That evening, the boys were standing nearly ankle deep in their 'job', Bodkin with a broom and Smudge with a shovel.

"This be degrading," Smudge grumbled, as one of the horses swished a tail across his face for the third time.

"Ah, now, it be not so bad," Bodkin said, sweeping wet straw into a pile.

"But, mucking out the mayor's stables! Gawd, what 'ave we sunk to?"

"Here, now, Smudge, we get to keep everything we clean up, after all."

"Oh, aye, and that bit o' news brightens me day, I must say," Smudge told him with just a touch of sarcasm, as he scooped up the wet straw and dumped it into a large barrel.

"Look, ye dolt," Bodkin said, kneeling down and picking up a fresh wad of steaming dung and damp straw. He held out the dripping mass for closer examination. "This be mostly straw, do ye see?"

Smudge glanced down and made a face. "It looks like mostly 'crap', to me."

"Aye. Just as the dragon dung we dug up was mostly crap. But, when it be dried out, we sold it, did we not?"

"Aye," Smudge said, slowly. "And what do ye be gettin' at, then?"

"Once all of this dung and wet straw be dried, people from all over the county would be willing to PAY for it, to use for fire tinder and for cooking fuel as well, and we be sitting on a never-ending supply of the stuff."

Smudge, never being overly quick on the uptake, scratched his head and thought for a moment. "What, so ye want to go into business, again, selling more crap to people?"

"Well, it be not a grand calling, I admit, but someone must get paid for doing it. Why should it not be us, then?"

Smudge nodded, slowly. He didn't mind the thought of making money, after all, but it was the principle of the thing--he didn't actually like the idea of having to 'work' for the money. But, he had to admit that Bodkin had himself an idea, here.