My Interview with Mrs. Purdle and Mr. Jarbour

Well, maybe you know that Mr. Jarbour is the murdered man, but hey, all the characters need interviews.  Besides, it makes it more interesting this way.  Without further ado, I present Mrs. Purdle and Mr. Jarbour, who have graciously consented to being interviewed. *Applause* :)

The Interview
Me: Did either of you have any premonition of what you were getting involved in when you came to Tittleton House?
Mrs. Purdle: No, I can't really say that I did.
Mr. Jarbour: Premonitions are absurd.  I was only annoyed at being called to the house so rudely at night.  Certain people have no thoughts for the feelings of others.
Me: No thoughts for the feelings of others!  Mr. Jarbour, I am shocked!  You have not been the most feeling of men yourself!  Think of the way you treated so many people.  I visited your workhouses, and they are terrible.  Yet you lived in luxury, and talk about people who have no thoughts for the feelings of others.
Mrs. Purdle: Indeed, sir, you are quite a hypocrite!
Mr. Jarbour: Workhouses make me money, and there is nothing against making an honest wage, now, is there?

Me: Do you enjoy Christmas as a general rule?
Mr. Jarbour: Christmas is a thing for children.  I am much to busy to enjoy it.
Mrs. Purdle: Well, even if it is for children, I still enjoy it.  I make little gifts for all the Tittleton children, and it is such a joy to see how delighted they are.  And so polite!  I do love children, Miss Barrett, indeed, I do.

Me: How do you feel about the account Miss Warbling is writing of the events at Tittleton House during Christmastime?
Mrs. Purdle: Well, Miss Warbling is a sweet girl, but I do not think that she ought to be writing!  Really, the idea of a young lady writing seems rather improper.  Miss Warbling is so fashionable in other respects that I wonder at her undertaking this unladylike pursuit.
Mr. Squeed: I don't care what Miss Warbling does.  If there's any money in it, though, I wouldn't mind helping her out.

Me: Off the top of your head, who would you say is the most likely to have committed the murder?
Mrs. Purdle: Oh, I think that Mr. Squeed has the face of a murderer, he does.  I never trusted him, from the first moment that he stepped inside the house.  I am even surprised that Lady Tittleton let him indoors, for she is usually so particular about who she lets inside.
Mr. Jarbour: You forget, I was the victim.  I know who murdered me.  Should I still tell?
Me: No, you had better not.  Thanks for asking.
Mr. Jarbour: But I do agree with Mrs. Purdle about Mr. Squeed's face.

Me: Do you think that Miss Warbling's story will be more accurate than a newspaper account of the murder?
Mr. Jarbour: I don't even know the lass.  But since she was there, I suppose that she would know what she is talking about.
Mrs. Purdle: Well, now that you ask, I really don't know about Miss Warbling.  She is such a lovely and fashionable lady, but she does have such an imagination.  I think that she might see things differently than they really were.
Me: Funny you should say that.  Everyone else that I have already interviewed thinks the same way.
Mr Jarbour: I wonder if she needs some money?  Fashionable young ladies usually do?
Me: You stay away from Miss Warbling, for she is a particular friend of mine, and possessed of a very large fortune.  Don't even bother trying to lend her any money.

Me: What do you think will happen to the Tittleton family, now that they are ruined in this scandal?
Mr. Jarbour: I would have loved to lend them some more money, but that, unfortunately, is impossible.  I do, however, believe that they will pull themselves out of this mess.  They seem to be fairly resourceful, if slightly foolish.
Mrs. Purdle: They are not foolish at all!  And they are extremely resourceful, Mr. Jarbour, and just the best family that ever did walk the earth.  So, put that in your pipe and smoke it!  I know that they will become rich and respected again, especially Mr. Hugh and Miss Judith.  They are so buoyant!

Me: Do you deserve any special pity for what you went through?
Mr. Jarbour: My dear young lady, I was murdered.
Mrs. Purdle: You know if I deserve pity or not.  That is a very odd question, Miss Barrett.
Me: Yes, I know.  Mr. Squeed and Hugh thought so also.
Mrs. Purdle: I must say, the more I think about it, the more I think that I do deserve pity.
Me: Well, you are probably the one person I would have to say truly does deserve pity.  But I had better not say more, because Miss Warbling does want to make a sensation, and she will not be able to if everyone already knows what is going to happen in her story.
Mr. Jarbour: HER story?  I suppose she is going to give it a dreadful title also.  The Adventures of Miss Warbling, or some other such nonsense.
Me: No, it is called Christmas at the Tittletons.
Mr. Jarbour: Humph, it could at least be called The Tragic Tale of Eli Jarbour.
Me: Really?  Well, too bad it is already set in stone?  Ha, ha.  Ahem.  Well, thank you for answering all these questions.  I'll be seeing you.

