The Three Merry Friends of Ettingswimple: A Christmas Story

One bright winter morning Thimbleweed Von Dimbleweed, Esquire, looked out his library window. The snow was clean and white, and a merchant was making his way down the street with a wagon laden with evergreen boughs.

“By twiggers, Christmas is almost upon us!” Thimbleweed exclaimed to no one in particular. And no one in particular heard him, except for his pet dragon asleep on the hearth.

The dragon raised her scaley purpleish-brown head and opened her eyes. “Christmas, milord?” she said, in a high-pitched voice. “Oh, I love Christmas! Will we have a tree, milord? And presents? And venison pies?”

“Yes, indeed, we shall have all of that, my dear Shaquita-Marie,” said Thimbleweed, rubbing his hands together. “All of that and more. I have decided to have a Christmas party! First, I must invite my two dearest friends, and they can help me plan it. And I shall write up invitations, and invite the neighborhood.”

“Oh, lots of people!” The dragon wagged her tail like a dog, and nearly knocked over two chairs. “I like this party, milord!”

“Yes, planning a party,” Thimbleweed said. “Gilthorp must come at once, because he is so excellent at decorating; and Guido must come at once, because he is so excellent at amusing people and inventing party games. And I am already here, because I am so excellent at having a great idea with no thought as to how to accomplish it!”

In short order his two closest friends arrived: Gilthorp Windermeeds II and Guido Smythe, Earl of Flambé.

“My dear Gilthorp,” said Thimbleweed. “I need your help in decorating for a Christmas party!”

“Dysentery?” said Gilthorp, who was a bit hard of hearing.

“Christmas party!” Thimbleweed shouted.

“Oh! A Christmas party! How droll!”

“A capital idea, dear Thimbleweed,” said Guido. “Who shall be invited?”

“Everyone!”

“Everyone who?”

“Everyone, I say! The entire neighborhood!”

“Goodness me,” said Guido. “Well, we must write up invitations, and plan a menu. And decorate.”

“Yes, that’s Gilthorp’s job,” said Thimbleweed, and waved his hands at his friend. “Off you go, my good man! Evergreen and holly and shiny baubles—anything with gilt on it!”

“Come again?” said Gilthorp.

“Gilt! Gilt, dear Gilthorp!”

“Ah, shiny decorations for Christmas!” Gilthorp boomed. “Yes, dear Thimbleweed!” He turned and marched out of the house.

“Very good—and now for food,” said Guido.

“Well, Cook is downstairs—please, go speak with her, Guido,” said Thimbleweed. “The both of you are so much better at planning these things than I am.”

“Cook must make venison pies!” said Shaquita-Marie.

“Yes, dear dragon,” said Guido. “I shall mention it to Cook. And perhaps I can visit the baker’s, to order some bread or pies and save her some work.”

“Capital idea! Now off with you!” Thimbleweed said with excitement. “Go find Cook. There’s so much to be done to make this a superlative Christmas party!”

After speaking with Cook, Guido set off for the baker’s.

As he approached, he saw that someone had just moved in to the vacant shop next door. The window was painted with the advertisement: Fine Food and Fine Service for a Fine Party. Intrigued, Guido went in.

“Good day to you, fine sir! I am Roncevérte, owner of this fine catering establishment!” The man behind the counter had a long waxed mustache and wore an unattractive orange and gold hat. “You have the party, I cook and bring the food, you pay me!”

“What do you cook?” asked Guido. “My good friend is hosting a Christmas party...”

“Excellent! I have just the dishes for you!” Roncevérte scribbled grandly in a notebook with a large quill pen. “Roast spinach and rhubarb! Rabbit stew with tomatoes and apples! Venison pies! Lime cider and pear wine! Curried rice with boiled octopus! And my light and fluffy éclairs with my special sauce!”

“Um, my dear sir,” said Guido, not enjoying the menu so far. He felt rather overwhelmed by this monologue, and so was taken aback when Roncevérte thrust the notebook and quill under his nose.

“Sign here, good sir, and all will be arranged! Your friend shall have a Christmas party to remember!”

After Guido signed the page, Roncevérte touched his orange and gold hat with a flourish. “Have a very merry holiday!”

Guido left the shop, and hoped that Gilthorp was faring better in his quest for decorations.

(To be continued next week.)