DOGS' DELIGHT.
SCENE.—Interior of shop devoted to the sale of cutlery, leatherware and dogs' collars, leads, etc. Customers discovered lining the counter, others in background leading puzzled and suspicious dogs. The proprietor is endeavouring to serve ordinary purchasers, answer questions, punch holes in straps and give change simultaneously. A harried assistant in a white coat is dealing, as well as he can, with overwhelming demands for muzzles.
Proprietor. Yes, Sir, you'll find that razor-strop quite... Six holes wanted in that strap? (To Assistant) Right—leave it here and—Sorry, Madam, I can't attend to you just now.... Don't happen to have a ten-shilling note, do you, Sir? No? Well, I may be able to manage it for you.... If you'll speak to my assistant, Madam; he's attending to the muzzling.
The Owner of a subdued nondescript (calling Assistant). Will you ask this lady to kindly keep her dog from trying to kill mine, please?
The Other Lady (whose dog, a powerful and truculent Airedale, seems to have conceived a sudden and violent dislike for the nondescript). Yours must have done something to irritate him—he's generally such a good-tempered dog.
Assistant (to the Airedale, which is barking furiously and straining at his lead). 'Ere, sherrup, will you? Allow me, Mum. I'll put 'im where he can 'ave 'is good temper out to 'imself. (He hustles the Airedale to a small office, where he shuts him in—to his and his owner's intense disapproval. A fox-terrier in another customer's arms becomes hysterical with sympathy and utters ear-rending barks.) Oh, kindly get that dawg to sherrup, Mum, or we'll 'ave the lot of 'em orf; or could you look in some day when he's more collected?
Another Lady. I say, I want a muzzle for my dog.
Assistant (sardonically). You surprise me, Mum! We're very near sold out, but if you'll let me 'ave a look at your dawg, p'r'aps—
The Lady. Oh, I haven't brought him. Left him at Barnes.
Assistant. 'Ave yer, Mum? Well, yer see, I can't run down to Barnes—not just now I can't.
The Lady. No, but I thought—he's rather a large dog, a Pekinese spaniel.
Assistant. Then I couldn't fit 'im if 'e was 'ere, cos 'e'd want a short muzzle and we've run out o' them.
A Customer with a Pekinese. Then will you find me a muzzle for this one?
Assistant (with resigned despair). You jest 'eard me say we 'ad no short muzzles, Mum. If you don't mind waiting 'ere an hour or two I'll send a man to the factory in a taxi to bring back a fresh stock—if they've got any, which I don't guarantee.
The Customer with the Pekinese. But I saw some leather muzzles in the window; one of those would do beautifully.
Assistant. I shall 'ave great pleasure in selling you one, Mum, on'y Gover'ment says they've got to be wire. 'Owever, it's your risk, not mine. Well, since you ask me, I think you 'ad better wait.
A Customer (carrying a large brown-and-white dog with lop ears and soulful eyes). I've been kept waiting here two hours, and I think it's high time—
Assistant. If you'll bring 'im along to the back shop, Mum, I may have one left his size.
A Lady with a lovely complexion and an unlovely griffon (to her companion). So fussy and tiresome of the Government bringing in muzzles again after all these years!
Her Companion. Oh, I don't know. We've had a mysterious dog running about snapping in our district for days.
The Lady with the complexion. Ah, but this poor darling never snaps, and, besides, he hasn't been used to muzzles in Belgium. You needn't mention it, but I got a friend of mine to smuggle him over for me—such a dear boy, he'll do anything I ask him to.
Assistant (after attempting to fit the soulful-eyed dog with a muzzle and narrowly escaping being bitten). There, that's enough for me, Mum. Jest take that dawg out at once, please.
Owner of the dog (which, having gained its point, affects an air of innocent detachment). I shall do nothing of the kind. It was the brutal way you took hold of her. The gentlest creature! Why, I've had her three years!
Assistant. I don't care if you've 'ad her a century. They're all angels as come 'ere; but I ain't going to 'ave my thumb bit by no angels, so will you kindly walk out?
Owner. Without a muzzle? Never!
Assistant. Then I shall 'ave to call in a constable to make you. I'm not bound to sell you nothing.
Owner (with spirit). Call a constable then! I don't care. Here I stay till I get that muzzle.
Assistant (giving up his idea of calling a constable). Then I should advise you to take a chair, Mum, as we don't close till seven.
Owner (retreating with dignity). All I can say is that I call it perfectly disgraceful. I shall certainly report your conduct; and I only hope you won't sell a single other muzzle to-day!
Assistant. If I didn't I could bear up. (To a lady with an elderly Blenheim) If it's a muzzle, Mum—
The Owner of the Blenheim. That's just what I want to know. Must he have a muzzle? You see, he's got no teeth, so he couldn't possibly bite anyone—now, could he?
Assistant. I dunno, Mum. You take 'im to see the Board of Agriculture. They'll give you an opinion on 'im. (To Staff Officer who approaches) Sorry, Sir, but our stock of muzzles—
Staff Officer. All I want is a new leather band for this wrist-watch. Got one?
Assistant (with joy). Thank 'eaven I 'ave! Gaw bless the Army!
F.A.
Helen's elder Sister. "YOU KNOW, ALL THE STARS ARE WORLDS LIKE OURS."
Helen. "WELL, I SHOULDN'T LIKE TO LIVE ON ONE—IT WOULD BE SO HORRID WHEN IT TWINKLED."