the carrier stamp seemed foreign, although he did not recognize any of the symbols or words denoting the location of the sender.
The return address was also strange, as Nettersome, On Behalf of Lord Terrytone, Hilldon Manor was not a formal address by any means. “Where in heavens is Hilldon Manor?” Mr. Stilts muttered acquired his letter opener from the drawer of his straight-laced desk. Sitting again in his chair, he opened the envelope, pulled out the letter, and read the precise writing:
Mr. Stilts,
Although it has taken a great deal of time to locate you, it has been done at last. Please accept our apologies and the late delivery of your cane.
Dutifully,
Nettersome, secretary to Lord Terrytone
Mr. Stilts looked from the letter in his hand to the cane, now leaning against the chair, and back again to the letter. He pondered, wondering if in some moment wild carelessness he had ordered a cane, which would be utter foolishness, as he had two perfectly capable feet. But the memory of his perfectly balanced register completed even this morning reminded him that not a cent was missing, so such a falling out could not have occurred. He sipped his coffee, decided it must be a mistake, and relocated to his desk.
Mr. Nettersome,
As I did not order such an object, I believe there to be some sort of mistake, and am thusly returning the cane.
Sincerely,
Mr. Stilts
The first problem arose after folding the letter and sealing the envelope, setting to address it. He studied the return address on the received letter, and came to the most logical conclusion he could, given the odd style.
Return to Sender (Nettersome
On Behalf of Lord Terrytone Hilldon Manor)
The second problem arose after attaching the letter to the cane, with where to put it. Coming again to the conclusion to follow suit, Mr. Stilts returned to the back door, turned the brass handle, and placed the cane where he had found it, leaning against the brick wall. Peering through the bright rays of the sun as it blazed once more before resting, he was satisfied no one had seen him perform this odd act. He closed the door and returned to his chair.
He was afforded a few moments of peace with his coffee and Professor Felter’s Industrialization of Massachusetts, enough time for him to decide the matter had been dealt with and was of no more concern to him, when the doorbell rang again. He stood up in a huff and hurried to the door, determined to catch the one who would bother his evening. But again, after turning the brass handle and opening the door, he was left standing with just the silent hydrangea. The cane was leaning against the bricks, but in a different spot. In place of the crisp white letter he had placed there was another brown one addressed same fashion as the first. He huffingly brought the cane inside again, retrieved the letter opener, and repeated the procedure.
Mr. Stilts,
There has not been a mistake. If you are in the business of ordering canes, that is your own to attend to and not the concern of Lord Terrytone. As for this cane, it is yours and is to be delivered as requested.
Assuredly,
Nettersome, secretary to Lord Terrytone
P.S. Please do not use Front Door Post for such matters as it has been known to be, unreliable.
“Well I never!” Mr. Stilts leaned back into his chair, though the stiffness of it did not allow him to sink far. He read the letter again. “Front door post?” he emphasized each word, muttered to himself, for indeed there was no one else around to mutter to. “What sort of flowers is that Nettersome fellow smelling?” he stood up, perhaps a bit more determinedly that before, and again took his place at his desk.
Mr. Nettersome,
I don’t know what sort of business it is that you run, sending things to people that they didn’t ask for and certainly don’t need, but if it is some idea of a joke, I do not see the humor in it. The cane is not mine, it never was, nor shall it ever be. Very kindly accept its return and my apologies to you and Lord Terrytone for any confusion.
Sincerely,
Mr. Stilts
As he set about addressing the envelope, Mr. Stilts paused. He looked over the two previously received letters. “Perhaps if I play along just this once, they will stop?” he asked himself, sliding the tip of his gold pen across the front.
Nettersome
On Behalf of Lord Terrytone Hilldon Manor
Back Door
Mr. Stilts tied the smooth letter to the cane as before, turned the brass knob, and leaned it against the bricks. Assured that he would no longer be bothered, Mr. Stilts did not return to his living room, but walked to the front door to fetch his hat and jacket, deciding that supper at Piner’s Café and Coffee would be most agreeable.