'What's this smell you keep on about?' said Gunilla. The rivets on his helmet were beginning to tarnish.
'It, er, belongs to Mr... er... Ron,' said William, still giving the dog a suspicious look. 'People say it's glandular.'
He was sure he'd seen the dog before. It was always in the corner of the picture, as it were - ambling through the streets, or just sitting on a corner, watching the world go by.
'What does he want?' said Gunilla. 'D'you think he wants us to print something?'
'Shouldn't think so,' said William. 'He's a sort of beggar. Only they won't let him in the Beggars' Guild any more.'
'He isn't saying anything.'
'Well, usually he just stands there until people give him something to go away. Er... you've heard of things like the Welcome Wagon, where various neighbours and traders greet newcomers to an area?'
'Yes.'
'Well, this is the dark side.'
Foul Ole Ron nodded and held out a hand, ' 's'right, Mister Push. Don't try the blarney gobble on me, juggins, I told 'em, I ain't slanging the gentry, bugrit. Millennium hand and shrimp. Dang.'
'Woof.'
William glared at the dog again.
'Growl,' it said.
Gunilla scratched somewhere in the recesses of his beard.
'One thing I already noticed about this here town,' he said, 'is that people'll buy practically anything off a man in the street.'
He picked up a handful of the news sheets, still damp from the press.
'Can you understand me, mister?' he said.
'Bugrit.'
Gunilla nudged William in the ribs. 'Does that mean yes or no, d'you think?'
'Probably yes.'
'Okay. Well, see here now, if you sell these things at, oh, twenty pence each, you can keep--'
'Hey, you can't sell it that cheap,' said William.
'Why not?'
'Why? Because... because...ecause, well, anyone will be able to read it, that's why!'
'Good, 'cos that means anyone'll be able to pay twenty pence,' said Gunilla calmly. There's lots more poor folk than rich folk and it's easier to get money out of 'em.' He grimaced at Foul Ole Ron. 'This may seem a strange question,' he said, 'but have you got any friends?'
'I told 'em! I told 'em! Bugrem!'
'Probably yes,' said William. 'He hangs put with a bunch of... er... unfortunates who live under one of the bridges. Well, not exactly "hangs out". More "droops".'
'Well now,' said Gunilla, waving the copy of the Times at Ron, 'you can tell them that if they can sell these to people for twenty pence each, I'll let you keep one nice shiny penny.'
'Yeah? And you can put yer nice shiny penny where the sun don't shine,' said Ron.
'Oh, so you--' Gunilla began.