The Red, the White, the Green…
Some things have to be believed
Before they can be seen…
…Even allowing for the earliness of the hour, there were far fewer students than he expected.
By long habit his steps found a familiar corridor and the worn stone rang underfoot.
It would not harm to hazard it.
How would the Old Devil be, he wondered.
‘Dr S. Eaves’
The name plate appeared unaltered.
He always read it as ‘sheaves’.
Before thought had a chance the polished oak door sounded a triple retort to knuckle-bone…
Probably an oversight to leave the plate there, afterall.
But then, a barely audible, “Hum!”
The door swung open…
“Humus… Humour… Humble…”
“Three words that ‘Hum’,” grinned a now grey-haired, bespectacled, Seamus.
“I’ve been expecting you.”
“And your ‘lupine’ friend.”
“He should have a name you know…”
“How about Koo Kullin?”
“Ah, the hard ‘Cee’… Perfect,” said Seamus, taking the proffered parchment and eyeing the calligraphy,
“…Especially in view of this.” He flipped the sheet and took in the inscription…
“‘A Hag Load of Lard!’ That’s very good, your other friend, I presume.”
“What does it mean?”
“We’d better have a drink,” said Seamus, reaching for the half empty bottle of pale gold liquor which stood in the centre of a tray on his writing desk.
“Still on the monkish mead?”
“The Hell-Fire Men,” he offered, by way of excuse.
“Isn’t it a bit early?”
“Or a little late,” he poured two tumblers of the golden coloured liquid, emptying the bottle…
“You know, Mark, you really oughtn’t to have come.”