A month had gone by since the disappearance. The Floating Log Inn was ablaze with stories and rumors of what had happened to Jamwine Hamfiddle, a nightly customer here at the pub.
“Old fool of a Hamfiddle fell in the swamp, chasin’ after a wheel of cheese”, one patron loudly gossipped, slamming his mug to the table.
Nearly everyone had their own tale to tell, each more ridiculous than the prior.
If there was one person in the bar that evening that had heard them all it was Mr. Loamsdown, the owner of the Inn. Jamwine and Mr. Loamsdown had been childhood friends and Jamwine was a loyal patron - although a bit dozy perhaps. Now he was tired of the ramblings. “Ok that’s quite enough all of you!” Loamsdown’s gravelly voice burst through the clamoring. “If I hear one more bit of tittle-tattle regarding the business of Mr. Hamfiddle you’ll be out on yer ass, that goes for the lot of ya!”.
The crowd murmured among themselves, and as the night was growing late the last few customers stumbled out the creaking front door