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Tea Towels

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“This is the last tea towel we have, Arthur, so please, can you somehow not make a hole in it?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know how the other holes came, so I can’t really promise that it won’t happen to this one too. Can’t we just buy some more?”

“Well, yes, but not with the company logo embroidered on them. That was a one-time outsplashing after the first Birling Day, if you remember.”

“I think so. Wales beat Scotland.”

“Yes. And I thought that pack of twenty-five was going last me until bankruptcy, but miraculously, we’re twenty-four tea towels in and still afloat. Mind you, that’s more a testament to the short-livedness of the towels than to the viability of MJN. I— Arthur, what are you doing?”

“I’m drying this knife.”

“I see. Yes, I think I understand the holes now. But I’m left with a new question.”

“What’s that?”

“How on earth you haven’t severed your own fingers before now. No, give it to me, I can’t watch.”

“It gets them dry really quickly.”

“I don’t doubt it. I think it may be its own martial art, too, but that still doesn’t mean it’s good practice.”

“Practice for…?”

“No, I mean, sustainable business procedure.”

“Ah.”

“There, you see - all dry, and you can still read the company name.”

“It just doesn’t look quite as fun as my way.”

“Well, granted, but it’s much safer. For the tea towel, if not for you.”

“All right. I’ll try it.”

“See that you do. Oh! And give Douglas his tea in this mug, would you?”

“Why?”

“Just trust me – it will be worth it.”