Logan takes up gossip.
Logan Owens walked into the pub. His pals could see he was bursting with news. He joined them quickly at their usual table. A foaming mug of beer was plunked down in front of him.
“Much obliged,” he said, smiling round the table.
“Okay, I can see you got some news, so out with it!” Paddy, on his left, said.
“You didn’t hear this from me,” Logan said, then dropped his voice so his cronies had lean in to hear him.
A group of ladies that were sitting at the next table, strained to hear what he was saying and couldn’t. Looking exasperated at this failure, they nodded to each other and waited. Shortly before closing, they quietly left.
“Time, ladies and gentlemen, please!” seemed to come too soon.
The men stood in a body and swaying slightly, threw down their money and headed for the door. As each man, came to his door, he shouted goodnight and staggered to their doorstep. Soon Logan was ambling alone to his own door on the edge of the village.
As he passed a vacant, junk-strewn lot, he heard a chorus of female voices calling his name. Blearily, he peered into the darkness.
“Tell us that gossip you were sharing in the pub this night.”
“It has none to do with wimmen,” Logan slurred.
“Let us be the judge of that,” they said waspishly.
“No, it’s fer me to know and you to find out,” he said slyly, hoping for some fun.
The local constabulary found him in the empty lot the next morning in only his skivvies. Miracles of miracles, Logan took the pledge and never darkened the door of a drinking establishment again, not even on his birthday. He would never say what happened, but the Gossip Mongers knew.