In time, Rajan returned to Goa -- bag and baggage. His Mumbai team was to follow once we were staffed and ready to run dummies. At the wooden-floored 1st storey Herald office opposite Panjim's Municipal Garden, work was on at a feverish pace. Rajan and I conducted interviews for 'subs', reporters and correspondents. We bagged some gifted hands -- Frederick Noronha, Bosco Souza Eremita. On the field, Devika Sequeira was to assist me with Mumbai's Sushil Silvano on the local crime beat, together with school chum Nelson Fernandes to cover sports and Lui Godinho on the camera. I roped in some old field hands from my WCT days, down to the last detail of Nandu Zambaulikar, to ferry newspaper bundles south of the Zuari! Ticker lines were installed, typewriters and telephones put in place, and the Mumbai team arrived (I recall only S. Vaidyanathan on the newsdesk, though). The machine, finally, began to crank. It was decided we give readers a preview. One Sunday (or was it another public holiday?), a few weeks ahead of the formal launch on October 10, 1983, a special edition was given out gratis to English-language newspaper readers in Goa. The edition was packed with features, and news of the day. I wrote something on bus transport woes of the Goan commuter, if I recall right. Dummies began rolling. Agonizingly, I began to see the penny-wise-pound-foolish dictum again at work (as I had, in the later stages, of WCT's short life.) Expensive computers had been brought in but A.C. Fernandes cribbed on appointing experienced hands as compositors. A daughter-in-law came in after her own regular office hours to help at computer keyboards. John's wife worked late into the nights. Result was a delightful melange of howlers -- which continued for a good while after launch of the newspaper. Every expense, however trivial, had to get Patrao's direct approval. If Rajan wanted a chair cushion, he'd have to convince the old man why his posterior ached! But the good news was, the rumble and stumble continued without interruption. We were close to D-day. That was when one fine sunny morning, as I was about to cross from the Panjim Municipal Garden pavement to the Herald office across the street, Raul emerged from the stationery shop, as if casually, and waved me to hold back. He crossed the street and invited me for a cup of tea at a nearby cafe at Jesuit House, Jasmal or Jesema. Once seated, Raul developed an unusual countenance and began vaguely referring to the salary that had been offered to me (Rs.4,000 per mensem.) I imagined there must have been a family council the previous night. I reminded him that I had not asked the figure, that I had merely accepted what was offered -- and that I was with them in this not for the money, but for a dream to break a monopoly. I suggested the figure could be revised. That's when the bombshell broke. "It's not about the amount of salary," Raul stated, "it's..."