Epilogue.
Bart Drigg shook the dust from his jacket and squinted out into the barren field where Old Scratch had disappeared.
"Is it over?" he asked as he shrugged on his dark-red garment and straightened his tie above his dirt-smudged shirt.
To the weary salesman, it seemed like the day must be nearing its end, but the sky told him it was still mid-afternoon.
Peggy Powler smiled at the man who was once all gob-and-nostrils and now had -not only defeated a bad magician
who wished to harm the well-dressed medicine-merchant in the form of mere collateral damage, he had become the
person buried inside himself, a better version of Bartholomew Drigg.
The irony wasn't lost on the little Witch as she picked up Mr Drigg's empty bag. "Aye, we've done our job..." she said
-more to herself than Bart has he accepted his once-potion-filled carry-all and felt its lack of content. "...but Ah' fear
yer' main profession may have taken a hit" Peggy added with a countenance of sympathy.
Without another comment, the couple set off along the stony path to Calder's Way and from there, they headed towards
Magdalene. The day was spent as far as Peggy and Bart were concerned and now all they had to do was fashion their
tomorrows.
For the Last Witch of Underhill, she would speculate on who might require her special services in the village named after
the woman who first realised the beneficial laundry properties of a nearby spring. There was also the puzzle of her mistake
of assuming the village she knew as Salvation Row being created closer than the remote false thorp that she and her
cohort had visited. Peggy sniffed and buried the reason of not appreciating the mileage and the late hour.
But for Mr Drigg, his mulling was more stunted. With no Sarson & Sarson wares to offer the Magdalene residents, he was
merely a well-dressed -albeit slightly begrimed, stranger with only the festivities of Yule-jolif as a reason to be there.
He was nobody with no employment, his worth would have to rebuilt and since it had been a long time that he first sought
the salesman career, the future seemed daunting.
However, a distraction from the pairs introspections arrived when they approached the battered signpost. Where Peggy and
Bart had once seen a board directing them to the bogus hamlet of Salvation Row, now a worn-down banner proclaimed that
the ever-faithful Calder's Way would lead to somewhere called ''Lord Chats'.
The little Witch chuckled and offered Bart a smile laced with an inner-wisdom and a knowing that the world was merely an
artist's canvas where the inconceivable came to life. "He's a bugger!" she said and shook her head at the entertainment.
Peggy's giggle was like a small beck trickling over pebbles just in sight of an ocean.
Bartholomew frowned back at his companion due to his despondency of his circumstances and dropped his useless case
onto the sea-stones that comprised the illustrious highway. "Aye, er.. I mean, Yes, I am happy you find this knee-slapping,
Miss Powler..." he said sternly "...my position of employment has gone, my function is no more and who I was still held
some value" he furthered. The ex-salesman gave emphasis by flapping his arms in exasperation.
With a slight sigh, Peggy shook her head once more, the cloth carry-all lay between them. "Yer' service was important te'
yer' and Ah' understand that..." she said softly and stared into the eyes under derby hat of her sombre acquaintance.
"...But yer talked like me there and Ah' think it deserves some sort of boon" she performed genially.
The sound wasn't dissimilar to Peggy's chortle at the almost-anagram of Old Scratch, but Bart recognised it as glass
making contact with glass. A faint clink and coming from the slumped bag betwixt the two travellers.
"Whay... what -by Herne, could that possibly be, Mr Drigg?" the little Witch theatrically enquired and placed a finger to
her lips in faux-puzzlement.
The carry-all was full, all of Sarson & Sarson's pharmacon lay in the cloth-container like a packed mice-nest. The corked
chalices to ward off baldness from those with high hairlines jostled for space with pilseners to ease haemorrhoids. A jar
of bolus for those who find that their joints sting on frosty mornings lay like lovers with bottles to oust the whisky-demons
after a night of merriment. Medicine enough to make the squatting Bartholomew Drigg grin like an idiot.
"I will never forget what you've done here today..." Bart murmured as he examined the magical bundle of brews before him.
"...How can I ever repay you?" he breathed and got to his feet and reached for Peggy's dirt-smudged hands to thank her.
The Witch in the poncho waved him away and looked slightly embarrassed "Nay lad, yer' were there when Ah' needed
yer' and that's all that counts".
With a grunt of exertion and an arm around the shoulders of his favourite sorceress, the peddler of pap potions walked
towards Magdalene with a slight spring in his step. Then suddenly -just before the credits began to roll, Peggy Powler
stopped in her tracks and peered up at her jovial companion of Calder's Way.
"There is one thing yer' can do fur' me..." she said with an earnest look on her face and Bart replied immediately with
"Anything, just name it" Lifting the brim of her hat to enjoy the stage-show of the salesman's features, she stated:
"Don't be the gobby-bugger Ah' first met at the ferry!".
But it was Mr Drigg who got in the last word as they continued their journey like two old friends and it was from the heart.
"Aye, Miss Powler, Ah'll try".
The End.
