A puff piece, that’s all. “Last person born in the 1880’s still kicking.” Ought to entice a few readers, young turks who could barely comprehend someone born in the 1980’s, let alone 100 years prior.

But Agnes Ethel Wilson, age 116, had other ideas.

“Another newspaperman,” she said.

Rigby was taken aback, as the woman’s eyes were visibly clouded with cataracts, and he was wearing very casual clothes. “How did you know that?” he asked.

“When you been around as long as I have, you learn lots of things. Sound of a newsman’s footsteps ain’t the same as the sound of a milkman’s.”

“I…I suppose…” Rigby murmured, astonished.

“Ha!” Agnes croaked. “I’s just teasing with you, son. Orderly said you was coming.”