Page one of Bartholomew's final story ignore the spelling and grammer please

“Who the hell could that be?” growled Bartholomew Erasmus impatiently responding to the soft tap of the door. He spoke with a heavy Scottish accent.
He waddled down the winding stairs, his black heavy army boots pronounced his movements over the old creaking steps. He was a short and thin old man of about five feet four inches. He wore tan corduroys held up by geeky red suspenders that he was always re-adjusting. He also wore a plain white shirt that had a ketchup stain on the right collar, left over from his afternoon snack of a cheese burger and fries. There was a messy handkerchief stuffed in the front pocket that also had a stain from wiping his face earlier. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up over his shoulders exposing a scar that remained from his encounter with a grizzly bear during his world travels.
There was another tap on the door, more impatient than the last.
“Open the darn door McGregor, fer cryin out loud!” he called to his butler and caretaker Lawrence McGregor. He was a tall man of 56, partially bald with an unsightly growth to the right of one of his nostrils. He wore a black vest over a wrinkle free shirt, a black bowtie that he was an expert at tying, and long black pants that came down over his ankles. He walked in a brisk upward motion, almost as if he were climbing stairs.
He grasped the door knob lightly and stepped to the side as he opened the door. On the steps were Bartholomew’s nephew Edgar Wilson, accompanied by his wife Edna and their son Rupert.
“Good evening sirs and madam” he announced in a phrase he probably practiced in the mirror, “may I take your coats?”
“Of course my good man,” began Edgar with a chuckle “Now where’s my uncle, I haven’t seen him in ages!”
Edgar was short and plump at age 50. He had a fake smile constantly spread across his face under his bushy mustache. He wore a very expensive looking tuxedo and had a top hat tilted to one side on his completely bald head. His wife opposite him was rather tall and frail. She had short hair and a long green dress and a scarf made out of the pelt of a fox. She looked at everything with the same cheap smile as her husband. Their son was nine years old and a spitting image of his dad, short and plump only he had hair. He wore the same clothes with a stupid yellow beanie on his head which made him look completely ridiculous in a black tuxedo.
“What the hell are you doing here?” exclaimed Bartholomew as he looked down at them from the stairs in the lobby. Bartholomew owned a huge estate in the middle of Scottish farmland. It stood on top of a hill and had a total of 27 rooms, more than enough for an old man who rarely left his T.V room. The T.V room was composed of three 56 inch flat screen televisions and an armchair with a single super remote to control it all.
“Oh uncle, you were always such a kidder,” started Edgar putting on an extra toothy smile “It’s your birthday remember?” Edgar spoke in a low English accent that had annoyed the heck out of Bartholomew every time he had seen him.
“Oh right, forgot about that,” He mumbled, itching his head as he walked down to great them. “Who’s this?” He exclaimed, pointing a bony finger at Rupert. A scowl crossed the little boys face as he folded his arms in disgust.
“You remember Rupert don’t you?” said Edna, offended that he had forgotten his grandnephew. Bartholomew had never married, his older brother on the other hand had married and Edgar was their first son. His older brother had long since died and Edgar was Bartholomew’s most immediate family.
“Sure, I remember you had a kid, but this is more like a hippopotamus!” laughed Bartholomew, surprised at the size of Rupert and how much weight he had put on. He continued, “What do you feed him, pork at every meal.” Bartholomew had doubled over laughing while Edna was trying to hide her fury the best she could.
“This way please,” said Lawrence, trying to guide the guests away from storming out of the house. They were only the first to arrive of 8 (Bartholomew hates large amounts of people) who would be attending the old mans 95th birthday party not including the butler of course.