![[Image: attachment.php?aid=10487]](http://rogue-nation3.com/attachment.php?aid=10487)
Bart Drigg shook the dust from his jacket and squinted out into the barren field where Old Scratch had disappeared.
"Is it over?" he asked as he shrugged on his dark-red garment and straightened his tie above his dirt-smudged shirt.
To the weary salesman, it seemed like the day must be nearing its end, but the sky told him it was still mid-afternoon.
Peggy Powler smiled at the man who was once all gob-and-nostrils and now had -not only defeated a bad magician
who wished to harm the well-dressed medicine-merchant in the form of mere collateral damage, he had become the
person buried inside himself, a better version of Bartholomew Drigg.
The irony wasn't lost on the little Witch as she picked up Mr Drigg's empty bag. "Aye, we've done our job..." she said
-more to herself than Bart has he accepted his once-potion-filled carry-all and felt its lack of content. "...but Ah' fear
yer' main profession may have taken a hit" Peggy added with a countenance of sympathy.
Without another comment, the couple set off along the stony path to Calder's Way and from there, they headed towards
Magdalene. The day was spent as far as Peggy and Bart were concerned and now all they had to do was fashion their
tomorrows.
For the Last Witch of Underhill, she would speculate on who might require her special services in the village named after
the woman who first realised the beneficial laundry properties of a nearby spring. There was also the puzzle of her mistake
of assuming the village she knew as Salvation Row being created closer than the remote false thorp that she and her
cohort had visited. Peggy sniffed and buried the reason of not appreciating the mileage and the late hour.
But for Mr Drigg, his mulling was more stunted. With no Sarson & Sarson wares to offer the Magdalene residents, he was
merely a well-dressed -albeit slightly begrimed, stranger with only the festivities of Yule-jolif as a reason to be there.
He was nobody with no employment, his worth would have to rebuilt and since it had been a long time that he first sought
the salesman career, the future seemed daunting.
However, a distraction from the pairs introspections arrived when they approached the battered signpost. Where Peggy and
Bart had once seen a board directing them to the bogus hamlet of Salvation Row, now a worn-down banner proclaimed that
the ever-faithful Calder's Way would lead to somewhere called ''Lord Chats'.
The little Witch chuckled and offered Bart a smile laced with an inner-wisdom and a knowing that the world was merely an
artist's canvas where the inconceivable came to life. "He's a bugger!" she said and shook her head at the entertainment.
Peggy's giggle was like a small beck trickling over pebbles just in sight of an ocean.
Bartholomew frowned back at his companion due to his despondency of his circumstances and dropped his useless case
onto the sea-stones that comprised the illustrious highway. "Aye, er.. I mean, Yes, I am happy you find this knee-slapping,
Miss Powler..." he said sternly "...my position of employment has gone, my function is no more and who I was still held
some value" he furthered. The ex-salesman gave emphasis by flapping his arms in exasperation.
With a slight sigh, Peggy shook her head once more, the cloth carry-all lay between them. "Yer' service was important te'
yer' and Ah' understand that..." she said softly and stared into the eyes under derby hat of her sombre acquaintance.
"...But yer talked like me there and Ah' think it deserves some sort of boon" she performed genially.
The sound wasn't dissimilar to Peggy's chortle at the almost-anagram of Old Scratch, but Bart recognised it as glass
making contact with glass. A faint clink and coming from the slumped bag betwixt the two travellers.
"Whay... what -by Herne, could that possibly be, Mr Drigg?" the little Witch theatrically enquired and placed a finger to
her lips in faux-puzzlement.
The carry-all was full, all of Sarson & Sarson's pharmacon lay in the cloth-container like a packed mice-nest. The corked
chalices to ward off baldness from those with high hairlines jostled for space with pilseners to ease haemorrhoids. A jar
of bolus for those who find that their joints sting on frosty mornings lay like lovers with bottles to oust the whisky-demons
after a night of merriment. Medicine enough to make the squatting Bartholomew Drigg grin like an idiot.
"I will never forget what you've done here today..." Bart murmured as he examined the magical bundle of brews before him.
"...How can I ever repay you?" he breathed and got to his feet and reached for Peggy's dirt-smudged hands to thank her.
The Witch in the poncho waved him away and looked slightly embarrassed "Nay lad, yer' were there when Ah' needed
yer' and that's all that counts".
With a grunt of exertion and an arm around the shoulders of his favourite sorceress, the peddler of pap potions walked
towards Magdalene with a slight spring in his step. Then suddenly -just before the credits began to roll, Peggy Powler
stopped in her tracks and peered up at her jovial companion of Calder's Way.
"There is one thing yer' can do fur' me..." she said with an earnest look on her face and Bart replied immediately with
"Anything, just name it" Lifting the brim of her hat to enjoy the stage-show of the salesman's features, she stated:
"Don't be the gobby-bugger Ah' first met at the ferry!".
But it was Mr Drigg who got in the last word as they continued their journey like two old friends and it was from the heart.
"Aye, Miss Powler, Ah'll try".
The End.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.