“Stripe Wiggly T is the real breakout character from ‘The Wibbly-Wombles,’ so he would be a perfect spokesman for your product,” said Mr. Cabinet, the network executive man. “The word ‘tea’ is right there in his name, after all. Shall we start the negotiations at, oh, say a million?”

The high-backed chair, which had been facing the window, swiveled to reveal the enigmatic Mr. H. M. Wigglesburgh, Esq., the mysterious, reclusive, and eccentric founder and owner of Wigglesburgh Teas. “So allow me to summarize the proposed transaction,” Mr. Wigglesburgh said, his long gloved fingers steepled, his face unreadable beneath his bright top hat and above his ruffled ascot. “Based on some perceived similarity of name, you wish me to hire your children’s television host—and actor—to peddle your wares. To children.”

“Absolutely,” said Mr. Cabinet. “I’m glad we could come to an understanding.”

“Here is what I understand,” said Wigglesburgh. “Children are not an ideal market for tea. It is often too hot for them; they might injure themselves. They prefer it cold, with milk and sugar, all of which are anathema to my fine teas. Now, this is not the children’s fault, Mr. Cabinet; rather, it is yours for having the temerity to suggest such a matchup in the first place.”

“Come now, Mr. Wigglesburgh,” said Cabinet. “Perhaps we could knock the price down to half a million, on account of your moral objections. But I’ll have you know that Butterglut Tea is on the hook as well, and if Stripe Wiggly T isn’t working for you, why he’s working for them. The children will burn their poor little tongues no matter what.”

“Butterglut,” said Mr. Wigglesburgh. “Tell me, Mr. Cabinet, have you ever seen my magnificent vats of Earl Grey, our best seller?”

Without waiting for a response, he touched a control at the arm of his chair that abruptly clamped Mr. Cabinet to his chair and tilted him forward, even as a trap door opened to reveal the steaming vats of Earl Grey below, worked by the tireless Tea Weasels.

“Okay, okay! I take it back! My client is not for sale to teamakers!” Cabiner shrieked.

“Are you sure?” said Mr. Wigglesburgh, examining his nails. “Even Butterglut? I’d hate to be accused of unfair practices.”

“Yes, of course, please!” Cabinet howled.

“Very well.” The trapdoor shut, and the testraings vanished as the chair tilted back. “But do remember the agreement we have made here today. If you do not, the price will be…steep.”

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