Mr. Pottles: A Short Story

Mr Tom and Polly arrived back a short while ago. Myself and Robert were sitting in the dining room eating fried fish and chips in silence. Robert was upset by the news of Mrs Whittlesworths deterioration, and with tears in his eyes, he sat head down picking over his meal. Clattering arose from the kitchen when Mr Tom ambled in. "Ahhh Mr Tom," I said, trying to lighten the mood. "How is she? I trust she is feeling better?" The big man slumped into a chair and sighed. "The Doctors think its consumption Mr Pottles. They have put her in a clean ward and left her sleeping soundly. It does not look good though, I fear she will be gone by morning." Robert snorted and stood. "Maud is a fighter, she should never have gone to no bloody hospital. You should have just taken her to the mortuary and be done with it."
After dinner, Mr Willis declared that he would burst and suggested a stiff walk with the dogs, I accepted and Annie and Caroline joined us. It was a beautiful warm night; we wandered down the lane past one of the farm cottages, bidding a good evening to a labourer who lived there. The dogs bounded on ahead barking, while Caroline threw a ball for them to fetch. After crossing fields we arrived at a large, overgrown pond. The half crescent moon cast a glow upon its surface and from the reeds the occasional quack of a nesting duck broke the silence. Mr Willis sat on a log and lit his pipe while I talked with Annie and watched Caroline play with the dogs. After a while, we heard a splash. "Mr Pottles," Caroline shouted from across the pond. "My ball has fallen into the water, please help." Annie groaned and Mr Willis scratched his head and blew a plume of smoke. Acting the hero I took off my jacket, rolled up my sleeves and ran towards her. What happened next was