The World of Poo Read Free Page B

wagged his tail so hard with excitement that his whole body shook.
     
    They crawled through a hole in the hedge together, ran across the grass and chased each other round and round in circles until Geoffrey fell over. Out of the corner of his eye and not far away he saw another dog stop, squat down and produce a small pile of poo before scuttling off. Geoffrey wished he’d brought his bucket, and was standing looking at the small brown heap, wondering how to get it home, when a voice asked: ‘Is that yours?’

    ‘No, I went before I came out,’ Geoffrey replied to the owner of the voice, a shabbily dressed urchin with a bucket in his hand.
    The boy looked satisfied. ‘Well, it’s mine then.’
    ‘What? Are you a poo collector, too?’ asked Geoffrey excitedly.
     
    ‘I most certainly am! My name is Louis and I collect dog poo for Sir Harry King. He’ll pay me a penny a bucketful if it’s well stamped down. Extra too if it’s white dog poo – that’s the very best. We in the business call it the “pure”.’
    ‘Is Sir Harry a collector?’ enquired Geoffrey with some interest.
    ‘No, he sells it to the tanning yards.’
    ‘Does he buy mouse poo?’ Geoffrey went on, fingering the matchbox in his pocket.
    ‘Don’t know,’ said Louis with a shrug of his shoulders, ‘but if there’s money in it Sir Harry King will collect it, trust me. He’s got a grand house down at the corner of Dimwell and Grunefair, but he doesn’t keep the poo there because Lady King won’t let him bring his work home. He collects all the poo in Ankh-Morpork and deposits it in big yards outside the City Gates.’
    I’d very much like to meet Sir Harry, thought Geoffrey. He sounds like a very sensible person.
    ‘Right, I’m off to deliver this to Sir Harry’s yard now,’ Louis declared when the bucket was full and well stamped down.
    ‘Can I help you again tomorrow?’ asked Geoffrey.
    Louis looked at him sideways. ‘Can’t afford to pay you,’ he said quickly, ‘but if you like I’m mostly here in the early mornings when people walk their dogs.
    ‘This is my patch!’ he added with pride. ‘I fought hard for this. You just ask the Mitchell brothers: they won’t try to take it over again, oh no, indeed. It’s a dog-eat-dog world, my friend, is the world of the pure, and even if I say it myself, I’m one of the best. Sometimes I’m there with my trowel before little Fido even knows he’s going to go.’ And with that, spotting a small straining figure across the park, the lad was away as if he had wings on his heels – although what was really on his heels was probably not wings …

    Geoffrey and Widdler crawled back under the hedge into Grand-mama’s garden. Plain Old Humphrey didn’t seem to be around so they climbed the stairs to the top of the house with a short diversion on the first-floor landing where Geoffrey tried to look round the back of the suit of armour. When he got to the nursery he saw with dismay that his lucky poo was not on the windowsill where he’d left it, and neither were the scissors.
    ‘Oh no! I’ve been tidied,’ he cried. ‘Being tidied’ was something that occasionally happened at home, but since the time his most precious stick had been tidied away (leading to long and recriminatory searches in the rubbish bins), he was usually given a bit of warning.
    He dashed down to the kitchen again, where Lily the maid was mopping the floor. ‘Have you seen my lucky poo?’ he asked frantically. ‘I left it on my windowsill with some scissors.’
    ‘Is that what it was?’ shrieked Lily. ‘That’s disgustin’, that is. I threw it out the window and thems was my best scissors, too. Don’t you go bringing any more dirt up into your bedroom, young man, or I’ll tell your granny. And what’s that on your shoe?’

    Geoffrey went back outside hurriedly to find Plain Old Humphrey, who was wandering down the path with the look of a man whose world was now a more comfortable place.