Thanks for reading, and God bless,

My Interview with Laban Squeed and Hugh Tittleton

Well, here we are again.  Laban Squeed and Hugh Tittleton are next in line for the interviews.  (I'm doing them in twos.)  This is actually an interview that occurred quite a while ago but never made it to the blog.  Here it is!

The Interview
Me: Good day, gentlemen!  What is this I hear about you two being great friends?  How did this come about, especially since Mr. Squeed is four or so years older than Hugh?
Hugh: I'm not really sure.  We just met each other one day at Cambridge.  I think that I lent Squeed some money, and he just stuck to me after that.
Laban: I believe that our friendship started when I lent you a textbook, but far be it from me to oppose you.
Hugh: By the way, Squeed, did you ever pay that loan back?  I think you still owe me four pounds.
Me: Moving on...

Me: Miss Warbling has begun writing an account of the mysterious happenings at Christmastime.  I've seen some of it, and she really doesn't present either of you in a favorable light.  How does it make you feel to know that the public could be looking down on you?
Laban: I have met Miss Warbling but once: at Tittleton House during Christmas.  I think that this is hardly enough time to judge my full character.
Me: She thinks it was plenty of time.  After all, you were all cooped up together for several days.
Hugh: Well, how could she present me in an unfavorable light?  What is there about me that is unfavorable?
Me: Would you like a list?
Hugh: Please, Miss Barrett, I think that we have gone far enough with this jest.
Me: Mr. Tittleton, we have only just begun.

Me: Do you look at people differently since being involved in such gruesome circumstances?
Hugh: I guess I get a little jumpy around strangers now.  I wonder about people more than I did before.
Laban: I have always thought that people were dull creatures, and I have not yet changed my mind.

Me: Are you interested in reading Miss Warbling's story?
Hugh: Actually, I rather an interested.  I want to know what she thought about everything, and anyway, it was the most exciting thing that ever happened to me.  It will be interesting to read it over again.
Laban: I really could not care less about Miss Warbling or her book.  I could tell that she held a strong aversion against me, and so her prejudiced imagination will probably embellish the facts.
Me: I don't know about that.  Miss Warbling was very anxious to be accurate.  I don't know why everyone seems to think that she would embellish the facts.
Hugh: Please, Miss Barrett, I think we know Miss Warbling pretty well.  She embellishes facts.
Me: Well, if you say so.  Even then, her story is still exciting.

Me: Do you have the same friends that you had before Christmas, or are they avoiding you now?
Laban: I am not a great one for friends, but people definitely do not wish to be near me now.
Hugh: Yes, I think that most people edge away from me when they find out who I am.  It's a bit annoying, although I think I am getting a bit more used to it.

Me: Do you deserve any special pity for what you went through?
Hugh: Er...no.  It could have happened to anyone, but it just happened to us.  I don't think we need any sympathy for it.
Laban: Why would you even ask that question?
Me: I just wondered.

Me: Do you feel closer to your family now that you have gone through such distressing times?
Laban: I have never been close to family, and now I think I'm farther from them than ever.
Hugh: I am definitely closer to at least some members of my family.  Judith and I are certainly closer than ever before.
Me: Well, thanks for answering all these kind of random questions.  See you later!

Thanks for reading, and God bless,

My Interview with Sir John and Lady Tittleton

A few days ago I persuaded Sir John Tittleton, and his lovely wife, Lady Tittleton, to consent to an interview, which I am posting in full here.  I designed my own questions for them.

The Interview
Me: How do you feel to know that Miss Warbling is writing out a story that could be embarrassing to you?
Sir John: I feel that Miss Warbling is being strangely forward.  It is not like her to give the Public an entrance into our private lives.
Lady Tittleton: I agree in part, my dear, but surely, as the newspapers got so much wrong, it is good that someone is going to set the record straight.
Sir John: Miss Warbling is a young lady of excessive imagination, and I do not think that she can be trusted to set the record straight.

