"Boys, ye did a fine, good deed for the community," Mayor McCrown said, leaning back in his chair, "and no doubt made a sizable profit selling yer dragon dung to the local farmers, eh?"

Uh, oh, Smudge thought. Here it comes.

"What I'm gonna do, is grant ye boys a commendation for yer fine work," the mayor said, with his best, biggest smile.

Smudge was instantly indignant. "'Ere now, yer lordship. There be no call to cause us any grief o'er a wee bit of dragon dung, what was dug up an' sold fair and square, with no one the worse off for said sale."

"Eh?" the mayor said, his trademark smile vanishing for just a moment, but he then realized what had happened and smiled down at Smudge, once again. "No, no, lad, ye misinterpret me meaning. I said a commendation, not a 'condemnation'".

Smudge blinked and turned to Bodkin for an explanation.

"One is a good thing and the other is a not so good thing," he told Smudge, quietly.

Still not sure exactly what was happening, he whispered, "So, which one do we get?"

"The good one," Bodkin assured him.

"Ahh," Smudge said, nodding and turned back to the mayor. "Many thanks, then, yer lordship, I'm sure."

"Not at all, not at all, young sir," Mayor McCrown said, leaning forward and linking his pudgy fingers together on the desk in front of him. "All I shall need from the two of ye is but a fifteen percent tax on the total earnings from yer dragon dung enterprise and yer commendation will be official," he told them, smiling all the while.

Bodkin swallowed. "Fifteen percent?" he squeaked.

"EACH?" Smudge cried.

"But, yer Honor," Bodkin pleaded. "We, er...well, we do not actually have any of the money left, ye see."

"No?" asked the mayor, still smiling.