Why don’t you try collecting copy? Those monkeys. Those grocers. Those swivel-eyed idiots. “I’m not advertising for the moment”—“I’m not sure about your paper”—“Is the Chronicle still going? I thought it had folded long ago.”—“Try again tomorrow”—It’s sickening.’

Wenk murmurs from the depths of his armchair: ‘I ran into the master mechanic on the News this morning. They’re coming out with five pages of ads today.’

Stuff spits contemptuously. ‘Wretched rag. Big deal. Their circulation is fifteen thousand.’

‘They have fifteen thousand the way we have seven thousand.’

‘Excuse me. We have an audited confirmation of seven thousand.’

‘You’d better rub out the spot where the date is. It’s completely black from where you’ve kept your thumb over it for the best part of three years.’

‘I don’t care about any audited confirmation. But I’d love to give the News a black eye.’

‘You can’t. The boss won’t have it.’

‘Of course. The boss borrows money from those Charlies, so we need to let them badmouth us.’

Wenk begins again. ‘So, you’ve got nothing, eh, Tredup?’

‘An eighth of a page from Braun. For nine marks.’

Stuff groans. ‘Nine marks? We’ve hit rock bottom.’

‘And that’s it?’

‘I could have got the closing-down-sale announcement from the watchmaker who’s going bust, but we would have had to take payment in kind.’

‘Save us. What would I do with more alarm clocks? I’ve got one at home, and I’m buggered if I get up for that.’

‘What about the Circus Monte?’

Tredup stops his pacing back and forth. ‘I told you there wasn’t anything, Wenk. Now get off my case.’

‘But we carried ads for Monte every year! Did you even try them, Tredup?’

‘Let me tell you something, Wenk. Let me tell you something calmly and objectively. If you say anything to me ever again about “even trying” anyone, I’ll clock you one—’

‘But they bought space from us every year, Tredup!’

‘So they did, did they . . . Well, let me tell you something, they won’t be doing it this year. And I don’t care what you say, and I don’t care what the proprietor says, and I don’t care what Stuff says, but I’m not going to that effing circus ever again.’

‘What happened?’

‘What happened? Impertinence happened. I was cheeked by those wretched gyppos. The day before yesterday they got their advance billing in the News. I slog over there, all the way out to the playground. The circus wasn’t even there yet.’

‘In that case, their manager must have gone round to the News to give them the copy.’

‘And he gave us a miss. Exactly.