Me: What was your first reaction upon hearing the news that such a revealing anecdote was to be written?
Sir John: I could not believe that Miss Warbling was going to be so indiscreet.
Lady Tittleton: Well, I was rather shocked, I admit, when my dear Judith wrote me the news.  I had rather hoped that such a matter might be forgotten.
Me: Murder?  Forgotten in about two months?
Lady Tittleton: If it is left alone, people will find something else to amuse themselves with.
Me: Then you think that people merely amused themselves by reading the news of the murder?
Lady Tittleton: Before this dreadful happening, I thought that people had some decency, but now I fear that I have seen a little too much human nature to be deceived.  It is my firm belief that people must surely read the newspapers for the bad news, for that is mostly what is in them, and if people wanted to read good news, then the newspapers wouldn't sell bad news.

Me: Interesting observation, Lady Tittleton.  Let us move on.  How do you feel knowing that the events of Christmas, which took place on your property, have caused so much widespread damage?
Sir John: It is my to my definite shame that such events were indulged in at all.  I am extremely sorry for those that have been affected by what happened at my house on Christmas week.
Lady Tittleton: I am sorry for the people that were affected by those events, especially for my children, and, of course, for those who are dead.

Me: Were you very nervous knowing that there was a murderer in the same house with you?
Sir John: Miss Barrett, I think that you know the answer to that question.
Me: Of course I do, but I still want to have it down for the interview.
Sir John: No.
Lady Tittleton: Well, I was at first, but I knew that the Lord would take care if us.  He did, too, as you can see.

Me: How did you feel when you found out that Mr. Jarbour was dead?
Sir John: I admit, I was not feeling exactly happy, as I perhaps should have felt at the death of that dreadful person.
Me: But it was murder!
Sir John: The law could pin nothing on him, but look at all the innocent lives he ruined.  Surely a man like that does not deserve to live.
Me: Isn't that for God to decide?
Sir John: Er, perhaps.
Lady Tittleton: I became excessively nervous and shaky.  I believe that I swooned at the news.
Me: You did, according to Miss Warbling.
Sir John: I believe that we have already established the fact that Miss Warbling is likely to embellish the facts.
Me: A swoon is a swoon, Sir John.
Sir John: Well, when you put it like that, what can I say?

Me: If you had to relive that Christmas, what would you do differently?
Sir John: I would have kept Miss Hatchet away from a certain person of which you know but whom I had better not say, as you asked me to say nothing pertinent to the actual story.
Lady Tittleton: I would have kept Mrs. Purdle away!  You know how hard it is to get good housekeepers nowadays.
Me: Tell me about it!
Lady Tittleton: Well, ever since Mrs. Purdle has been, er, relieved of service, I have not been able to find one decent housekeeper!  Not one, Miss Barrett, though goodness knows I have searched far and wide.  You know, I always hire the servants myself, although I rather wish now that I did not.

Me: Here is the last question.  Would you say that your lives have changed for the better or for the worse since the world has been rid of a man that did not deserve to live?
Sir John: Miss Barrett!  For shame!  Using my own words against me!  You know that I cannot say that my life has changed for the better.  The scandal has proved too much for us.  People do not want to be friends with a person who has had a murder committed in his house.
Lady Tittleton: I rather agree with Sir John.  The events of Christmas did not better our situation in the least, but rather worsened it.
Me: I won't ask you how, as I believe that Miss Warbling is setting down all of those facts in her account.
Sir John: I doubt that she will do a very good job of it.
Lady Tittleton:  Now, my dear, I am sure it will be a very lovely story.
Me: Insofar as a story of murder can be.  Thanks so much for your time, Sir John and Lady Tittleton!  I can't wait to get back with you.
Sir John: My pleasure, Miss Barrett.
Lady Tittleton: Indeed, it was a great pleasure.

Thanks for reading,

I'm dreaming of a white summer...

Because everything is brown and dry right now.  That is why I am enjoying writing about the chilling subject of falling snowflakes in Christmas at the Tittletons.  What a fabulous day to talk about the characters!  Here is a complete character list.

