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// Not at All, Cheese 
// Story: The Rummy Business of Old Blooey 
// by Cloud Wander 
//------------------------------//

I swam to the surface some time later, a promenade of pink Princesses prancing the Pony Pokey in the old persimmon. Shaking, I feared the approaching thunder of the Hoofbeats of Death, but, happily, it was only Cheese with the sovereign remedy. I engulfed it gratefully, and, once the convulsions stopped, I felt quite like the old Barney again.

Details of the previous night were sketchy at best, mostly lines pencilled in with multiple erasures. However, the pinched guardpony's helmet, stylishly cocked upon the bedpost, suggested that I had enjoyed a fruity time.

As Cheese arranged the toast and tea, I inquired, "Cheese?"

"Yes, sir?"

"That plaid vest of mine. Have you recovered it?"

"Yes, sir. Although, I'm afraid, sir, that it is a bit worse for wear. Mysteriously, it was discovered this morning flying as a pennant from the flagstaff of Princess Celestia's tower."

I sighed. "Well, that's how it goes, eh, Cheese? As the philosopher says, in time, all things lose their... well, their thingness, I suppose."

"A most wise observation, sir."

I kicked an idea around the old coconut for awhile, then announced, "Cheese? About that old vest of mine? Give it away!"

"Sir?"

"Give it away! I have enjoyed good fortune, wearing that vest. Perhaps some other pony, down on his luck, will inherit the garment and a bit of the old Trotter magic will rub off on 'im. And good for him, I say."

Dashed if I can understand it, but Cheese fixed me with a look that reminded me, oddly, of Princess Celestia.

"That is most charitable of you, sir," he said.

"Not at all, Cheese. Not at all."