"I say, old chap, would you mind awfully picking me up?" Winston could only stare at his suddenly vocal cane.

Ol' Man Mole said, "C'mon, jus' cos 'is mouth runs away with 'im don't mean him'll get up and walk."

Dumbly Winston picked up his cane.

Darlene's soft tones cut through the darkness. "Excuse me, Mister Cane, but since when can you talk?"

"Him'll tell you as we walk, younguns," said Ol' Man Mole. "It'd be right poor form t' let ye stand around. Come by me burrow an' the missus'll whip us up a cuppa."

Figaro managed a slightly strangled noise.

"Good as I'm like to get from ye, heh? Ol' Man Mole knows a yes when he dinnah hear one." With that the mole turned around and headed down the tunnel. Stuck for any better ideas the travelers followed the small furry creature.

Darlene was persistent. "Um, Mister Cane? Could you please get back to explaining why you can talk?"

"Not a worry, young miss. As I understand it there's a backup of sorts in Crazytown. Some of the crazy spills over from time to time fueling your remarkable gift and endowing me with the no less remarkable ability to bring my wealth of character to the attention of the unwashed masses."

Further ahead the mole's whiskers shook as he snorted. The cane remained silent managing somehow to seem put out, no easy task for a cane.

"We're here!" Old Man Mole called from the front of the small caravan.