Bingly’s Brainstorm
What could go wrong?
Bingly Ironhart was Manchester’s most enthusiastic ironmonger—enthusiasm measured, of course, by the number of squeaky hinges he polished before breakfast. Each morning, he burst through his shop doors at precisely 6:03 am (never 6:00, for dramatic flair), straightening rows of horseshoes like they were little silver soldiers. His apprentice, young Marmaduke, tip-toed in behind him, carrying a teetering stack of coil spri...