The Family


Sir John and Lady Tittleton:
Sir John is the owner of Tittleton House, a sumptuous London mansion.  He is a wealthy baronet, and he is cheerful and generous.  Lady Tittleton, his wife, is a philanthropist of the first class, not to mention nervous in a laughable sort of way.  They love their children dearly, and would do anything for them short of murder.

Judith Tittleton:
Unfortunately for her parents, Judith is a headstrong girl with an inquisitive nature which is sure to lead her into trouble as she tries to investigate the strange happenings.  Judith can't be happy until she knows the whole truth, but there are those who think that to be uninformed is better than to be dead.  The only problem is that Judith really doesn't take the advice of others.

Hugh Tittleton:
Hugh is a college student with a peculiar taste in friends, or so his sister thinks.  The oldest son of Sir John and Lady Tittleton is steadier than he appears.  He enjoys helping the Inspector investigate, although whether or not the Inspector is as delighted remains to be seen.

Penelope Tittleton:
Because Penelope is only eleven years old, she is often disregarded.  She has, however, big ears and a memory of deadly accuracy.  Maybe she heard just a little to much against the people she loved most in the world, and that's why she has a dash of fear perpetually stamped on her otherwise ladylike features.

James, Abigail, and William Tittleton:
These are the youngest children of  Sir John and Lady Tittleton.  They provide no end of trouble to their governess, and are little angels in their mother's eyes.

The Friends


Jessamine Warbling:
Miss Warbling is a young lady with a flair for fashion, a legendary fortune, and an urge for writing.  Behind her apparently intelligence-less face lies a brain of considerable magnitude.  She is best friends with Judith, and it's all she can do to keep that girl out of trouble.  It's just like Judith, though, to push Jessamine to investigation after she is forbidden that joy.

Laban Squeed:
Hugh's college friend, Laban Squeed, is more than just an objectionable acquaintance.  The only question is, what else is wrong with his besides his fashion sense?

The Help


Hillsworth:
This impeccable butler is the epitome of respectability, but Jessamine thinks he has a bad habit of talking to himself when he doesn't know that anyone is listening.

Mrs. Purdle:
This good lady is none other than the trustworhty housekeeper.  Of course, you would not expect Lady Tittleton to hire any other kind, now would you?

Miss Hatchet:
Judith and Jessamine both agree that Miss Elizabeth hatchet is the most mysterious person in the house.  She is the governess, but with her pale face, mousy brown hair, and habit of turning her face away  from people, they think she is a good suspect for murder.

May Aston:
She's just Aston to the residents of Tittleton House.  She is the little waitress, but she has a big mouth.  Her only problem is that Miss Hatchet saw her in most incriminating circumstances.

Carlton and Rodgers:
Carlton and Rodgers are the footmen, always lurking about somewhere in the house.

Lydia the Cook:
That is what everyone calls her, and I think her name is pretty self-explanatory.

Brunhilde, Pruggery, and Ellen:
These last three are the upstairs maid, parlor maid, and scullery maid, respectively.

The Outsiders


Bob Able:
One of the more mysterious characters.  No one can understand why a street urchin such as he would actually turn himself in.  Especially when it is impossible for him to have killed the dead man.

Mr. Jarbour:
His dead body is discovered on Christmas day in the Alley behind Tittleton House.  What it is doing there no one can tell.

The Law


Inspector Fionn:
The good Inspector has little patience, but he manages to hide that fact from most people.  His odd ways of detecting don't make him incompetent, even though most of the Tittletons are inclined to think of him thusly.

The Policemen:
A good many policemen are guarding Tittleton House, but not necessarily to keep people from entering.

This is a full and complete list of all the characters in Christmas at the Tittletons.
By the way, Happy Birthday, ABC (Aunt by Contract)!  Today is my CBCs' mother's birthday!

Thanks for reading,

I LOVE Agatha Christie!

It's been so long since I've read an Agatha Christie book that I forgot how much I loved them.  My great-aunt, however, just gave me all thirty-seven books in her Agatha Christie collection, so I'm well on my way with my own.  Altogether there are eighty-seven Agatha Christie novels.  Only fifty more to go!
I am currently reading Sleeping Murder, which I've already read, but decided that it was worth a second read.  I've already made it through Sparkling Cyanide and They Came to Baghdad.  So, I have quite a ways to go!
Have you ever read an Agatha Christie?  They're like puzzles in novel form, which is what is so neat about them.  Watch out for profanity and adult content when you read them, which I always black out.  And I have heard that not all Agatha Christie books are good, so if you read one that completely shocks you, please don't say I didn't warn you!
Here are the most famous of Agatha Christie's characters.

