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Previous
Part Nine
Mr. Chips and I have a rather relaxing routine of reserving Monday afternoons for casual reading. We each have a book to read, and after having eaten dinner we'll share what we've read and discuss various issues that are brought up by in stories. Mr. Chips reasons that this allows him to effectively read two books at once - an unbelievable timesaver.
Normally Mr. Chips reads erudite books, which discuss ancient Rome and other stuffy subjects. Last week he tried to explain the political subtleties of Vespasian's empire, but I quickly found that I had little patience for the topic.
This Monday the dear fellow was reading a book entitled Ice Cream Flavors of the World. For over an hour he seemed quite engrossed in the book, when suddenly he announced his desire to visit the ice cream parlor down the street. It seemed like a splendid idea to me, so we made preparations to leave.
We began our leisurely stroll towards the parlor and Mr. Chips began a rather lengthy exposition on ice cream and its many incarnations. After he finished, I asked him what exactly had prompted our sudden visit. He replied that he was in search of tiramisu ice cream.
I must admit, I had never heard of such a flavor and had my doubts concerning its ready availability. But Mr. Chips was quite certain that Sparky would come through, Sparky, of course, being the parlor owner. Normally Mr. Chips did not think so highly of Sparky. I've heard Mr. Chips state numerous times that he believes Sparky probably has difficulty grasping such lofty ideas as "hygiene" and thus we shouldn't expect too much from him.
But such thoughts were not on Mr. Chips' mind as we entered the parlor. True to form, Sparky was leaning over the counter with a churlish expression, looking rather greasy and unkempt.
I inquired into the possibility of acquiring some tiramisu ice cream. In response, Sparky grunted, and pointed his finger to the freezer case. I peeked inside the case as Mr. Chips waited with much anticipation.
The case appeared empty, save for a half-tub of mint-peanut butter. I attempted to break the news lightly to Mr. Chips; but he could barely contain his fury, pronouncing (rather harshly) that Sparky was an insufferable peon and that never again would we patronize this establishment.
Sparky seemed unfazed by this outburst and I hurriedly ushered Mr. Chips out of the parlor. Assurances that we'd take a stroll around the park and read a bit of Marlowe's Dr. Faustus seemed to placate the poor fellow a bit, but he remained surly and quiet for a good while.
Eventually Mr. Chips returned to his normal disposition. He said that this experience had given him a new perspective on life, and that he even understood Faustus' plight better. He went so far as to say that he'd follow in the Doctor's footsteps, if only to obtain a reasonable selection of sweets. Mr. Chips concluded that when it comes to tiramisu ice cream, it's quite possible that the ends might just justify the means.
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