Chapter III: The Respectable Business of Madness

Toad Hall. A pity sight of majesty. The building made of stone passed down from toad to toad to toad to toad was in shambles once again. The roof leaked, the floors creaked, spiders freely made themselves comfortable there, snakes began marvelous vendettas against the world for forcing themselves in by ruining a building so magical that was once full of wine, beer, good spirits and friendship to last the ages. In the upstairs bedroom, amidst the dust, grime, and filth of neglect, was Mr. J. Thaddeus, or simply Toad, he was at the present moment wallowing in self pity and misery, just like his house.

"Oh how my life is ruined!" He cried his toad tears as he sat on his bed with once proud (but now ruined) linen sheets and bedclothes. He slumped and slouched and situated a rope, a gun and a revolver near the foot of the bed and thought in his mind what he would write about for a note.

He thought about something along the lines of how great everyone had been but it would be best if they just moved on from him. He wrote that letter but burned it in a fire. He started again and wrote about how wonderful his life had been but he wanted to just go home. He knew that wasn't true, he was still full of gaiety and optimism that he so desperately wanted to share with the world. He threw that letter out the window. Finally, he settled on a happy medium, it was short, simple, letter but J. Thaddeus was written all over it and it went something like this:

Dear Friends, Comrades, Neighbors, and Highly Esteemed Individuals,

I, James Thaddeus Toad, proprietor of Toad Hall and its surrounding grounds, have decided to relive myself of the responsibilities of life, for they have given me nothing but trouble, and you nothing but grief and anxiety. Do not think that I am doing this simply because of self pity or nothing to live for, but rather, think of it as freeing a burden from you. I wish you all the best of lives and the happiest of years.

Yours ever so truly,

J. T. Toad

P.S. Tell Rat I said that I'm sorry, he'll know what it means.

The short simple letter Toad had placing next to him.

He let out a sigh, straightened his waistcoat and tie as he stood up and grabbed the revolver, checked the ammunition and aimed for his small head.

"Toad, Toad!" It was Rat, he and Cyril burst through the door.

Newspapers covered the formal room, and there was not a lamp to speak of. It was a dark, dreary, and dreadful place. It was as if the ghosts of Toad's family were haunting the room, asking Rat and Cyril to leave before any trouble starts.

A gunshot was heard from upstairs. The Water Rat and the horse quickly made their way up the stairs as if they were both participating in the Derby. Cyril was naturally faster. Another gunshot. Apparently, Toad had missed.

"I'm coming Toady!" Cyril cried as he used himself as a ram and hit the door. It was closed shut. He did it again. Same result. As the horse backed up for a third go at it, Rat simply walked to the door and opened it. Unfortunately, the good natured animal did this too late because Cyril was in mid-stride and mid way through his run when he stormed in and tripped over the bed making a fool of himself as he did so. Rat, even though he knew it was improper and unsporting, for he was the catalyst of it, couldn't help but a laugh as he entered the room. Cyril was flipped over the bed and Toad, who had missed again, was on the floor in attempts from trying not to be crushed by the large horse.

"Cyril, what is the meaning of this?" Toad asked. "Can't you see that I'm trying to commit suicide here?"

"That's the point of our intrusion," Rat said, walking over to the bed, helping his friends up. "We just so happen to keep you alive."

"Why!" Toad said, "I'm just going to be a bother!"

Rat rolled his eyes, "You're bothering me by saying that you bother me. Of course you bother because that is your function. We all have a place in the world and yours to be bothersome so, have at it then!"

"No, I won't do it! I must perform the final escapade of my career." Toad moved towards his beautiful antique dresser and pulled out from the top drawer a small Derringer.

Rat, who frankly, wasn't paying attention to anything, save a Persian rug that had a golden leaf pattern on it, put his mind on default. "Toad you're being utterly ridiculous, you're-" he looked up, witnessed the commotion and walked over.

"No," Rat said, snatching the weapon out of Toad's hands, "I'm sorry but I can't be witness to it. You will not stoop to this level of desperation. I won't let you Jay, I simply can't let you go through with it."

"Why can't you?" Toad said, walking to the other side of the room, hoping to avoid the conversation.

"Call it esteem," Rat answered, "duty, friendship, citizen honor, whatever you wish to christen it I refuse to let you fall Jay."

