On a particularly fine March afternoon I strolled into the living room and noticed Mr. Chips perusing The Post. His ears were twitching neurotically, making it quite evident that he was excited about some affair or another. Knowing how involved he gets when he reads the "World News" section I decided not to bother him at the moment. So, singing an old English bar tune I proceeded to re-organize the silverware drawer. Things can become so untidy and it just gives Mr. Chips fits. He's always saying, "A place for everything and everything in it's place," or some other nonsense. Personally I couldn't give a sea lions flipper about silverware drawers, but I do my best to be an accommodating flat-mate.

Eventually Mr. Chips broke his attention away from the paper in order to announce his intention to go on a bit of an adventure. Apparently the paper contained an advertisement for the grand opening of "Willy's Llama Farm." The gates opened at four o'clock sharp and Mr. Chips was determined to be the first in line. I agreed that it had potential to be an interesting outing and so readied myself for immediate departure. Once Mr. Chips had tracked down his mittens we were off.

I could tell that he was very excited about this llama farm because he did not stop to sniff the trees, or flowers, or grass, or people, or cars, or radish patches that we passed. And when I tried to take a brief look in Franco's Pawn Shop Mr. Chips would not even hear of it. I decided this llama farm must be quite a big deal indeed.

Eventually we arrived at a mobile home with a small pen in the rear of it. I had to admit I did not see a llama in the pen and Mr. Chips looked rather dejected. However, there was a little sign by the front door of the mobile home that said "Willy," so I decided it was worth knocking.

A short, shirtless, mushroom-like man answered the door. He introduced himself as Willy and invited us in. Mr. Chips was a tad reluctant due to the man's rather pungent odor, but I decided it would be rude to turn the kind man down. We then met Willy's charming wife (Though later Mr. Chips said that he thought the lady was anything but charming, and that she reminded him of a cross between Medusa and Carol Channing on a bad day). The conversation seemed to revolve around NASCAR, beer, and a dispute over whether it was Willy's job to take out the garbage (Needless to say, Mr. Chips and I did not have much to add to these topics).

Eventually I mentioned the llama farm and the absence of any llamas in the pen. Willy then told us that the pen was for his wife (at which point she hurled a frying pan at his bald head) and that his llama just sort of roamed around. Well, Mr. Chips and I were both hoping for more than one llama, but we asked Willy to show us his llama anyway.

The wait was not long at all, because as soon as we stepped out the back door we saw a rather majestic gray llama standing about forty yards off. Willy told us his name was Saint James. I was quite impressed, for this was definitely the first saint that I had ever met. Mr. Chips went off to introduce himself to Saint James as Willy proceeded to spout off his NASCAR prognostications to me. I watched with envy as Mr. Chips managed to strike up a conversation with Saint James and I resigned myself to listening to Willy.

As dusk came Mr. Chips and I made our departure, declining to stay for dinner (especially considering where the frying pan had been). As we began our walk home Mr. Chips was rather silent. I asked him what was on is mind, and he said that he decided he was going to be a saint. I said that was quite a lofty goal, but that it usually required becoming a martyr, or some other unpleasantries of the sort. Mr. Chips nodded, and then pointed out that Saint James was still alive and healthy. I agreed, but noted that he lived with Mr. and Mrs. Willy and that was probably pretty darn close to purgatory. Mr. Chips concurred and said we should see if we could adopt Saint James. I thought that was a marvelous idea and said that I would look into it. We walked a few more paces in silence and then Mr. Chips said that "Saint Mr. Chips" sounded rather ridiculous anyway.