The days of being a spiritual mentor in Meiman

In the middle of winter, on the branches of dry trees, the little sparrows lined up and combed their feathers. One of them spread its wings and flew to the ground, jumping and jumping in the snow all over the ground, looking for possible existence. food.

A piece of bread crumbs was scattered by one hand, and many sparrows gathered around. The bakery owner in a cotton cap and apron straightened up and slapped the remaining bread crumbs off his hands.

With a creak, the sound of bicycle brakes came, and the tightly wrapped newsboy took off his gloves and rang the bell with his fingers.

The owner of the bakery was wearing thick cotton boots, stepped on the snow on the ground, and flocked the sparrows that had just fallen into the air. He strode across the sidewalk and came to the side of the street. Take the newspaper.

It's you clever little devil again! You must know that the gentlemen here are the best at talking, and you can grab jobs here every time.

The newspaper delivery boy is a freckled little boy, just like most children in Gotham, lively, wild, and full of rebellion.

These children shuttle through the streets of Gotham like this, unafraid of wind, frost, rain and snow, always full of vitality, just like sparrows crossing the streets for food in winter, they are the most vibrant scenery in Gotham, a sinful city.

The bakery gave the newsboy a small piece of toasted black bread, and he asked, Any gossip recently?

The newsboy picked up the bread and took a bite. He was so hot that he gasped. While sucking air into his mouth, he said intermittently, The situation is not bad.

I heard that the charity dinner in the Metropolitan City was very successful. Those rich and wealthy people donated a lot of money to solve the traffic problems caused by the snowstorm.

I heard that after our mayor received the donation, he bought several large snow removal vehicles. Now the central turntable and the pier in the eastern district have been cleared, otherwise it would not be able to resume traffic today.

The newsboy took another bite of the hot black bread, and his nose was red from the cold. He wiped his nose with his hands, took another two breaths of cold air, and said:

Gotham University will be resuming classes today. You can see that the group of pampered teachers and professors can drive to work, and you know that good days are coming soon.

Thank God! The bakery owner sneezed, rubbed his nose, and said in a low voice:

The traffic has been paralyzed for the past few days, and I can't sell any bread. If it weren't for the little guys like you who can help me deliver things to those regular customers, I'm afraid the store would have closed a long time ago.

Oh, that's right! The bakery owner suddenly remembered something. He stretched out a hand, shook his finger, patted his forehead again, turned around, and hurried back to the shop, startled again. Many sparrows foraging.

After a while, he came out with a brown paper bag, and said, Professor Rodriguez's housekeeper called last night and ordered the bread that was just baked this morning. You can deliver it to me at noon today. I invite you to eat black rice cakes and sausages...

The newsboy snapped his fingers to indicate that there was no problem. After he took the brown paper bag, he stuffed it into his arms, leaned forward, held the handlebar of the bicycle, stepped on the pedal hard, and the bicycle rushed out quickly.

Seeing his back disappearing on the street, the bakery owner shook his head and strode back to his shop. When he went to the counter to check the order records, he said to himself:

It's so strange, didn't that professor always like to eat lye bread? Why did he buy buttered toast instead?

The flipped order form made a rustling sound, and the bakery owner shook his head and said in a low voice, ...Maybe it's a visitor.

When, when, when, when, when...

When the manor's clock rang, Schiller stood in front of the French windows on the first floor, stretched, yawned, then walked to the dining table and picked up the water glass on it.

Holding a water glass, he walked around the hall on the first floor, and then stopped in the middle of the room in some confusion, and began to think about a question - if he wanted to drink water, where should he find it?

In Marvel’s nursing home, the place where Schiller lived was remodeled from the original bank president’s lounge. It is a one-bedroom room with a bedroom and a living room. There is an electric kettle on the table in the bedroom, and there is an automatic in the living room. Water dispenser, every morning, you can find drinking water within 10 steps.

Schiller knows that it is now 1988, and he also experienced this era before time travel, but when he experienced this era, he did not own a manor.

Now standing in the front hall of the manor with an area of ​​more than 600 square meters, Schiller was a little confused and thought, is this the life of aristocrats?

Just as Schiller was standing at the stairs with a cup in his hand, hesitating whether to walk for 10 minutes to find the kitchen, Merkel hurried down the stairs.

It could be seen that he was indeed very anxious, his suit jacket was not buttoned properly, his tie was not fastened, and even his hair was simply brushed twice, and there were still two strands of hair on the top of his head that were not subdued.

Sorry sir, why did you get up so early today?

Early? Schiller looked down at his watch, it was 5:30 in the morning, and then he turned his head to look at the window, the sky outside the window was still dark.

Merkel wiped her eyes vigorously, trying to wake herself up, but felt that her thoughts were still very confused. He was deeply shocked by Schiller's unpredictable schedule.

Before coming here, what he learned in the Butler Academy is that a butler should adapt to the employer's schedule as much as possible so as to provide them with timely services.

