"Oh look thar. He's throwing stones with his rear differential. Hold me pipe Ma, dem gossip sistahs over on Turnberry be comin quick. I'd better change our Union Jack to our white surrender flag," Klein mused as he escaped the kitchen and ran up a flight for the front door.
Mr. Klein had a way of always getting Ms. Hogg laughing. She'd laugh so hard she'd snort and bark like a chihuahua rat dog. The front bell rang with the announcement that the papers had arrived.
Mr. Klein exited the front door, shooed away a few novice hand reporters and marched right up to the careless driver ready to pull him from the reins of his out of control carriage, the news van. He looked twice and realized his he, the one he thought was driving, was actually a she. After Mr. Klein took a breath and began calming down the window rolled down and a tiny voice escaped.
"Kind regards sir. Is this the Westover Estate?," said Margaret McIlroy.
"It is! Hey thar. Lassie! I knows ye. Ms. Margaret McIlroy?," Mr. Klein spoke with joy. "BBC Waterloo sent my favorite broadcaster all the way down to Westover. Well I'll be damned. I've got up thar in the estate a lady dats a bigger fan than I Boy-Oh."
"May I exit my vehicle sir?," Ms. McIlroy's professional voice escaped the down window.
"Oh Lord, look at me, blocking the news from goin down."
Mr. Klein backed up out of the way just as Ms. Hogg arrived knowing she'd have to apologize for anything that came out of Kent's mouth. She formally introduced herself and Mr. Klein, did indeed apologize and marched Kent back to the stairway by the front entrance.
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