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Weekly Contest #369
Master Hubert Briss III, son of Hugh Jr, was nearing his thirteenth birthday. He had been a dull and rather skylarking child, with little curiosity in his pale hazel eyes. His father often happened across him in the study, seemingly lost deep in the intricacies of dust, or possibly nothing at all–certainly not lost in study. “The boy will make an excellent burden for some lucky lady one day,” his father would say to the group of fellow industrialists with whom he lunched biweekly at the whist club. This often earned a scoff, or perhaps a cho...
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