Props Cushing pulled a supple calf-skin glove onto his right hand; reached out delicately for the thin effervescent offering of Madame Nicotine;struck a match and turned easily to address the frightened horde. “Hello,” he said mellifluosly. “Welcome.” Props Cushing paused to light his navy cut wonder. “I would like to introduce you to Poor Richard and the Almanacs. Lovely chaps, ’tho a bit obstreporous.” “Poor Richard was found floating in a desert hatbox aeons ago. Pulled to shore by the almanacs he was soon roughly used and introduced to the terrors of the ‘rock’, as well as the ‘roll’(as the kids say).Now he is two full grown poodles. This is the sound that they make. They hope you enjoy it. I myself prefer my watercolours and will retire to them now. Goodnight and God bless.”