I pounded the intercom’s “talk” button and barked at the device. “Montgomery! Mont-gom-er-y!”
There was an extended pause before my layabout butler answered. “Pip pip, guv’nor! How may I be of service?”
“The master bathroom is out of toilet paper. I require more immediately.”
“Are you sure, m’lord?”
“Positive,” I said, lighting a match.
“Oh my. I could have sworn I placed a fresh twelve-pack in the master bath this morning, wot wot.”
“You did. But I just released a singularly large school of brown trout and already used up all twelve rolls. Unfortunately, cleanup operations are still incomplete. As are release operations, for that matter.”
“God save the Queen.”
“Jolly good, sir — mine is not to reason why. I’ll be right up there lickety-split with another twelve-pack, or my name’s not Montgomery!”
Unfortunately, that was ten minutes ago and Monty still hasn’t shown up. I hope he gets here soon because Sainted Mother of Nixon, this bathroom stinks. I suppose I’ll just have to use some towels if he takes much longer. No need for you to wait, though; I’ll see you tomorrow.