The Beetle and Mr Bottle

and Mr. Bottle, a tale well calculated to keep you in. Suss, bents. If you go all begun so harmlessly, that's the devil of it. You see, I'm a widower. My daughter, Diana, was happily married, and I'd been living alone for the last eight years.

It wasn't exactly an ideal existence, but I wasn't unhappy either. There was my job with fixed in in Trozbury. I was a senior bookkeeper now. And of course at home, there was my god. I remember it was a Sunday and Diana had unexpectedly come by for a little visit.

How do you like this one, dear? Isn't he lovely? Going to be champion this year. We might even take best in the show. Miss hybrid T and I? I'm sure you will. Father, I came over because, well, George and I have been sort of discussing it lately about your retirement next year.

Oh? Little wondering if you've decided what you're going to do with yourself. Of course, you can always come and live with us. But... Oh, no, my dear, that's awfully good of you, but I wouldn't think of it.

Two's company, you know. Beside it just wouldn't seem natural, not having my garden. But you can't garden all the time, Father. And without your job to occupy, you might finally get in a little bit lonely.

What about a companion father marrying again? Marrying? Yeah, you probably know it doesn't eligible women if you let yourself think about it. Really, Diana? Who would want to marry me? Anybody would and be happy to...

Will you think about it, father? No reason on earth, why usually... Well, I... I really don't know if you want me to. I suppose it won't hurt to think about it. That's all. Thought of preparation for retirement.