Roderich stared down the street after the sweeps, shocked and confused.

"Every one of those sweeps shook your hand," exclaimed Feliciano, "you're going to be the luckiest person in the world!"

"Come along, children, spit-spot," murmured Arthur, ushering the children up the stairs.

Before they could get two steps up Roderich turned and gazed up at Arthur. "Wait just a moment, Arthur Kirkland, what is the meaning of this outrage?" he sputtered.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Will you be good enough to explain all this?!"

"First of all, I would like to make one thing quite clear," Arthur said curtly.

"Yes?"

The nanny paused, then said simply, "I never explain anything."

He turned away up the stairs, and before Roderich could respond the telephone rang. He rushed to answer it. "Yes? Edelstein here—Mr. Zwingli! I'm most dreadfully sorry about what happened today, I can assure you that—tonight, sir?"

"Yes, Edelstein," came Vash's voice on the other end of the line, "we'll expect you at nine o'clock precisely."

"Without fail," added Aldrich from next to him.

Vash nodded at the old man and repeated, "without fail… Well, yes, Edelstein, it's extremely serious."

"We regret this course of action," Aldrich droned as the young Swiss repeated his words. "After all, you have been with us a good many years…"

"Yes, Mr. Zwingli…" Roderich sighed, "I shall be there at nine o'clock."

He slowly hung up the phone. Feli and Lovi, who had been watching from the banister, stood up and retreated to the nursery. Still dazed, Roderich wandered into the parlor, where Francis remained gathering up his brooms. The Frenchman glanced up but said nothing as Roderich leaned on the mantle and gazed sadly down toward the fireplace.

"A man has dreams," he murmured, "of walking with giants. To carve his niche in the edifice of time." He sat down on his armchair without even removing the sheet. "Before the mortar of his zeal has a chance to congeal… The cup is dashed from his lips. The flame is snuffed, he's brought to wreck and ruin in his prime..."

Francis smiled at him and picked up another broom. "Vie de merde, that's the truth."

"You know what I think? It's that man Arthur Kirkland," Roderich huffed. "Ever since the moment he stepped in this house, things began to happen to me!"

"Arthur Kirkland?" Francis echoed, the smile fading from his face.

"Yes, of course," Roderich said distractedly, returning to his monologue. "My world was calm, well-ordered, exemplary. Then came this… person, with chaos in his wake. And now my life's ambitions go… with one fell blow… It's quite a bitter pill to take."

Roderich glanced up at Francis. "It's that Kirkland fairy! He did it!"

"I know the very person you mean," Francis said cheerfully. "Arthur Kirkland, he's the one who sings: A spoonful of sugar, that is all it takes! It turns your bread and water into tea and cakes!"

"See, that's exactly what I mean!" exclaimed Roderich, leaping to his feat. "Turning bread and water into tea and cakes, indeed! No wonder everything's
Blödsinn here!"

"A spoonful of sugar goes a long, long way," continued Francis, "have yourself a healthy helping every day!"

Hardly hearing what the Frenchman was saying, Roderich continued his rant. "You know what he did? I realize it now. He tricked me into taking Lovino and Feliciano to the bank! That's how all the trouble started!"

"Tricked you into taking the children on an outing? Outrageous," scoffed Francis. "All the important things you have to do. Shameful! You're a man of high position, esteemed by your peers. And when your petites amies are crying, you haven't time to dry their tears, and see their little grateful faces smiling up at you… because their dad, he always knows just what to do…"

At this Roderich thought. "Well, I do—I only, I—" he stammered, but Francis cut him off.

"You've got to grind, grind, grind at that grindstone. Though childhood slips like sand through a siv… And all too soon, they've up and grown, and then they've flown… And it's too late for you to give… Just that spoonful of sugar, to help the medicine go down, the medicine go down, the medicine go down… Well, goodbye, monsieur, sorry to trouble you!"

Francis put on his hat and picked up his brooms, and walked out the door whistling, leaving Roderich staring dumbly after him.

"Father?" came a small voice just after Roderich had sat back down. He glanced up to see his sons standing in the doorway of the parlor.

"We're sorry about the tuppence," Feliciano said sincerely, as he and his brother approached Roderich, "we didn't know it would cause you so much trouble…"

Roderich said nothing. The boys looked at each other, and then Lovino took his hand and placed his tuppence into it. "Here, Padre, you can have the tuppence."

