scop – noun
fumarole – noun
nabob – noun
accouterment – noun
[uh–koo-ter-muh nt, -truh-]
tile – noun, verb
1. a usually flat piece of hard clay, stone, or other material that is used for covering walls, floors, etc.
2. a curved piece of hard clay that is used for covering roofs
3. a small, flat piece that is used in some board games
clip – noun, verb
1. ( )
2. film clip.
3. to hold (two or more things) together with a clip
4. to attach (something) to or onto something else with a clip
pitch-black – adjective
1. very dark or black
torso – noun
1. the main part of the human body not including the head, arms, and legs
The British scop made not his fortune with his poetry but with his affluent tile business that he sold to the numerous nabobs who visited London specifically to buy his artistic, one of a kind tiles.
To be sure, the tiles were designed with Iceland in mind. The beauty of the land caught the scops’ eye when he was there to explore the plentiful volcanoes. Around each of the volcanoes, several fumaroles can be found and through the vapors that rise, distorted images of the landscape brought about the artist in the scop. Once back home in his native England, he set forth recreating the images from his head onto tiles that at the time, he made for his own personal use.
A skilled handywoman friend of the scops was visiting the scop to have tea and discuss the new art center when the scops tiled fireplace caught her attention.
“Joe, your fireplace is lovely. I didn’t know you had it retiled,” she said.
Joe blushed. “I made the tiles myself.” He busied himself with refilling her teacup.
She raised herself up rather quickly to take a closer look at the tiles.
“These are extraordinary Joe. Not one is the same but the effect is breathtaking,” she admired. “Your artistry is like none I have ever seen. You really should continue these and sell them.”
So, Joe did just that with his friend’s help. She set up a display of tiles in her workshop for prospective customers to feast their eyes on.
A nabob from Mumbai, wearing the accouterment of wealth, came into her shop one day. Upon seeing the intricate designs of Joe’s tiles, the nabob knew she had to have to have them. In fact, she ordered a thousand of them with the exception of twelve.
“Sir, your tiles mesmerize me. Within my large order could you make twelve of them in a pitch-black design please?” she stated.
Joe gave it a few moments thought. He visualized her dark accouterment of just the length from her neck to her torso. “I can if you wish.”
“I wish,” she said smiling broadly.
“Fine Ma’am. I shall ship them out in four months time,” he replied.
“I would like them sooner if possible,” she snipped.
“Ah, yes. However, these are individually done and I need the time to get them just right for such a large order,” he said stone-faced.
Her demeanor changed and she almost begged, “Could you get them done in three months?”
Joe sighed. “Three and half and I shall not clip anymore time off of that or you will not have superior tiles.
At his mention of this, she agreed, paying him grandly.
He shipped his tiles as promised and two months after she received them, the orders poured in. The British scop had no more time for poetry until he retired twenty years later with a lifetime of wealth accrued. To this day, his poetry is still unknown.