The crew were impressed with this. In their cashless economy fifty dollars was a fortune.
'Blewitt,' said Foul Ole Ron.
'A dog's a dog,' said Arnold Sideways. 'On account of bein' called a dog.'
'Gaarck!' crowed Coffin Henry.
That's true,' said the Duck Man. 'A false beard isn't going to work.'
'Well, your huge brains had better come up with somethin', 'cos I'm staying put until you do,' said Gaspode. 'I've seen these men. They are not nice.'
There was a rumble from Altogether Andrews. His face flickered as the various personalities reshuffled themselves, and then settled into the waxy bulges of Lady Hermione.
'We could disguise him,' she said.
'What could you disguise a dog as?' said the Duck Man. 'A cat?'
'A dog is not just a dog,' said Lady Hermione. 'Ai think ai have an idea...'
The dwarfs were in a huddle when William got back. The epicentre of the huddle, its huddlee, turned out to be Mr Dibbler, who looked just like anyone would look if they've been harangued. William had never seen anyone to whom the word 'harangued' could be so justifiably applied. It meant someone who had been talked at by Sacharissa for twenty minutes.
'Is there a problem?' he said. 'Hello, Mr Dibbler...'
Tell me, William,' said Sacharissa, while pacing slowly around Dibbler's chair. 'If stories were food, what kind of food would Goldfish Eats Cat be?'
'What?' William stared at Dibbler. Realization dawned. 'I think it would be a sort of long, thin kind of food,' he said.
'Filled with rubbish of suspicious origin?'
'Now, there's no need for anyone to take that tone--' Dibbler began, and then subsided under Sacharissa's glare.
'Yes, but rubbish that's sort of attractive. You'd keep on eating it even though you wished you weren't,' said William. 'What's going on here?'
'Look, I didn't want to do it,' Dibbler protested.
'Do what?' said William.
'Mr Dibbler's been writing those stories for the Inquirer,' said Sacharissa.
'I mean, no one believes what they read in the paper, right?' said Dibbler.
William pulled up a chair and sat straddling it, resting his arms on the back.
'So, Mr Dibbler... when did you start pissing in the fountain of Truth?'
'William!' snapped Sacharissa.
'Look, times haven't been good, see?' said Dibbler. 'And I thought, this news business... well, people like to hear about stuff from a long way away, you know, like in the Almanacke--'
' "Plague of Giant Weasels in Hersheba"?' said William.
'That's the style. Well, I thought... it doesn't sort of matter if they're, you know, really true... I mean...' William's glassy grin was beginning to make Dibbler uncomfortable. 'I mean... they're nearly true, aren't they? Everyone knows that sort of thing happens
'You didn't come to me' said William.
'Well, of course not. Everyone knows you're a bit... a bit unimaginative about that sort of thing.'
'You mean I like to know that things have actually happened?'