Vroom, vroom, the engine’s roar echoed along the once tranquil arches of the Apollonian. The trustees shifted uncomfortably around the boardroom table. Strife nestled among the first editions. At the head of the large oak table, Bunny Winterbottom glared impressively. Bucky Fairchild gazed upon the Founder’s gilded portrait looming over the trustee committee. Binks Ladyfingers buffed his monocle with a nervous hankie. Newly elected board chair Wanda Stanhope wondered why this meeting couldn’t be a group chat.

Bunny cleared his throat and all eyes turned in his direction. The Ladyfingers were the Apollonian’s biggest private donors. The family’s personal collection of deadly mushrooms and related fungi since held pride of place in the ladyfingers wing.

“My dear, what would your grandfather say? The Apollonian has persevered for generations as a resource for scholars,” Bunny said.

“I’m not your dear. And my grandfather would remind you Bunny that out facility is a beacon of light not a maseoleum. We have to be good stewards of this treasure not gatekeepers,” Wanda said.

“But illegal go cart racing in the Golden Chariot Solarium, really? It’s just too much,” Binks said as his eyepiece popped out.

Rolling her eyes, Wanda rang for the tea tray. The trustees had argued over this topic for months. Visitor numbers were tanking and donations had flatlined. As a last ditch effort, the trustees hired a consulting firm to do marketing research. They’d emptied their coffers to learn that after two hundred years of scholastic research devoted to variegated stinkhorns no one cared about variegated stinkhorns.

“Not illegal Binks. Merely unsanctioned. It is important to be precise. Our dear founder Lord Mayweather who you know was a fan of the Model Tvprided himself on precision,” Bucky said tremulously. “Have we learned nothing from the fruiting body debacle of 1927? The danger of loose nomenclature is not to be abided. The Apollonian must be preserved for future generations at all costs.”

“Also let us not forget there are advantages to opening new doors,” Wanda said.

The “here, here’s” melded with reving of engines down the hall. Hell’s Grannies were putting their racers through their paces on the Solarium’s golden tilework. The boardroom door creaked open. Hastings, the Apollonian’s faithful retainer, entered with the refreshments. Raucous laughter followed the silver haired butler from the hallway

Purring the now motorized tea cart sped towards the table. Before the influx of racing money, the Apollonian has struggled to keep biscuits on the table. Now clotted cream, fresh scones, and lemon curd awaited. Hastings adjusted his leathers before offering Bunny a cup of lavender Earl Grey.

Over a steaming cup, the former chair glared at the butler’s colorful leather jacket festooned with the Hell’s Grannies’ logo a three-headed Cerberus and flaming crochet hooks. The other trustees waited for his reaction. He reached for a buttery tea cake. Wanda sighed with relief.

“Well if needs must. Let it not be said a ladyfinger stood in the way of progress.”