Bartholomew Brain,
World’s Greatest P. I.,
Was shocked off his chair,
By a woman’s shrill cry!
“Bartholomew Brain,
Come quickly I beg!”
Bartholomew rose,
Nursing his bruised leg.
“Holy crap, lady,
There’s no need to yell!”
“But my son! He’s fallen!
Straight down the town well!”
“Hey! That’s no mystery,
You know where he’s at!”
“I’m willing to pay!
Quite handsomely, at that!”
Bartholomew’s eyes,
Still groggy from sleep,
Lit up at these words,
As she started to weep.
“I’m on the case,
Dear madam, dear lass!”
He swept up his hat,
And magnifying glass.
“Why do you need that?
My son is quite large!”
“Why, my dear madam,
All the best sleuths have ‘em!”
They drove to the spot,
Where it all went down,
A deep, stony well,
In the middle of town.
“Don’t worry, m’boy!
I’ll get you out soon!
Now all I need is,
Some thread and a spoon!”
“Why do you need those?
They’re much too small!”
“I’ve got this lady!
I’m a sleuth after all!”
Our sleuth got to work,
It took him much time,
But when he was done,
He had the lifeline!
“I’ll throw this down swift,”
Brain yelled to the boy,
“And you hold on tight,
This isn’t a toy!”
“Ok, Mr. Brain!
I hear what you say!
I can’t wait to get out!
I’ve been here all day!”
Brain dropped the lifeline,
The fun getting old,
And mere seconds later,
The boy grabbed hold!
“Alright, son! Hold tight!”
Brain yelled, a mite grumpy,
“I want to get home,
And have food in my tummy!”
When Brain gave a heave,
The thread snapped in two,
Which threw the Sleuth backward,
And he shouted, “Oh poo!”
“Welp, my dear woman,
I’m sorry to say,
But your son will be trapped,
For at least one more day.”
“Oh no! This is bad!
You’re the worst at your job!”
And at that she slapped him,
With corn on the cob!
“Ouch, that really hurt!
But will you still pay me?”
“Of course, I will not!
You didn’t save my baby!”
“I’ll call the cops for you!
How does that sell?
I’ll bet they can get,
Your son from that well!”
“I still won’t pay you,
But I guess that’s kind,
A P. I. who cares,
Is pretty hard to find!”