Pickles The line of‘ bounty hunters’ surged down upon Twaddle, handkerchiefs waving and wheelbarrows creaking. Twaddle Ladies and Gentlemen! Pickles Twaddle held up a little fat hand. Twaddle Please arrange yourselves into military formations and your claim will be scrutinised forthwith. The bunk! The bung! Did Buttass get the bung? Pickles He whispered ' out of the side of his mouth ' to Basil Freeloader. Freeloader affirmed, with nervous bobbing of his sickly head. Twaddle Where did you find Sergeant Duncan Buttass? Freeloader On the top of Plonkton Police Station. Twaddle What, precisely, was he doing on top of the police station. Freeloader Urinating on passers-by. Twaddle Yes, that ' s Buttass, all right. Well, off you go immediately and fetch him here to deal with this equally obnoxious shower. Freeloader Me, Your Grace? Twaddle Yes YOU, SIR. Brudder Here! I ' ll find that great oaf and force him to carry out his public duties. Twaddle Yes, David – but only after he has finished his spray-job. Pickles The bounty hunters piled unto his cart and mobbed the little man with the fat ass. Twaddle ACT! ACT NOW in defence of your anointed leader. Pickles He yelled out to the SS Men. The SS Men answered his call and attacked the bounty hunters with their white sticks. It was then that Marmaduke’ s luck took a turn for the worse. The Cidermen collected the abandoned blood-stained handkerchiefs and rickety wheelbarrows and thrust their way forward. The Social Security Men( moonlighting) turned their attention on the Cidermen but were heavily outnumbered. They were driven back beyond the broken window in the Fencer’ s Club and the day seemed lost. Then, Basil Freeloader had a brain wave. He rallied the SS Men by whispering something in their ears. Suddenly the Social Security Men broke into a chorus: ' To work! Back to work! Special help in finding jobs in the pipeline! The Cidermen groaned, quaked and quivered in their welly-boots Cidermen‘ Back! Back! They are sending us to the oil rigs to work for a tenner a week top-up.' Pickles A short time later, a Fordson Major tractor and trailer chugged its way out of Bridewell Road belching black smoke out of a funnel on its bonnet and up the noses of the mob. Sergeant Duncan Buttass was driving. He and his Skullcrackers jumped off the Fordson Major and began collecting scalps, bloody handkerchiefs and dilapidated wheelbarrows. Buttass Stamp on the trouble immediately! Crush any sign of resistance by physical force and if that doesn’ t work then knock the shit out of them