Cock n Bull the Importance of Being Earnest

Here's the story:
Twenty-eight years later, the mystery is solved and not a minute too soon. DCB reporter Oscar Wilde was dispatched to Mr. John Worthing’s residence yesterday in regard to a possible alliance between Mr. Worthing and Miss Gwendolyn Bracknell, daughter of Lord and Lady Bracknell. Despite the reliability of the London gossip mill, Wilde was disappointed to learn there was no alliance between the two, and none planned. Miss Backnell vowed never to marry a man unless his given name was “Ernest.” Further, Lady Augusta Bracknell declared, “Mr. Worthing, Gwendolyn, may not marry you until you acquire some relations. You can hardly imagine that I and Lord Bracknell would dream of allowing our only daughter--a girl brought up with the utmost care--to marry into a cloak-room, and form an alliance with a parcel. Really!”
With a keen nose for a good story, Wilde delved deeper into the mystery of the parcel and the cloak room. What could a cloak room and a parcel have to do with an alliance? Worthing explained, “The late Mr. Thomas Cardew, who was about to travel to Worthing, was given a capacious, black bag in place of his own at Victoria Station, twenty-eight years ago. To his surprise, he found an adorable baby inside. Being an old gentleman of a very charitable and kindly disposition, he kept the baby and named him Worthing after his intended destination. That is my heritage. I am John Worthing, the baby in the handbag.”
At this point, nursemaid, Miss Letitia Prism, shrieked with horror. “It cannot be. My three-volume novel, alive in the flesh!” With further questioning, Miss Prism revealed, “In a moment of mental abstraction, for which I can never forgive myself, I deposited a three-volume manuscript I was writing in the bassinette and placed the baby in my charge, little Earnest Moncrieff, in a handbag. I then put the bag in the perambulator and went on our daily walk. To my horror, I later discovered the manuscript in the bassinette. I quickly ditched the perambulator in a remote corner of Bayswater and told Lady Blacknell Ernest had been kidnapped.”
The desperate Moncrieffs advertised in the DCB and hired private detectives, but all to no avail. Lady Blacknell, Ernest’s aunt, offered a stout reward, but none claimed it. Baby Earnest seemed to be gone for good. They despaired when no ransom notes arrived. They assumed he was dead in the Thames or growing up happily in some remote village in Sussex, never to be found again. Lady Moncrieff died of a broken heart and General Moncrieff drowned himself in war pursuits. Miss Prism lived her life in continual agitation except when she was calm and quiet which was most of the time. She still dreamed about her three-volume novel.
During our interview, Mr. Jack Worthing, Miss Prism’s current employer dashed out of the room only to return with a capacious, black handbag. “Is this your bag, Miss Prism?”
“Why, yes, yes, it is,” she answered. “I had forgotten I had my initials etched on the lock. Thank you so much! It has been a great inconvenience being without it all these years! But how did you come to have it?”
“Have it,” Worthing roared. “It is my family tree! And now, Miss Prism, I insist on knowing where you deposited the handbag that contained that infant.”
“In the cloak-room of Victoria Station, the Brighton Line.”, she replied.
“The baby was I, is I, whatever…I am found, and just in the nick of time,” he exclaimed, kissing Miss Prism over and over before beginning to kiss Miss Blacknell. “Gwendolyn, my dearest, I am your own true Ernest.” The importance of being Ernest was complete.

oh my! what a story!

Great take!  Love it.  

What a fun page and an interesting story!

What a wonderful take on the photo and I love the newspaper look to tell it. Perfection!