Golden Eggs

There once was a farmer named John Lepperd III. He had added on the "III" part because it sounded fancy. His father had been called Dave, and his grandfather was Timothy.

But John didn't tell anyone that.

What John did do was run a pathetic little farm on the wrong side of town, where nobody noticed when the wells ran dry and the chickens went hungry. No one cared when the geese laid eggs with yolks lighter than straw.

John was sick of it. He wanted a big, extravagant house with a garden and servants. Oh, and a proper bathtub. One of those ones with clawed feet.

But those things cost money. Money John Lepperd III did not have.

Something else John didn't have– patience. He stood in line to buy cheap bread and beans, and the lady in front was taking forever.

"...and do you have salt? With the beans..."

"No, ma'am. Just beans."

"Alright. Then I'll have bread with butter."

John scowled. Where did this lady think she was? The royal palace? No one could afford butter around here. When on occasion his cow would produce a cup of milk, it was dark and had mysterious chunks floating on top.

The vendor explained to the woman that no, they did not have salt or butter, and if she could just buy either beans or bread and get on with her life that would be great. Or something. That's what John would have said.

When the woman finally bought her goods and moved along, John saw something shiny and gold slip out of her purse. So rare was this color that he immediately stepped out of line to get a closer look. Could it be real, solid gold? Was this woman royalty?

He picked it up, wiping mud off the surface. It was a small cylinder made of metal, with a glass top. John peered inside and saw what appeared to be liquid gold. He almost jumped for joy until he opened the lid and held the container to his face– and smelled the acrid scent of paint.

It was paint! Gold paint, granted, but paint nonetheless.

Disappointed, John replaced the lid and slipped the container into his pocket. He turned and was annoyed to find that the bread and beans line had doubled in size.

“Forget it,” he muttered, and started the trek home.

And forget he did. John only recalled the strange cylinder after he sat down and felt a sharp pain in his leg. Cursing, he pulled the pain-inducing thing out of his pocket and eyed it suspiciously. Who carried golden paint around?

Just then, there was a loud screech from the doorway. John turned around to see his only goose staring at him intensely.

“What do you want, huh?” John asked, then remembered that the goose hadn’t been fed for a few days. It was looking rather scrawny.

“You’d get better food if you started laying golden eggs,” John muttered bitterly. As soon as the words left his mouth, his eyes widened. He looked down at the container of paint. And he smiled deviously.

Who could have known how far this scam would get him?

John Lepperd III was raking in the cash. For once in his life, he had more than enough money.

It had been easy enough to paint the eggs. Once they looked good, John laid them out to dry, taking care to leave the eggs in the goose pen for a few hours so they naturally collected bits of goose fluff. More authentic.

And people lined up to buy John’s golden goose eggs.

John couldn’t believe people were actually this gullible. He had figured he’d sell one, maybe two. But he was actually running low on paint.

He wasn’t worried, though. So far, he had more than enough money to buy a claw-foot tub.

“Golden goose eggs! Get your own golden egg, right here!” John boasted loudly. He continued handing eggs to customers and stuffing money in his bag. It was already fat and heavy with coins.

John looked up to see that his next customer was the very woman from whom he had taken the paint. She did not look happy.

“Listen up,” she said, speaking quickly and quietly. “I know all about your little con. And I’m willing to let it continue– but I demand exactly half the profits. That’s more than fair.”

John was stunned. He scrambled for words: “But– I don’t–”

The woman cut him off. “Half. Fifty percent. Count it, right now.”

John ran through the possibilities in his head. If he refused, the woman would reveal his scheme. If he gave her the money– well, he’d be half as rich. It was a lose-lose.

He decided to take his chances.

“No. You’re not getting anything,” he sneered.

The woman nodded as if this was what she expected, then turned to face the people lined up to buy the eggs.

“This man has cheated me of my money!” She yelled, her voice uncannily loud. The chatter immediately ceased. “These eggs are not gold. They are just painted eggs. You have wasted your money!”

There was a well-timed crack as someone’s egg dropped to the ground, revealing nothing more than yolk and gooey whites. It was at that moment that John knew he had outstayed his welcome.

So he made a break for it.

John found himself running faster than he ever had. Perhaps this had something to do with the angry mob following him.

Suddenly, John found himself in the mud, flat on his face. He’d tripped over something– but what?

He sat up and saw his goose glaring at him, feathers rumpled. The last things John Lepperd III saw before the crowd overtook him were the goose’s golden eyes.