Bomber's Moon

Mad as a Hatter

Mad as a Hatter

“This one’s lovely, Edward.” Leslie was stretched out on the sofa in the front room with his shoes off. He was reviewing the daily sketches. Edward sat across from him in his favorite wingback chair, a sagging monstrosity that Edward refused to toss.

“Really? Is it better than the last ones?”

“Much.” Leslie paused, about to say something, then stopped.

“You’re having me on,” Edward said.

‘No, really.” Leslie held up the sketch of a family sleeping rough in the Underground. “Look. Honestly. See for yourself. You’ve captured it beautifully. The posh family smack up against the working class, the rich and the not so rich. It’s perfect, Edward.” You’re perfect, Edward.

“There’s a lot of that these days,” Edward said. “Don’t think it’s too original.”

“Don’t trivialize your work. It’s wonderful. I love it and Williams won’t hesitate to print it in the next edition. Get thee to The Globe! Front page this time. For sure.”

Edward stood, walked over to the desk, and looked through his portfolio. “It was in here, I’m sure.”

“What was?”

“The one of the docks. If you loved that one, wait till you see...” Edward rubbed his hand under his chin, a familiar gesture when he was lost in thought.

Leslie went out to the kitchen and came back carrying two mugs of steaming tea.

Edward had vanished.

Leslie put the mugs down on the table, flopped back on the sofa, and turned his back to the desk, and to the light.

“It’s true. I’m certifiable. Mad as a hatter.”