John Marston had just finished his dinner, when a knock came from the door. He stood up and thanked Abigail for the meal (even though it had tasted like chicken shit), and went to greet the night-time caller.
"John?" called Abigail, following her husband.
"Yes, my love?" he answered in a joking voice. John had been at home for three months now, and everything was just starting to get back to normal. Jack had stopped resenting him, and even Abigail was returning to her usual self. John had hoped that he could put his previous life behind him, and it finally seemed like that wish was coming true.
" After you're finished with whoever is at the door, can you please go get Jack. He's been sitting underneath that tree of his all afternoon. He didn't even come in for dinner for Pete's sake." Abigail rolled her eyes and put a lock of her brown hair behind her ear. "I'm gunna go clean up, okay?"
"Yes, dearest," John mumbled as he continued to the door. Abigail rolled her eyes and through her hands up in exasperation as she went back into the small dining room. She grinned, however as she started to pile the dishes.
John reached the door and opened it warily. It might be one of them government pigs, he thought to himself. But those thoughts were removed however when a familiar voice cried,
"Ah, John, my boy!" John opened the door wider and a small smile mixed with annoyance greeted the man standing on his doorstep. Behind him stood a parked, maroon coloured wagon, with two palomino horses. The man himself was dressed in a grey suit, with a top hat. He looked about sixty-five, and had snow-white hair and a long moustache.
"Mr West Dickens," said John. What in God's name is HE doing here so late? He wondered, stepping outside and shaking hands with the old man. Mr Dickens strolled inside the house, without being invited in, and John followed. "What are you doing here, old man?" he asked as Dickens helped himself to a seat in the living room. John sat down opposite him.
"Well, John. You haven't changed a bit!" Dickens exclaimed, taking in John's appearance. He was indeed, wearing pretty much the same clothes as he did when he last saw the man.
"Same to you, Mr." John answered, still waiting to hear why this man had called on them so late, and after so many months without seeing each other. The fire in the room illuminated their faces, and Dickens started to warm his hands.
"Listen, old man." John said. "It's late at night, you haven't seen me in months, and then you just turn up one night on my doorstep. What are you doing here? You tell me or I might just carry through with the threats I offered you last time we met."
"Oh, John." Mr Dickens laughed nervously. " Can't two friends just see each other after a long period of absence from each other's presence?" When John looked incredulous, he cut the crap. "Okay John. I know that this is a trifle odd, but… I have a very interesting proposal for you."