Richard Britell June 21, 2012
268. Buboni continued with his ranting "And then the Pope would have to go to work, knowing every instant that it was all a big farce, a big charade, a Punch and Judy show, a sad magic trick everyone sees through, a worn out one act play with no plot..." As he raved he put his face closer and closer to the Abbot, flecks of foam flew from his lips. He took a step back and then collapsed onto the floor in a heap.
269. "It's Cholera", said the Abbot. "Where is the nearest hospital" said the Duck, "I will go get the car", I said. And so we prepared to do something about our dear art historian friend, but the Abbot said, "It may already be too late.
270. The Abbot made a phone call and informed us; the hospital was full and could take no more patients, we were to transport him to an auxiliary location, the former World War I Armory was being use about six miles from Dannersville. We set out, Buboni riding in the front seat for once.
271. The entire six miles the old man was nearly incoherent, he kept babbling on with his art history nonsense, stopping mid-sentence and changing the subject. He was especially concerned about the Popes, and their art commissions, but I could make no sense out of it. "Its obvious", said the Duck,"He is the 'Pope' and Catholicism is his art history, he now is beginning to think of it as a big crock of duck excrement.
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