Toad stopped, turned, looking a bit quizzical, "Why do you keep calling me Jay?"

Rat mimicked the stare, "Isn't that your first name?"

"Yes but no one calls me Jay, not even my own mother."

"What?" Cyril asked, "Your own mum doesn't even call you by your name?"

"Yes Cyril, Toad said, putting on a powdered wig, that same that he wore to court and whenever he was about to make some grandiose statement. "my own mother forsakes me."

Rat and Cyril eyed each other and shrugged, thinking simultaneously, "We can see why."

Toad turned round and with Cheshire Cat madness he screamed: "I have an idea!"

"Let me guess," Cyril said, "it involves a new fad?"

"No! It's actually-"

"Hold on a moment," Rat said a bit startled, "are you saying that you're not obsessing over the latest and greatest mode of transportation, fashion, political opinion or tabloid?"

"Yes!" Toad said, "I just came up with it too. It's a marvelous one, would you like to hear it?"

"For once," Rat said, "yes I, I think I would."

Toad walked over to the dresser, picked up the Derringer and said without turning around, "I'm going to become a mass murderer!"

Rat and Cyril eyed each other again, nodding this time, looking at Toad and saying in unison: "That's it, you're crazy and should be put in a mental institution!"

Toad laughed hysterically and handled the gun as if it were a hot coal, that or if he had just downed about seventeen cups of coffee. He turned around and fired randomly, once at the wall and another at the floor. There were only two bullets in it.

"Quickly now, let's make a run for him, while we still can." Cyril suggested.

"Right then," Rat said positioning himself like a track runner, "Tallyho!"

The horse and mouse ran, rammed, and restrained Toad to the ground. Cyril sat on him while Rat searched for rope, tape and a chair. When he found all this, he placed the chair on the floor, the toad in the chair, the rope around the toad and the tape on the toad's mouth.

"Sorry about this old chap," Rat said, patting Toad on the head somewhat sympathetically, "but you have fallen to dementia and in order for dementia to be cured, one must be tied and left in a confined space."

"You told you that Ratty?" Cyril asked.

"A doctor who went through dementia himself." Rat said.

"Isn't that suspect to-"

"Now Cyril, he needs to be alone, so let us leave him that way." Rat walked towards the door and left.

Cyril leaned his head down and whispered, "I'll get you out of here, that Rat is a bit backward in his definitions."

The horse bit the rope, untying, thus giving Toad hand mobility.

"Thank you Cyril," Toad said, "now," he moved for the Derringer again, "back to the business of madness."

Cyril bolted out the door, screaming his head off, "He's lost it, he's bloody lost it!"

Rat, who was downstairs at this point, turned round when the horse came racing down the staircase, picked him up and headed back to the stables.

"Cyril, what's gotten into you, what happened!" Rat cried, wanting a swift explanation.

"No time to explain but I'm pretty sure that Toad is mad!"

Rat looked behind them and saw nothing. "Well, he's not following us if that's what you're worried about."

"He told me "back to business of madness" Ratty, do you know what that means?"

Rat sighed, "Unfortunately, I do. It means that he's normal."

Cyril slowed down a bit, "Really? So that's just Toad being Toad?"

"Yes."

"Oh that's a relief, I thought he was out to get me there." Cyril said.

"Um, Cyril, mind if I ask you a favor?" Rat asked.

"Certainly, what is it?"

"Mind taking me to Strafford?"

Cyril smiled and turned himself around. "Right then," he started singing, "oh- we're merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily on our way to nowhere in particular!"

"Oh no!" Rat said in protest, "Anything but that ghastly mess."

"Oh, and I suppose you know a better song?" The horse asked.

"Yes in fact I do." Rat replied and began his rendition of Moonlight Bay.

"Why that's not a song!" Cyril cried after the first verse. "That's a serenade, leave those to theatre productions Ratty. Now, let's sing a good old universal drinking song."

"Alright," Rat said, "if we must." He cleared his throat, and Cyril sang along:

"Gather all me brothers, feast upon the wine, dine upon the bread and forget about the time. We shall walk and sing together, glass and spirit high. And we shall meet up again in the morning! Yes we shall meet up again in the morning!"