you know how they say life began in some kind of big soup? Same with these sausages. If you want a bad sausage, you won't get better than these.'
'You keep 'em for your special customers, do .you?' said Mr Pin.
'To me, sir, every customer is special.'
'And you got mustard?'
'People call it mustard,' Dibbler began, getting carried away, 'but I call it--'
'I like --ing mustard,' said Mr Tulip.
'--really great mustard,' said Dibbler, not missing a beat.
'We'll take two,' said Mr Pin. He did not reach for his wallet.
'On the house!' said Dibbler. He stunned two sausages, enbunned them and thrust them forward. Mr Tulip took both of them, and the mustard pot.
'Do you know what they called a sausage-in-a-bun in Quirm?' said Mr Pin, as the two walked away.
'No?' said Mr Tulip.
They called it le sausage-in-le-bun,'
'What, in a --ing foreign language? You're --ing kidding!'
'I'm not a --ing kidder, Mr Tulip.'
'I mean, they ought to call it a... a... sausage dans lar derriere,' said Mr Tulip. He took a bite of his Dibbler delight. 'Hey, that's what this --ing thing tastes of,' he added, with his mouth full.
'In a bun, Mr Tulip.'
'I know what I meant. This is a --ing awful sausage.'
Dibbler watched them go. It wasn't often you heard language like that in Ankh-Morpork. Most people talked without leaving gaps in their sentences, and he wondered what the word 'ing' meant.
A crowd was gathered outside a large building in Welcome Soap, and the cart traffic was already backed up all the way to Broad Way. And, thought William, wherever a large crowd is gathered, someone ought to write down why.
The reason in this case was clear. A man was standing on the flat
parapet just outside the fourth-storey window, back against the wall, staring downwards with a frozen expression.
Far below, the crowd were trying to be helpful. It was not in the robust Ankh-Morpork nature to dissuade anyone in this position. It was a free city, after all. So was the advice.
'Much better to try the Thieves' Guild!' a man yelled. 'Six floors, and then you're on good solid cobbles! Crack your skull first go!'
'There's proper flagstones around the palace,' advised the man next to him.
'Well, certainly,' said his immediate neighbour. 'But the Patrician'll kill him if he tries to jump from up there, am I right?'
'Well?'
'Well, it's a question of style, isn't it?'
'Tower of Art's good,' said a woman confidently. 'Nine hundred feet, almost. And you get a good view.'
'Granted, granted. But you also get a long time to think about things. On the way down, I mean. Not a good time for introspection, in my view.'
'Look, I've got a load of prawns on my wagon and if I'm held up any longer they're gonna be walking home,' moaned a carter. 'Why doesn't he just jump?'