Tina :) posted:

El Dupree Meets The Most Proper Professor

	The little monkey nervously stared down at the smelly 
beast on the ground below him.  Grateful for the protection of 
his tree, he wondered how he was going to get rid of this 
troubling development.  Monsieur Singe wondered the same thing 
as he approached his home at the end of a long day.  There, 
upon his front steps, was a sombrero-topped mountain of flesh,
whose snoring could easily be mistaken for the choking of a horse.  
	Monsieur Singe cleared his throat.  'May I be of some 
service?' he asked.  As the most famous scholar in New Orleans, 
M. Singe often found himself called upon by strangers in need 
of help.  The sombrero slowly tilted upward, sending a wave 
of odor, both stale and long past ripe, into the air.  The 
monkey squealed and retreated farther into his leafy refuge. 
'Thees,' said the stranger, 'we shall ssseee.'
	It had been a hot afternoon.  Finding the waterfront 
taverns short on tequilla and long on business, El Dupree had 
decided to try his luck elsewhere.  As he made his way 
>from  the bustling wagon-rattle of the waterfront to the sedate, 
tree-lined, cicada-buzz of a more elegant neighborhood, the 
wanderer decided it was time to sleep.  He cast his bulk
upon shady steps that lead to the garden before a yellow and 
purple victorian house.  Lilies as white as Sonora's noon-day 
sun wilted in reply.  
	'May I be of some service?'  The words gently nudged 
El Dupree out of slumber.  He looked up slowly, not quite 
ready to wake, into the well-groomed face of a  man in 
a cream-colored suit and straw hat. 'No tequilla here,' thought 
the wanderer, noticing that he was now both thirsty and
hungry, 'this man's trade is words.'  
	'Thees,' said El Dupree, 'we shall ssseee.'
	'Senor, senor!'  The call brought Burrito (1) scurrying out 
of the folds of El Dupree's poncho.  'We are home?' he wondered.  
The shout came from a short, thin man on the front porch of the 
house.  'Miguel,' said M. Singe 'it seems we have a guest.  
Please prepare another seat for dinner. Near the window.'  
Noticing Burrito, he added, 'and something for the ferret 
as well.'
	'Come, sit on the veranda,' Monsieur Singe invited, 'and 
tell me about yourself.'  El Dupree followed the professor to 
a group of large wicker chairs beside a table on a wide porch, 
protected from the sun by a gently sloping roof.  Airy bunches 
of white wysteria blossoms hung lazily over the roof edge.  Yellow 
and orange nasturtiums grew in tidy beds where the porch met the 
dark green lawn.  
	As they sat down, Miguel reappeared, carrying a tray 
with two tall glasses full of ice, a pitcher of a dark liquid 
El Dupree feared was iced tea, and a third glass, a tumbler, 
full of clear liquid.  Miguel placed the tumbler at
the stranger's side and winked.  El Dupree sniffed the still 
afternoon air. 'Leche de mi mama!' he cried to himself.  The 
wise man, the simple man, he is not always who he thinks he is.  
Burrito followed Miguel into the house, confident that more 
treats would appear.
	As Monsieur Singe leafed through the stack of mail 
Miguel had brought with the refreshments, El Dupree quickly 
downed the glass of tequilla.  He thought that the master of 
the house looked tired.  So much answering, so much teaching, 
it looked to take a heavy toll.  How much better, thought El 
Dupree, to sit in the dust at the side of a sun-baked Sonoran 
trail, or in the bitter cold heart of a winter prairie, and watch.
	A bell rang.  'Dinner.' said El Dupree's host.  They 
both rose and entered the house. The porch creaked in relief as 
the portly traveller crossed the threshold into an impeccably 
kept bachelor's home.  Gentle aromas of tobacco smoke and 
leather competed with the stench of rancid guacamole and hard 
days' travel on the road, and quickly lost.  The dinner table was
simply set, betraying the habits of a man who often ate alone.  
	Miguel stood at the dining room's service entry.  
'Senor Singe, theee dinner eees ready, but...'
	'Very good,' replied the master of the house.
	'Perrr-haaaaps,' Miguel tried again, 'for your guest... 
heee would prefer...'
	'No.' said Monsieur Singe.  'Miguel, you know that we 
have determined the best evening meal is soup followed by roast 
chicken and vegetables.  I am confident our visitor will find 
this to be true as well.'
	Even in the kitchen, Burrito recognized at once the 
snap of a #46 vinyl headsack as it began its quick, arcing 
journey through the air.  Soon thereafter, he was joined by Miguel 
and El Dupree, who sat down to a table laden with plates full of 
huevos rancheros, steaming bowls of refried beans, soft, warm 
tortillas, a bottle of tequilla, and fresh limes.
	Outside, in the tree, the watching monkey was enlightened.

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(1)  Some ancient sources have instead the name "Pepito".  However, more
recent scholarship has established that Our Hero's (tm) companion at
this time was, in fact, The Ferret, and not The Dog. [ ed. ]