‘Sausages?’
‘No, not sausages! Where can ya see sausages in ‘ere?’
‘Dunno....give up.’
‘Can’t give up! Only ‘ad one guess!’
‘Um....’
‘Come on! ‘S’ Somethin’ beginnin’ wi’ ‘S’!’
‘Sunflowers?’
‘Soup?’
‘Sheep?’
‘No, no, no! Y’aven’t got the ‘ang of it...ya’ve got ta be able ta see it!!’
‘Oh!’
‘Oh!’
‘Right!.....Sandcastles?’
‘That’s it. I give up wi’ ya! Ungry, you have a go..’
‘I spy, wi’ my three eyes, somethin’ beginnin’ wi’ ‘Q’.’
‘Quibley!’ shouted Quibley.
‘Arhh, not fair! How d’ya know?’
‘Well what else in ‘ere begins wi’ ‘Q’ stupid!’
Ungry started sulking. He never had been very good at that one.
‘Better luck next time, eh!’ laughed Ubwig, nudging him.
Ungry, Ubwig and Quibley shared the same work-bench near the back of the chamber.
‘Right, someone else choose one,’ Umpwiffle’s voice sailed the length of the room.
Umpwiffle’s bench was at the opposite end and he was lucky enough to have one all to his self. Although he didn’t consider himself lucky as he liked a good natter at the best of times to take his mind off the job in hand. There were eighteen rows of benches in all, each occupied by as many Trunglers as could be spared that day.
It had been a dull, uneventful morning and they were running out of games to indulge in, mainly because Trunglers are a race easily bored.
Ungry grumbled at the choice of entertainment as he secured the lid on the container he was holding.
‘Done,’ he muttered, passing the jar full of brown smoke to Ubwig, who in turn passed it to Quibley, who stood up and carefully took it over to the many shelves which were now beginning to fill up.
Quibley pulled the sheet of sticky labels from out of one of his pockets and took a felt tip from another. Number 769, he wrote before sticking the label on the jar and placing it next to number 768 on the top shelf.
