What happens when a few nutty characters get together...?

London rain fell pleasantly from the sky, falling like the patter of pizzicato on Mr. McCune's umbrella. He hid under his collar and observed the city. He enjoyed the rain more than most people of his age. It cleared the coal smog and washed away impurities. In the city, storms combed through those with lofty social status, leaving only those who fought for an honest life to shower in the cold November rain. He liked to see where people stood. 

Mr. McCune took one last puff of his cigarette before stomping it to the ground. He began his walk through the city, donning a morose expression to match the weather. Although his complexion was hunched, portly and gloomy, Mr. McCune was actually quite pleased. Today was a visitation day, and he had everything to look forward to on visitation days. 

The house was nearly an hour ride away in the buggy and it was late by the time Mr. McCune stepped out to greet the rain. He looked up to the manor and then down at his pocket watch. The estate looked as if it could have been an immaculate image of aristocracy, if not for the weeds that scattered along the lawns and crawled up the iron bars of the gate. Mr. McCune huffed. This was a curios case indeed. 

At the doorstep of the manor, Mr. McCune shook off his umbrella, banged the knocker and waited. He knocked a second time before a noise was heard from somewhere inside. Mr. McCune assumed his position as a frazzled man opened the door, a bare candlestick held firmly in his hand. The man before him was wearing an apron, some trousers and a pair of slippers. "What is it? What do you want?" he asked. 

Mr. McCune tried not to let the man's appearance startle him. He only smiled. "Benedict Remington, my old chap!" he said genially as he walked through the door uninvited. "Good to see you well. Now, now then would you fix a poor old man something warm to eat? I've been out in the rain so long now. I can hardly feel my fingers, it's so cold."

Remington stood at the open doorway in astonishment as Mr. McCune began to hang up his umbrella and coat. "I'm afraid I can't have company tonight!" he cried as Mr. McCune began to walk into the parlor. McCune sat down in one of lounge chairs and crossed his legs.

"This place needs a nice fire," Mr. McCune muttered. "You go by the nickname Beans, now don't you? You don't mind?" he asked as he took out a cigar. 

"Yes, no. I mean, who are you and why are you in my parlor?" Beans exclaimed. 

Mr. McCune lit his cigar. "Oh, go grab something to drink and sit down, my dear. I'm here to visit."

The End

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