The Sunday Chimes
— Ring, Ring, Ring —
“Hello?”
“Yes, Mr. Jones?”
“Speaking. How’d you know?”
“It’s Sunday, sir, you always walk this way on Sundays…”
“Who’s this?”
“Why, it’s Big Ben of course.”
“Big Ben? As in the clocktower?”
“No, no, that’s my brother — Little Luke.”
“Little Luke? All this time I thought he was you — and you, the eldest?”
“Ah, if I had a pence for every time we’d have to clear that up, I’d chime twice!”
“So, Big Ben, what can I do for you?”
“I’m a bit short on time. You see, I need someone to wind me back up. Could I ask a favor, good sir? A Sunday charity?”
“Well, you’ve caught me between here and there. I’m a bit late for tea on Piccadilly.”
“Of course, of course! Mr. Jones. Wouldn’t want to delay you any longer. Hey — could I trouble you for the time?”
“My apologies, but it seems your brother stopped ticking!”
“Exactly. That’s why we need your favor.”
“Well, I suppose I could be a bit late — seems everyone will be in a daze if Luke stalled. How can I help?”
“There’s a man, down the river. A very stringent, very stoic, and very…reliable old chap.”
“What’s his name? Surely I mustn't forget.”
“Greenwich, Mr. Greenwich Trafalgar.”
“And what should I ask of Mr. Greenwich?”
“Tell him I sent you to deliver a message. He’s used to this news, unfortunately, so don’t fret. He’ll know what to do. Just tell him Big Ben and Little Luke got into a fight last night at the pub again.”
“You really shouldn’t fight with your brother, Ben. What could Luke possibly have done?”
“I came for a visit, across the pond. All the way from New York City. Every time we get together, he’s always claiming he’s right about the time. ‘You started it!’ He’d pester. ‘No, YOU started it!’ I’d defend. Anyway, Mr. Greenwich is usually the one to settle it. Winds us back up and we get on with our chimes. So anyway, Mr. Jones, could you help us out?”
“Alright, alright, Ben. I’ll make the trip down the river. Oh, but one last thing — could you estimate the time? Don’t want to miss afternoon tea.”
“I don’t know, ask my brother.”
