Chapter Twenty-seven

Donald was reading a newspaper with his legs straddled on a stool when he saw the call. He contemplated for a moment if he should concentrate on reading or give the call an answer. He picked up the phone, put it on silent, and dropped it. It was a strange number, but he guessed who was calling.

“Samson,” he called one of the gardeners.

“Sir,” he answered where he was trimming the flowers.

“Come and see”

Samson was surprised at first because he was at home today, sitting around, and second, because he lowered his voice instead of choosing to shout.

“Have you read today’s paper?”

“No Sir,” he said. He couldn’t remember the last time he was given the freedom to relax and read anything in the palace. The last time? He didn’t think he had ever done anything like that, not in this palace. His job had always been to cut overgrown flowers and leave. Sometimes sleeping in the boys’ quarter if need be.

“Look at what they are saying; go to the advert section instea