Nothing but frozen meat pies for the rest of the week. This was the big idea in Edward Macko's head. Nothing but frozen meat pies and not a single way to heat them anywhere. There was no real solution as he was trapped in this ice warehouse for the next four days of the long weekend. How had it happened? What posseses a resident of the Yukon (pronounced 'Yookawn' by his neighbor over the border - an American) to take a package tour of an ice warehouse!?! And to compound his misery, he felt sure that the tour guide had left him behind on purpose.
"Just because a fella asks a question or two," he chattered under his breath in between taking half-hearted nibbles off a corner of meat pie that he had diligently worked down to the consistency of meaty toothpaste.
It was an insupportable situation. Right now, he imagined his relatives, delighted no doubt to be free of his fast talking flurries of questions and challenges. Could he fault himself for having the gift of gab? Should he not rightfully stand above his uncles and aunts and especially cousin Lucy with that awful way she had of chuckling at the most embarassing times. Well, they sure would be enjoying themselves back at the hotel with the rest of tourists; eating their way through the buffet and passing knowing smiles between each other:
'Ah, that Edward, we showed him didn't we!'
'Yessireebob'syouruncle, that Edward has needed to cool off a spell for 25 years! ho ho.
Well, if no one came soon, thought Edward...he pushed the thought away by focusing on the soppy corner of his pie.