The
stork glided to a landing before Stunk’s residence and squawked for
attention.
“No,
it can’t be!” the goblin cried in panic. “I’m not even
married!”
”
‘Snot that,” the stork said through his long bill. “In the
off-season I deliver mail.” He produced an official-looking
letter.
“Off-season
for what?” the goblin demanded.
“You
wouldn’t understand. Take the missive. I have other idiots to bug.”
“But
I can’t read!” Stunk protested, his panic shifting to
embarrassment. Few goblins could read, but like most illiterates,
they didn’t like this advertised.
“I
will read it to you, bulbnose.” The stork opened the envelope
and oriented an eye on the document inside. “Greetings.”
“Same
to you, birdbrain,” Stunk said politely. Goblins had excellent
manners, though for some reason other creatures seemed unable to
appreciate them.
“Don’t
answer back, dolt,” the stork said. “I’m reading the
letter, not talking to you. Don’t you know what ‘Greetings’ means?”
“Hey,
stupid, I asked you a question,” the stork said, irritated.
“I
thought you were reading the letter, needlebeak, so I didn’t answer
back. I’m trying to be polite to one not worth the effort. Of course
I know what it means. It’s an ungoblinish salutation.”
