Yesterday morning, Standish brought a letter from my fiancée, Miss Bernadette Fiske. I was so excited to get it, I pissed my swaddling-wraps clean through to the bed-sheets. "Do tell me that Miss Fiske is finally coming to the estate, Standish, and with my baby son in tow!" I cried. "How my heart aches for them so!"

"Sir," Standish said, his mouth taut and face white. "Please once again pardon my opining about your personal affairs, but I must insist that you are the victim of an extortion-swindle. This so-called 'Miss Fiske' has fabricated the existence of an infant Zweibel heir to relieve you of a good deal of money. There are people all over the Republic who have designs for the fortunes of plutocrats, and you must not consider your-self immune to such nefarious machinations. You must believe me, sir, I submit this not for the sake of contrariness, but fully in the spirit of the stead-fast fealty with which I have served you for lo these many years."

With the help of my iron-lung, I heaved a heavy sigh. It was indeed sad to see one of my most loyal servants hold such a childish grudge against my new sweet-heart. Standish has been far more uppity in his demeanor since becoming a plutocrat him-self after winning a government-sanctioned game of chance. He now wears a diamond stud in the middle of his dickey and uses a pungent variety of macassar oil on his hair. All this from a man who one year ago was quite content with his long-time weekly salary of a handful of ha'pennies and a kettle of porridge!

Instead of working my-self into a fury, how-ever, I decided to play it coy.

"You have convinced me, dear, loyal Standish!" I exclaimed. "Entrust this latest missive from that covetous hussy to me, and I shall have my solicitor turn it in to the constabulary! Perhaps blood-hounds can pick up the harlot's scent, trace her to her boudoir, and rip her to pieces!" This news delighted Standish to no end. But I merely pulled the wool over his eyes so he'd shut up. And, to my delight, Miss Fiske included a picture of my son, N. Aeschlyus. What a beautiful boy! He has grown considerably since his December birth. But the Zweibel off-spring have always been precocious little nippers.