Going Down With the Ship
There is much to do and very little time. I have spent the week rushing about and purchasing items that I have deemed INTEGRAL to a proper burial of dear Patrick. I think that, wherever he may be, he would be exceedingly pleased to know that I have at last acquired an ape for the reception after the service, which will gambol and cavort while diverting our guest’s minds from Patrick’s fate. I have also managed to hire a troupe of actors to reenact the possible scene of Patrick’s heroic demise, and have been informed that it will not only involve a wooden boat constructed for the occasion, but also a HIGHLY realistic Kraken.
I await the reenactment with anticipation.
I think I have done my best towards Patrick. Jack, on the other hand, has yet to pull his weight. I rousted him this evening from his study so that we might recite our eulogies to one another, and share a few final laughs and stories about our beloved friend. Drunkenly, he recited a speech that had obviously been prepared only a few moments before and its contents left much to be desired.
I dislike all men, but I disliked Patrick a bit less than most. Since his demise, which took both my fortune and future with him, I have done little but think what my life might have been like if we had never met. Firstly, I would be three hundred and eleven pounds richer.
I might also not have this persistent rash on my left buttock.
Nonetheless, I shall miss him. When not flailing about and spluttering, Patrick could be quite eloquent. He was also useful for diverting unattractive maidens.
And Cribbage, he was a decent partner at that too.
(At this point the words came rushing out)
God Speed Patrick Thrasher. Know that, when I reach Heaven, I expect to be paid in full.
Having finished, Jack abruptly turned from me and slammed the door of his study. The only sound that could be heard was his fumbling with the lock.