The stranger glanced along the dark, perfectly aligned skid marks of the Indian's landing track to where the fair Keepstress was pointing.

"Huh!" he remarked. "The monkey will have the half-pint size of the same, thanks, and as for that blue blur on the deck, I believe it's that disheveled poet wandered through here without watching for crossing traffic. Hmmm -- he does look awful disheveled smurfed out like that, but maybe I can help!"

He reached deep into the inside pockets of the voluminous trenchcoat and pulled out a strange brown paper package, wrapped up in string. Laying it on the bar he deftly slid the knots and laid back the wrapper, revealing a beautiful, perfectly matched set of curved, balanced and firm shevels.

Lifting one in each hand and hefting them thoughtfully, he glanced at the Keepstress and turned to the blue smudge, which stirred with the application of the finely formed and weighted shevels and rose up full-formed anew, babbling inspired couplets in Elizabethan terms, and staggered up to the bar to beg for an ale of his own.