What had looked like a short bus from the outside seemed positively cavernous on the inside. As Melinda struggled to adjust her vision to the dim interior, her safari-clad companion leaned over, bringing his ample jowls disturbingly close to her ear:
"Nice call on the St. Gelasius," he grumbled appreciatively. "Even I'd never heard of that one!"
"Neither had I," she replied. "I thought gelasius was just a nonsense word I pulled outta my butt on the spur of the moment."
"Well," he beamed, "it certainly has the ring of sainthood to it. And I say that as something of an avid amateur hagiologist!"
Melinda merely looked askance but said nothing. "Could it be," he offered, "that you heard the saint's name once, yet so long ago that you can't recall the occasion? Or perhaps your dear mother whispered it into your ear while you slept?"
"Yeah!" came a Texas drawl from the dark recesses of the bus. "Must been subliminable!"
Before Melinda could properly locate the speaker, a tall bony uniformed woman came fluttering down the aisle; her tiny striped cap perched jauntily atop a mass of ruby red curls. "Good Morning, Good Morning everybody on the bus this morning, Good Morning!" she piped. "I'm Stewar-DESS Flamingo!"
"What kind of bus has a stewardess?" Melinda wondered to herself at the top of her lungs.