Arthur watched from the banister as Roderich stared at his son, then to the money in his hand, dumbfounded. The boys slowly turned and began walking back toward the staircase.

"Will that make everything alright?" asked Feliciano over his shoulder.

Roderich looked up, and gave his children a curt "thank you." They continued back toward the nursery.

As nine o'clock approached, Roderich began his long journey to his soon-to-be former workplace. He walked down Cherry Tree Lane, through the park, down streets, and finally by the cathedral. He stopped and took a few moments to stare at the steps where the little old bird man had sat.

Then finally he turned and was ready to face his career's impending demise.

Roderich was escorted to the conference room with a stoic, serious silence; almost as if the death penalty awaited him.

"Come in," wheezed Aldrich's voice when he knocked.

He entered the conference room to see the same crowd from earlier that day.

"Good evening, gentlemen," Roderich said nervously, approaching the table.

Aldrich nodded toward the man on his right. "Go on, Vash, get on with it."

Mr. Zwingli rose from the table. "In nineteen-ninety-seven, this very orchestra performed the score to a hit American movie about a great international tragedy."

"But it's only nineteen-ten, the Titanic sunk in nineteen-twelve, let alone movies—" Roderich began to protest, but Vash cut him off.

"This is a work of fiction, and it's very difficult to turn a bank into an orchestra, so the author is slipping this into the dialogue as an almost-clever way to cover up lazy writing. Do you know what happened to that film?"

"Well, yes," Roderich said slowly. "The film was ridiculed for its usage of an overly dramatic pop song by some Canadian harlot, and its starring actor never got the Oscar he properly deserved."

"Precisely. And the score went unrecognized. Panic ensued within these walls. There was a run on this orchestra!"

"From that time to this year there has not been a run on this orchestra," continued Aldrich, "until today. A run, sir, caused by the disgraceful conduct of your son! Do you deny it?"

"I do not deny it, sir," responded Roderich, "I will assume full responsibility for my son."

"What are you waiting for? Get on with it!" Aldrich wheezed, poking Vash with his cane. The Swiss man approached Roderich, tore the tails off his coat, and broke his glasses. Then he sat back down.

"Well, Edelstein," Aldrich said gravely, "do you have anything to say?"

"Well, sir," Roderich answered, almost seemingly about to giggle, "they do say that… when there's nothing to say… all you can say…" He trailed off and pulled Lovino's tuppence out of his pocket and stared at it.

"Confound it, Edelstein, I said do you have anything to say!"

Without warning, Roderich burst out laughing. "Just one word, sir…"

"Yes?"

"Supercalifragilisticexpialid ocious!" And then he doubled over with laughter.

The men at the table glanced at each other. "What?"

"Supercalifragilisticexpialid ocious," repeated Roderich. "Arthur Kirkland was right! It's extraordinary! It does make you feel better!"

"What are you talking about, man? There's no such word!"

"Oh, yes, it is a word. A perfectly good word. Actually, do you know what there's no such thing as? It turns out, with due respect, when all is said and done, that there's no such thing as you!" Roderich grinned pointed an accusing finger at the old man.

"Impertinent, sir!" Aldrich fumed.

"Speaking of impertinence, would you like to hear a perfectly marvelous joke? A real snapper," Roderich rambled, stepping closer to the table. "There are these two wonderful people, Feli and Lovi, and they meet one day on the street, and Feli says to Lovi, 'I know a man with a wooden leg named Smith!' And Lovi says, 'Really? What's the name of his other leg?!'" And again Roderich doubled over laughing.

"The man's gone mad!" Aldrich shouted. "Call the guards!"

"Supercalifragilisticexpialid ocious, I'm feeling better all the time!" Roderich raved, waving Lovino's tuppence in Aldrich's face and forcing it into his hand before dashing off, still raving about popping through chalk pavement pictures and kite-flying and spoonfuls of sugar.

"Mad as a March hare," Vash murmured.

"A wooden leg named Smith," muttered Aldrich. "A wooden leg named Smith. A wooden—"

Suddenly he stopped, and began wheezing. Vash turned to see if he was alright, but soon realized the wheezing was laughter. Before he knew it Aldrich was rising up into the air, laughing his head off.

So very terribly sorry about the continued delay! I'm just so lazy and non-committal! I swear, though, the next chapter ought to be the last; and then you'll be done waiting for me to update. Thank you all for staying with me through this whole stupid thing!