Going Postal Page #12

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when l was staring death in the face

about the gentlest touch of all.

You do know l meant every word?

Yes.

lt's amazing the rubbish

some people spout

when they're trying

to save their lives.

Or trying to get a kiss.

Of course, we can't do this.

What now?

Conflict of interest.

You're the Post Office,

l'm the clacks.

We're rivals.

Which throws up some very interesting

possibilities of a corporate merger,

don't you think?

Maybe.

Well, l'd certainly like

to get my hands on your assets.

Keep your hands as far away

from my assets as humanly possibly.

Ah, Mr Gilt.

l see you are awake.

l don't know what you're

talking about.

My name is Merryforth Truman and...

..l've got papers to prove it.

Some wonderful papers

they are too, Mr Gilt.

But enough of that.

l've brought you here because

l want to talk to you about angels.

(KNOCKlNG)

Come.

Excuse me, my lord. l've got a letter

here for Merryforth Truman.

Strewth.

He was here, but sadly

he didn't believe in angels.

Oh.

Well, that's a bit

of an embuggerance.

We did it, Mr Groat.

Home sweet home.

Stanley,

it's not only the race we won.

The bet, remember.

50-1 . Blimey, we're rich.

Let's have the betting slip, then.

l gave it to you, Mr Groat.

Hey?

Oh, yes. l've got it here somewhere.

You can't have lost it, Mr Groat.

50-1 .

50-1 .

No, of course.

l remember now.

l've put it somewhere safe.

l , erm. ..

. .l hid it under the mattress.

Which mattress?

The one in that tavern.

Which tavern, Mr Groat?

You remember, that.. . (GROANS)

..that nice one in Uberwald.

Oh!

Uberwald. ..

Mr Groat, Mr Groat!

Get in the carriage, Mr Groat!

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