the pauper

A spot of bother for Rhu, thinks Barb. In the case of the manifesto, outthought by the pauper, a malcontent from the south side, nothing seemed to fit anymore, certainly not this -- a piece from the wrong puzzle, massaged at the edges to fit, but obviously not.  A spot of bother for Rhu, certainly, the fool.  Barb put her pencil down, sharpened it on a rusty grater lying nearby in the kitchen and resumed her monologue.  "To whit, the pauper answered montonously, 'If it were me, I'd have answered affirmatively,' he paused momentarily, then continued, 'in order to disguise my dissatisfaction with the dossier.'"  Barb paused the dictaphone to light a fat Cuban, given as a gift by that idiot savant Rhu.  Puffing melodramatically, she unpaused the dictaphone.  "A footnote on Rhu's relationship to the pauper perhaps: it is with regret that Rhu ever met the pauper, for it was the pauper's dissatisfaction that led to the incident that led to Rhu's dismissal from the establishment.  Nothing more can be said at this time, due to it's classification.  Footnote 3b."

The pauper turned to Rhu, "Don't you see, it will never fit!"
Rhu turned the piece over in his hands.  "You are right, but it is close."
"Put it in and see for yourself," replied the pauper.  Rhu placed the piece into the slot in the wall.  It didn't exactly fit, but a bit of nudging got the sucker in.  The pictograph flashed suddenly and turned red.  The manifesto closed and slid into the wall, emitting a loud wailing sound.  "Oh dear," mumbled the pauper, a thin smile spreading on his lips.  Rhu looked at him nervously, shook his head, then quickly made for the window and down the fire escape.  'Damn that pauper!'

Barb let out a chuckle.  'Yes,' she thought.