Joseph P. Happenstanche

If, on that fateful day, you entered the office of C. Comrather, attorney at law, through the door opening directly in front of his desk (as you naturally would do), you might be momentarily taken aback at what first appeared to be a honeydew melon, somewhat overripe, peeking over the top of the chair sitting directly across from the wizened gaze of C. Comrather himself.

Being the insightful sort, at least in regards to the chance occurrence of honeydew melons in lawyers' offices, you would take a step inside for a better view. It was then that you'd see, not a honeydew melon, but a man in his late twenties. He had a bald head, oddly pale skin, and large, incongruous features, and he spoke in a hesitating manner, tinged, so you thought, with fear and sadness.

Then you'd notice that his eyes were blinking rapidly, and that he seemed disinclined to smile, even though the conversation up to this point had been perfunctorily pleasant.

Not only quick of perception, but also of a sympathetic turn of heart, you'd wonder who he was and why he was here. Even more to the point, you'd wonder why this odd young man was so strange, so blinking, so large-featured, so hesitatingly spoken, and why he kept his head so very clean-shaven...