‘Lennie! Where are you, Lennie?!’

Creamy's anguished cries rose above the noise of traffic. He had climbed up onto his box and was casting his eyes up and down the street busy with lunch time crowds, but could not spot Lennie anywhere. He opened his mouth again and let out a great roar.

As Lennie's name rolled over the street, there was a faint answering cry: ‘Coming! I'm coming!’ and the next moment Lennie came trotting round the corner, a mug of tea in each paw.

‘Be quiet, Creamy!’ he hissed rushing up to him. ‘You'll scare our customers off!’

‘Where've you been?’ cried Creamy, jumping off the box and propping himself against the stand, his legs suddenly weak. ‘I was worried, you know. Why do you have to disappear like that? And I wish you'd been here when that man threatened me.’

Lennie almost dropped the mugs he was carrying. ‘What man? Threatened you with what?’

‘Well, he was really angry and said I would be hearing from his solicitors.’

Lennie put the mugs down and sat on his stool. ‘OK, tell me all about it,’ he sighed.

‘There's nothing much to tell. I had a little accident with his socks and trouser legs and so on…’

Lennie raised his eyebrows. ‘A little accident? Like what…oh, no! Please don't tell me you've put polish all over them!’

‘Well, just a bit. Don't see what that's got to do with his solicitors!’ grumbled Creamy. Why should I be hearing from them?’

‘Well, people are always going to solicitors to complain about things; and then the solicitors complain properly – and get paid for it,’ added Lennie, suddenly thoughtful.

‘Oh? Well, I can complain, too. You know how good I'm at complaining.’

‘Yes, you certainly are,’ chuckled Lennie. However, first things first. We must get out of here fast; we don't want his solicitors catching up with us. Come on, let's pack up, quick!

In another moment, Lennie and Creamy were walking rapidly away from the great door of the Moneybags International. They had turned a few corners when they came across a building site.

‘Stop!’ shouted Lennie suddenly.

Creamy, carrying the heavy Bootlick Boutique box, tottered to a halt. ‘Why?’ he gasped peering over the box at Lennie.

‘Because it's a perfect place to dump our stuff,’ replied Lennie. Just chuck it into that large skip over there, will you.’

‘OK! Phew, that’s better!’ cried Creamy, as he let the box fly. ‘And a good riddance to it, too!’

‘Oh, I don't know about that; we did very well out of our boutique,’ said Lennie.

Creamy fixed his eyes on him in a meaningful sort of way. Lennie laughed. ‘I know, I know! Well enough to buy an ice-cream? And the answer is yes – but not right now. Right now, we've got to think of some other way of earning still more money.’

‘I suppose that means more work,’ groaned Creamy.