you’d be out of a job. The problem is merely to arrange matters in a civilized fashion so that everyone’s interests are protected.”
“You may hafe somethink there,” Um-Moomy-Hooby seated himself gingerly. “Put the nevarious agtifities of these goplins musd pe kebt unter sdrigd gondrol—Babal gongrol, thad is.”
“Look, my boys got to make a living,” Jackspurt started.
“Zellink a vew love-botions, zerdainly,” the Archbishop said. “And the jurch is willink to zmile at a modest draffic in aphrodisiags, dope, and raze-drack tips. But beddling filthy menus to teen-agers, no! The zame goes vor sdealing withoud a licenze, and the zale of algoholic peferaches, with the eggzebtion of small amounts of broberly aged sduff for medicinal use py the glerchy, of gourse.”
“OK, I think we can go along with that,” Jackspurt said. “But you priests will have to lay off the propaganda from now on. I want to see Spisms getting better billing in church art.”
“Oh, I think you could work out something lovely in little winged Spisms with haloes,” Magnan suggested. “I think you owe it to them, Your Voracity, after all this discrimination in the past.”
“Tevils with winks?” Um-Moomy-Hooby groaned. “It will blay hop with our zympolisms—put I zubboze it can be tone.”
“And you’ll have to have guarantees that everything from two feet under the surface on down belongs to us,” Jackspurt added. “We’ll leave the surface to you, and throw in the atmosphere, just so you dedicate a few easements so we can come up and sight-see now and then.”
“Thad zeems egwidaple,” the