Chapter 466 Is Schiller Sick?

In the middle of winter, on the dry branches of trees, small sparrows line up in a row, combing their feathers. One of them spreads its wings and flies to the ground, jumping around in the snow on the ground, looking for possible birds. food.

A hand dropped a piece of bread crumbs, and many sparrows gathered around. The bakery owner wearing a cotton hat and apron straightened up and patted the remaining bread crumbs off his hand.

With a "crunch", the sound of the bicycle braking came. The tightly wrapped newsboy took off his gloves and knocked the bell with his fingers.

The bakery owner wore thick cotton boots and stepped on the snow on the ground, making the sparrows that had just fallen fly up in groups. He strode across the sidewalk and came to the street. Take the newspaper.

"It's you again, you clever little devil! You must know that the gentlemen here are the best to talk, and you can grab the jobs here every time."

The newspaper boy who delivers newspapers is a little boy with freckles on his face. Like most children in Gotham, he is lively, wild and rebellious.

These children just shuttle through the streets and alleys of Gotham, not afraid of wind, rain, snow, and always full of vitality, just like sparrows walking through the streets looking for food in winter. They are the most vibrant scenery in Gotham, a city of sin.

The bakery gave the newsboy a small piece of toasted brown bread, and he asked: "Any gossip recently?"

The newsboy picked up the bread and took a bite. He was so hot that he gasped. While puffing air into his mouth, he said intermittently: "The situation is not bad."

"I heard that the charity dinner held in the Metropolis was very successful. The wealthy old people donated a lot of money to solve the traffic problems caused by the snowstorm."

"I heard that our mayor bought several large snowplow trucks after taking donations. Now the central roundabout and the pier in the east district have been cleared, otherwise the traffic would not be reopened today."

The newsboy took another bite of the hot black bread, and his nose turned red from the cold. He wiped his nose with his hand, took two more breaths of cold air, and said:

"Gotham University is resuming classes today. Just look at those pampered teachers and professors who can drive to work, and you know that good times are coming soon."

"Thank God!" The bakery owner sneezed, rubbed his nose, and said angrily:

"Since the traffic has been paralyzed for the past few days, I have been unable to sell any bread. If it weren't for you little guys who could help me deliver goods to those regular customers, I would have closed down long ago."

"Oh, right!" The bakery owner suddenly remembered something. He stretched out a hand, shook his finger, patted his forehead, turned around, and hurried back to the shop. He was startled again. Many sparrows feeding.

After a while, he came out with a brown paper bag, and then said: "Professor Rodriguez's housekeeper called last night and ordered bread that was just baked this morning. You can deliver it to me at noon today." Please eat black rice cakes and sausages..."

The newsboy snapped his fingers to indicate that there was no problem. After taking the brown paper bag, he stuffed it into his arms, leaned forward, held the handle of the bicycle, pedaled hard, and the bicycle flew out quickly.

Seeing his figure disappearing into the street, the bakery owner shook his head and strode back to his shop. When he entered the counter and looked through the order records, he said to himself:

"It's really strange. Didn't that professor always like to eat alkaline bread? Why did he buy buttered toast instead?"

The flipped order form made a rustling sound, and the bakery owner shook his head and whispered: "...Probably there are guests."

"When, when, when, when, when..."

When the manor's bell rang, Schiller stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window on the first floor, stretched out, yawned, then walked to the dining table and picked up the water glass on it.

He walked around the hall on the first floor with a water glass in hand, and then stopped in the middle of the room in confusion, and began to think about a question - if he wanted to drink water, where should he find it?

In Marvel's Sanatorium, Schiller lives in a converted bank president's lounge. It is a one-bedroom apartment with a bedroom and a living room. There is an electric kettle on the table in the bedroom, and there is an automatic machine in the living room. Water dispenser, you can find drinkable water within 10 steps every morning when you wake up.

Schiller knew that it was now 1988. Before traveling through time, he had experienced this era, but when he experienced this era, he had never owned a manor.

Now standing in the front hall of the manor of more than 600 square meters, Schiller thought a little confused, is this the life of an aristocrat?

Just as Schiller was standing at the top of the stairs holding a cup, hesitating whether to walk for 10 minutes to find the kitchen, Merkel hurriedly ran down the stairs.

It could be seen that he was indeed very anxious. His suit jacket was not buttoned properly and his tie was not tied. Even his hair was simply combed twice, and there were still two strands of hair on the top of his head that were not tied down.

"Sorry, sir, why did you get up so early today?"

"Morning?" Schiller lowered his head and glanced at the watch. It was now 5:30 in the morning. Then he turned to look at the window. The sky outside the window was still dark.

Merkel wiped her eyes vigorously, trying to wake herself up, but she felt that her thoughts were still confused. He was deeply shocked by Schiller's unpredictable work and rest time.

Before coming here, he learned from the Butler Academy that butlers should adapt to the employer's schedule as much as possible in order to provide services for them in a timely manner.

