Barry fastened his rubber mask and winked at The Doctor. It seemed as if his hair was perming itself; each wet curl tightened and dripped a single droplet onto his sash.
"Where's my hat? Where's my effin' top hat?!" From a porthole in the wall, a tentacle appeared and handed him his cain, another his rifle. "Now where's that hat?"
His bride, a casualty of early beauty and her parents' economic advantage, stepped from the affluent hills of Michigan and into the basement. The gold lame` of her dress sparkled under the chandelier, nearly blinding The Doctor.
"Here is your hat, sire."
"You really boggle the brain, Trixie." Barry turned to Robbie and gave him the thumbs up. Robbie stopped stirring the jerk sauce and shut off the hotplate.
"Hey, mon! Are you tinking what I'm tinking?" Robbie shook his bag of arrowheads three times over the pot. "Presto, mon!!"
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