Therefore, after coming to work at the Rodriguez estate, Merkel worked hard to adjust her schedule to be the same as that of Schiller.

Before, Schiller’s schedule was outrageous. In this era without any electronic equipment, he often stayed up until two or three o’clock in the middle of the night before going to bed. Get up, then just have a brunch.

Merkel managed to adjust his normal schedule to be exactly the same as Schiller's in the underworld, but since Schiller returned from the Metropolis, his schedule has returned to normal, even a bit too normal, every night at 8:00 Sleep between ~9:00, get up between 5:00~6:00 in the morning...

Merkel stood on the steps, leaning on the armrest of the chair, feeling dizzy for a while, but he still tried his best to pull himself together. He took the water glass in Schiller's hand and said, Sorry, sir, I didn't arrange for someone in the morning. Boil the water, I'll go right away, do you want breakfast?

Of course, didn't you order bread for me last night?

Uh, but the newsboys in the West District can't come here until 7:30 at the earliest. At this time, the newspaper office and the bakery are not open.

Schiller glanced at the street outside through the floor-to-ceiling windows on the right, but it was still pitch black, with no one in sight.

Although Gotham is considered an international metropolis, after all, it is around the 1990s, and the pace of life is not so fast, and the West Side is originally an old city, and the old-fashioned rich people live here, and few people live there. will get up so early.

Schiller sighed, and he said, Okay, call me when breakfast is ready.

After speaking, he went upstairs and returned to the bedroom, while Merkel, who was standing on the stairs, looked at Schiller's back upstairs, and became more and more puzzled.

If this happens often, Schiller will definitely make a joke with him with a dry sense of humor, such as I hope you can call to order bread faster than the flock of sparrows in front of the bakery or something Yes, then give up breakfast and drive directly to Gotham University for class.

Of course, Merkel did not forget the strange dream she had.

At that time, he wanted to find some clues in the manor while Schiller was away, and then he found that the doors of all important rooms were locked, and then set up a series of puzzles, and he spent a lot of effort to solve these puzzles. After solving the problem, he entered Schiller's dream because he touched a bottle of wine on the shelf.

At that time, Merkel had no choice but to ask Schiller to help him protect the mysterious East Coast agent and protect the list. Schiller did not answer him directly, and Merkel had no way of knowing what happened on the day of the banquet. What.

For him, the mysterious agent is still missing, and the list is also unknown. The only good thing is that he is sure that his employer doesn't mind that he is actually a Soviet agent. As long as he does his job well, maybe it will Become a stable disguised identity.

But now, his biggest trouble is that since Schiller came back from the Met's charity dinner, he seems to be a different person, from his work and rest schedule, living habits to the way he speaks, they are completely different.

From the first day Merkel came here, he wanted to collect enough information about his employer, which would not only help him work more smoothly, but also part of his secret service work. After getting along for a period of time, Merkel felt she had read Schiller's temper.

As a result, his efforts are now in vain.

The boiling kettle whistled sharply. Merkel quickly walked across the corridor and took the kettle off the stove. He took a towel from the wall hook next to it, wrapped it around the handle of the kettle, and carried the kettle to the In the front hall of the manor, after filling the water, he carried the tray upstairs.

In the bedroom, Schiller was leaning against the bedside reading a book. Merkel put the water on the bedside table, and then paused with some hesitation.

Schiller put down his book and looked up. He asked, What's wrong? Didn't the breakfast preparation go well?

Well, no, sir, I just want to say... just... why have you been a little... um...

Oh, I have an anxiety attack, so my behavior will be a little different from before, don't mind, maybe it will get better soon.

Anxiety? Merkel muttered to herself with some doubts, but thinking of Schiller's unusual temper before, he felt that this explanation barely made sense.

Just when he was about to inquire carefully, suddenly, the mailbox bell rang softly from downstairs, and he looked back at the clock hanging on the wall, it was only 6 o'clock.

Merkel quickly left the room, put down the tray, put on her coat, and walked out the gate of the manor. Sure enough, the newsboy was standing in front of the mailbox outside the door, waving at him.

Why are you so early today?

Merkel greeted him very familiarly. There are very few newsboys who travel to and from the West District, and Merkel knows almost all of them. Today, the one he knows best is the one he knows best. The small freckles on his face make it easy to identify him .

The traffic on the East Wharf has completely resumed, don't you know? After delivering the newspapers here, I have to go there to grab work.

Traffic at the pier has resumed? Merkel took the newspaper and a bag of bread from the newsboy, and then he took out a few coins from his pocket and put them in the newsboy's palm. Raising eyebrows, before he could ask, Merkel said:

You came too early today, and the bread hasn't been baked yet. The cold bread is too hard, and it will break your teeth. You'd better go buy something to eat yourself.

The newsboy reached out, stuffed the coin into his pocket, narrowed his eyes and smiled, looking naughty and cute, and said:

Say hello to Professor Rodriguez for me! He's a great guy, always has been!