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So, after coming to work at Rodriguez Manor, Merkel tried hard to adjust his schedule to be the same as Schiller's.

Before, Schiller's schedule was outrageous. In this era when there were no electronic devices, he often stayed up until two or three in the middle of the night before going to bed. When he had classes, he got up at 9 in the morning. When he didn't have classes, he usually got up at noon and only had brunch.

Merkel had finally adjusted his normal schedule to be exactly the same as Schiller's in the underworld, but since Schiller came back from the Metropolis, his schedule has returned to normal, even a little too normal, sleeping between 8:00 and 9:00 every night and getting up between 5:00 and 6:00 in the morning...

Merkel stood on the steps, holding the armrest of the chair, feeling dizzy, but he still tried to cheer up. He took the water cup from Schiller's hand and said, "Sorry, sir, I didn't arrange for someone to boil water this morning. I'll go now. Do you want breakfast?"

"Of course, didn't you order bread for me last night?"

"Uh, but the newsboy in the West District can't come until 7:30 at the earliest. At this time, the newspaper office and bakery are not open."

Schiller looked at the street outside through the French window on the right. It was still dark there, without even a shadow of a person.

Although Gotham is an international metropolis, it is the 1990s after all, and the pace of life is not that fast. Moreover, the West District is an old city, where old-fashioned rich people live, and few people get up so early.

Schiller sighed and said, "Okay, call me when breakfast is ready."

After that, he went upstairs and returned to the bedroom. Merkel, who was standing on the stairs, looked at Schiller's back and became more and more confused.

If it was a normal thing, Schiller would definitely make a joke with him with cold humor, such as "I hope you can call to order bread faster than the sparrows in front of the bakery next time", and then give up breakfast and drive to Gotham University for class.

Of course, Merkel did not forget the strange dream she had.

At that time, he wanted to find some clues in the manor while Schiller was away, and then he found that the doors of all the important rooms were locked, and then a series of puzzles were set. After he spent a lot of effort to solve these puzzles, he entered Schiller's dream because he touched a bottle of wine on the shelf.

At that time, Merkel had no choice but to ask Schiller to help him protect the mysterious East Coast agent and protect the list. Schiller did not answer him directly, and Merkel had no way of knowing what happened on the day of the banquet.

For him, the mysterious agent is still missing and the list is unknown. The only benefit is that he is sure that his employer does not mind that he is actually a Soviet agent. As long as he does his job well, perhaps this will become a stable disguise identity.

But now, his biggest trouble is that since Schiller came back from the charity dinner at the Metropolitan, he seems to have become a different person, from his work and rest time, living habits to the way of speaking, everything is completely different.

From the first day Merkel came here, he wanted to collect enough information about his employer. This not only helped him work more smoothly, but was also part of his job as an agent. After a period of getting along, Merkel felt that he had figured out Schiller's temper.

As a result, now, all his efforts have been in vain.

The boiling kettle made a sharp sound. Merkel walked quickly through the corridor and took the kettle off the stove. He took a towel from the wall hook next to him, wrapped the handle of the kettle, and then carried the kettle to the front hall of the manor. After filling the water, he carried the tray upstairs.

When he came to the bedroom, Schiller was leaning against the bedside reading a book. Merkel put the water on the bedside table and paused hesitantly.

Schiller put down the book and looked up. He asked, "What's wrong? Didn't the breakfast preparation go well?"

"Well, no, sir, I just want to say...that is...why have you been a little...um..."

"Oh, my anxiety disorder has come on, so my behavior will be a little different from before. Don't mind, maybe it will be better soon."

"Anxiety disorder?" Merkel murmured to himself in some confusion, but thinking of Schiller's unusual temper before, he felt that this explanation was barely reasonable.

Just when he wanted to ask more carefully, suddenly, there was a slight ring of the mailbox bell downstairs. He looked back at the clock hanging on the wall. It was only 6 o'clock now.

Merkel quickly left the room, put down the tray, put on his coat, and walked out of the gate of the manor. Sure enough, the newsboy was standing in front of the mailbox outside the door, waving at him.

"Why are you here so early today?"

Merkel greeted him in a familiar manner. There were very few newspaper boys traveling to and from the West District, and Merkel knew almost all of them. The one who came today was the one he was most familiar with. The freckles on his face made it easy to recognize him.

"The traffic at the East District Pier has been completely restored. Don't you know? After delivering the newspapers here, I have to go there to grab work."

"Has the port traffic been restored?" Merkel took the newspaper and a bag of bread from the newsboy, then took out a few coins from his pocket and put them into the newsboy's hand. The freckled newsboy raised his eyebrows, and before he could ask, Merkel said:

"You came too early today, the bread is not baked yet, the cold bread is too hard, it will knock out your teeth, you should buy something to eat yourself."

The newsboy reached out, put the coin into his pocket, squinted his eyes and smiled, looking naughty and cute, and said:

"Say hello to Professor Rodriguez for me! He is a good man, always has been!"