Hercule Poirot

The dapper Belgian detective believes in the 'little grey cells' and VERY rich hot chocolate.  His methods of detection are ridiculous to all but his closest friends: Captain Hastings, a WWI veteran, Ariadne Oliver, a writer of popular detective fiction, and Inspector Japp, a no-nonsense Scotland Yard detective.

Miss Marple

She may look like a fluffy little old lady, but she's extremely sharp from observing human nature in her little village of St. Mary Mead.  Her predictions usually hit the nail on the head, and she never seems surprised at the most gruesome murders, as human nature never changes.

Tommy and Tuppence Beresford

This fun-loving young couple tends to get involved in adventures that involve somewhat more than murder.  Political intrigue, international counterfeiting rings, secret plans that threaten the world, or kidnapped Americans?  It's all in a day's work to WWI vet Tommy Beresford and his nurse-turned-detective wife, Tuppence.  Their second book, Partners in Crime, is actually a collection of short stories and is one of my favorite Agatha Christie books.

When Your Uncles and Aunts just won't be obliging!

Do you know what a CBC is?  (Don't answer, Kiri Liz!)  Well, that's just your loss then.  Because CBCs are the best things that ever happened to me, or my family, or a certain other family that lives on the other side of my state.  Well, maybe not the best thing, but at least it ranks on the top five list.
A CBC is a Cousin By Contract.  Yes, that's right.  It's the thing to do when you (like myself) have cousins who are much younger than you or, if they are your age, live so far away that they might as well not exist anyway.  In a case like mine, you have to use extremes.  Since your parents' siblings obviously didn't think about you when producing offspring, you have to get your own cousins.  This takes more work on your part than the alternative, but it is certainly worth it.  For one thing, it is a safer route than the other, because you are able to chose the Cousins yourself.
Exactly how does one find and make a Cousin By Contract?  Well, first of all, you have to meet someone that you find has just about everything in common with you.  Same tastes in books, movies, hobbies, and music are preferable.  When searching for this cousin, try to find one with approximately the same amount of siblings in his/her family as are in your own.  Spend about twelve hours in each other's company talking about your tastes and story plots, reading each others latest stories and writing glowing reports of each other in your journals.  Make sure to exchange addresses.
When you are finally forced from this perfect person's company, immediately write a letter to him/her.  You will soon become hugely familiar with his/her family, and vice versa.
The next part is a little harder, and Kiri Liz will definitely agree with me on this.  You must propose to your parents the idea of having the family of your prospective cousin come over to your house to stay for a week or so.  The parents will put it off for about two months and whittle the time down to about three or four days, but you will by then be so desperate to see this new friend that you will be ready to talk to them through the iron bars of a prison if need be.  Finally the Family of Wonders will arrive, and you will spend three quickly fleeting days with them.  You will have archery shoots in your back yard, snap an overabundant bean crop in your living room while watching your favorite movie with them, reenact The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, and stay up to all hours of the night while completing hilarious pre-composed surveys about your favorite things.  On the day of departure, you will lament that you are not related, and decide that something must be done to fix that.  So, out with the Contract.  The Cousin Contract.
Their family and your family will become one family by the simple signing of a simple piece of paper.  You must make your zany cousin handshake, and after their departure, immediately plan the next time you will meet.  I promise you, all of those poor, unfortunates with whom I deeply sympathize, you do not have to complain about not having any cousins your own age.  If your Aunts and Uncles are simply not supplying perfect cousins, you can get your own!
Oh, and let me give you this modified sample of a Cousin Contract format:

We, [names of those in first family becoming cousins] and [names of those in second family becoming cousins], hereby state that the sacred Bonds of Cousinship have been formed between us, stronger than the Bonds of Blood.  These bonds will never be dissolved except on consent of the entire body of those who have affixed their signatures below.
Signed: [all names]


This, of course, need not be signed in blood, although some would dispute the fact.  The whole point is that you are not cheap blood cousins.  You are cousins by choice, far more precious because you have chosen each other.  And I promise that this formula, followed exactly, will yield a happy crop of age-appropriate cousins.
Thanks for reading!
(P.S.  Yes, Kiri Liz and her siblings are my CBCs.  We really did all that I have written about.  And my formula really works.  At least, it did for us.)

