Yesterday morning, Standish brought a letter from my fiancée, Miss Bernadette Fiske. I was so excited to get it, I pissed my swaddling-wraps clean through to the bed-sheets. “Do tell me that Miss Fiske is finally coming to the estate, Standish, and with my baby son in tow!” I cried. “How my heart aches for them so!”
“Sir,” Standish said, his mouth taut and face white. “Please once again pardon my opining about your personal affairs, but I must insist that you are the victim of an extortion-swindle. This so-called ’Miss Fiske’ has fabricated the existence of an infant Zweibel heir to relieve you of a good deal of money. There are people all over the Republic who have designs for the fortunes of plutocrats, and you must not consider your-self immune to such nefarious machinations. You must believe me, sir, I submit this not for the sake of contrariness, but fully in the spirit of the stead-fast fealty with which I have served you for lo these many years.”
With the help of my iron-lung, I heaved a heavy sigh. It was indeed sad to see one of my most loyal servants hold such a childish grudge against my new sweet-heart. Standish has been far more uppity in his demeanor since becoming a plutocrat him-self after winning a government-sanctioned game of chance. He now wears a diamond stud in the middle of his dickey and uses a pungent variety of macassar oil on his hair. All this from a man who one year ago was quite content with his long-time weekly salary of a handful of ha’pennies and a kettle of porridge!
Instead of working my-self into a fury, how-ever, I decided to play it coy.
“You have convinced me, dear, loyal Standish!” I exclaimed. “Entrust this latest missive from that covetous hussy to me, and I shall have my solicitor turn it in to the constabulary! Perhaps blood-hounds can pick up the harlot’s scent, trace her to her boudoir, and rip her to pieces!” This news delighted Standish to no end. But I merely pulled the wool over his eyes so he’d shut up. And, to my delight, Miss Fiske included a picture of my son, N. Aeschlyus. What a beautiful boy! He has grown considerably since his December birth. But the Zweibel off-spring have always been precocious little nippers.
T. Herman Zweibel, the great grandson of Onion founder Friedrich Siegfried Zweibel, was born in 1868, became editor of The Onion at age 20, and persisted in various editorial posts until his launching into space in 2001. Zweibel’s name became synonymous with American business success in the 20th century. Many consider him the “Father Of American Journalism,” also the title of his well-known 1943 biography, written by Norman Rombauer.
