This morning I was still determined to go to the office of the Badfort News.
To be on the safe side the Old Monkey and I brought along Cloutman and Gubbins.
Over by the stream that runs through Badfort, people were fighting over one small scob fish. The place never changes - it's always full of quarreling and shouting.
Scob fish are much prized as this small savage fish provides oil for the Badfort Crowd's lamps. Some of them even like to eat the awful things washed down with a swig of Black Tom!
We soon found the broken-down hut that serves as the offices for the Badfort News.
Along one wall ran a daubed message:
THE BADFORT NEWS NOW SELLS THREE MILLION COPIES PER DAY
Underneath this was a counter, and behind it stood Beaver with his back to me.
I walked up to the counter and smacked it loudly with my trunk. "Attend to me!" I shouted. Hateman threw a can of cold soup over his shoulder onto my velvet jacket. Without looking around he said "I seem to hear somebody shouting who has a voice nearly as rotten as the Dictator's!".
I was so overcome by this vile behaviour that for a moment I stood speechless.
Beaver finally turned around and said "Oh, it's you!, what d'you want?"
I informed him that I had come on serious business - and leant on my stone club to show I meant business.
"You mean that you want to subscribe to the Badfort News!" said Beaver.
This cheeky remark made my blood boil and I told him his rag was vile. As Hateman edged towards an open case of duck bombs (a missile often used by the Badfort Crowd that bursts covering a person with a nasty sticky juice) Cloutman and Gubbins pinned him by the arms.
We soon discovered the place where they printed their degraded rubbish. Down in the cellar we found a small badger working a rickety old printing machine and Hitmouse (Badfort News's Chief Reporter) scribbling away in one of his Hating books.
The poor badger was actually chained to the machine. Apparently Beaver paid him a saucer of beans a day and had promised him ten pounds a week when he had passed his internship. "Going to pay you !, that old story!" I said to the badger. "And why not?" said Hateman. "Have you never heard of anyone doing an internship without pay - I just interned him in this cellar, that's all!"
This remark was too bad - I moved back for a run.
"Now look here," said Beaver "If you kick me up all the things I have done before will seem like rapture."
I bounded forward and with a thud the body of the odious editor of the Badfort News soared through the open window up, up, up into the clear blue sky landing in the muddy water of Gaby's Marsh.
I trust that is the last of those evil writings in the Badfort News that we shall see.