At the end of the afternoon Cugel was allowed an hour to his own devices. He laid a spray of lilies on Weamish's grave, then resumed digging in his own grave. . . .After a few moments he noticed Gookin's blue cap, where that grotesque pastiche of homunculus and frog crouched under a mallow leaf.

Cugel pretended not to notice and dug with energy. Before long he encountered the cases which Weamish had secreted to the side of his own grave.

Pretending to rest, Cugel surveyed the landscape. Gookin crouched as before. Cugel returned to his work.

One of the cases had been broken open, presumably by Weamish, and all its contents removed except for a small parcel of twenty low-value 'specials', left behind perhaps by oversight. Cugel tucked the parcel into his pouch, then covered over the case, just as Gookin came hopping across the sward. "Cugel, you have overstayed your time! You must learn precision!"

Cugel responded with dignity. "You will notice that I am digging my grave."

"No matter! Yelleg and Malser are in need of their tea."

"All in good time," said Cugel. He climbed from the grave and went to the gardener's shed where he found Yelleg and Malser standing hunched and numb. Yelleg cried out: "Tea is one of the few free perquisites rendered by Twango! All day we grope through the freezing slime, anticipating the moment when we may drink tea and warm our shriveled skin at the fire!"

Malser chimed in: "There is neither tea nor fire! Weamish was more assiduous!"

"Be calm!" said Cugel. "I still have not mastered the routine."

Cugel set the fire alight and brewed tea; Yelleg and Malser grumbled further but Cugel promised better service in the future and the divers were appeased. They warmed themselves and drank tea, then once more ran down to the pond and plunged into the slime.

Shortly before sunset Gookin summoned Cugel to the pantry. He indicated a tray upon which rested a silver goblet. "This is Twango's tonic which you must serve to him every day at this time."

"What?" cried Cugel. "Is there no end to my duties?"

Gookin responded only with a croak of indifference. Cugel snatched up the tray and carried it to the workroom. He found Twango sorting scales: inspecting each in turn through a lens, then placing it into one of several boxes, his hands encased in soft leather gloves.

Cugel put down the tray. "Twango, a word with you!"

Twango, with lens to his eye, said: "At the moment, Cugel, I am occupied, as you can see."

"I serve this tonic under protest! Once again I cite the terms of our agreement, by which I became 'supervisor of operations' at Flutic. This post does not include the offices of valet, scullion, porter, dogs-body and general roustabout. Had I known the looseness of your categories —"

Twango made an impatient gesture. "Silence, Cugel! Your peevishness grates on the nerves."

"Still, what of our agreement?"

"Your position has been reclassified. The pay remains the same, so you have no cause for dissatisfaction." Twango drank the tonic. "Let us hear no more on the subject. I might also mention that Weamish customarily donned a white coat before serving the tonic. We thought it a nice touch."