The Brother not Bonded by Blood

Here is a story which I have written.  I doubt that it should be hard to see where I got my inspiration for it!

I came down the road from Jerusalem, intending to make my way to Jericho, a dangerous journey considering that we had heard threats of a new band of thieves terrorizing innocent travelers.  Probably more Zealots, nothing but troublemakers, I thought.  My business was urgent; my only sister was dying, and she had expressly asked for me.  I had hastily scrambled together the necessary items that I would need for the journey and left the city just before the gates closed for the night.
The sun was sliding down in the west, casting long, ominous shadows over the road, leaving good hiding places for highwaymen.  I was careful to keep an open eye for such bands.
Just as the moon began its round across the sky, the thieves jumped me.  They stole all that I had--my food, my money, even the gifts that I had for my sister's children.  They stripped the clothes from my back and beat me for sport.  An hour or so later they tired of me and left me for dead on the side of the road.
My entire body was aching, streaked with blood and dirt, bruised from their fists, and encrusted from my own vomit.  I could not do more than move my head a little, and though in plain sight of the road, I doubted that any more travelers would come along before morning.  The night proved to be a long one, for though I soon passed out from the pain, I woke and passed out again at least five or six times.
At length morning arrived, and I, being at the time awake, saw in the distance an early traveler on his way up to Jerusalem.  I raised my head weakly and saw that it was a priest of the Temple.  My heart became joyous, for surely this holy man of God would at least help me back to the city.  I forced out a moan through my cracked, parched lips, barely audible even by me.  The priest drew nearer, and I saw him look at me with disgust, draw his wide, blue-fringed robe closer about his body so as not to even risk touching my filthy body.
"Please help me!" I gasped, but he paid no further attention to me.  He merely walked on, his nose held up in the air.
I thought that God Himself must have forsaken me, if this worthy of the Law, one who was supposed to be generous to the needy, would not even lift a finger to help me.
I know not how the time passed from that moment, only that the sun grew increasingly hot, baking my wretched body and leaving me in an agony.  I wished to die.
But, Hark!  Another tread of footsteps came up the road.  With an effort surpassing the first time I lifted my head from the ground and called for help.  This time I saw an obviously religious man, one that I recognized as a Levite, whom I had often seen frequenting the Temple, who was reputed among us all to be extremely benevolent and holy.  Once again my heart leapt, for surely he would help me.
"Help!" was all I could manage to rasp out.  The Levite ambled up beside me and stared for a long time at my wounds.  Finally he turned and continued walking up to Jerusalem, saying nothing to me, but a look of great repugnance stamped on his features.  No help from him!  I then passed out, thinking with my last waking moment that I was surely dying.
I wakened to a soothing voice, and a feeling of relief.  My head was lying in the lap of a plain, brown robe, and I found myself looking up into the rough, sun-burnt, bushy-bearded face.  Gentle hands eased oil into a bloody gash across my forehead, and I felt the pleasant burn of alcohol as wine was poured into all of my cuts.  The man washed the dirt away with water, then bound me up tightly with strips of cloth torn from the hem of his robe.  I saw his donkey on the side of the road, and he, with a few grunts, lifted me onto it and settled me there.
"Who are you?" I groaned.
"Only a Samaritan," he said quietly.
For a moment I felt a twinge of revulsion that every decent Jew feels at the mention of the near curse-word.  I had been touched by a Samaritan.  Then it hit my fuzzy brain that I had been left by the priest and the Levite!  I had been helped by one of the cursed because the blessed had not deigned to soil their precious, holy hands.  The Samaritan was treating me like a brother because my brothers by blood had forsaken me.
He brought me to a small roadside inn.  Because I was too weak to protest, he paid for my lodging and board and for any medicine that I might need.  The last I ever saw of him, he said that he would pay any additional charges that might be made.
And where did my true brother go?  I know not, for I recovered quickly thanks to his generosity, and, remembering my sister, finished my journey to Jericho, where I saw that she was not on her deathbed at all, merely very sick.  After she recovered, I returned to the inn to give the keeper money for my lodgings, but he said that the Samaritan had been there and that everything was quite taken care of.  There was no need for me to worry about anything.
And that, my friends, is where I learned about true brotherhood.