“Yes,” responded Mr. Povey, insincerely. “He is a beauty. What’s it worth now, at a venture?”
“I’ll tak’ a hundred and twenty sovereigns for her,” said Boon. “Th’ other’s a bit cheaper—a hundred.”
“Oh, Sam!” gasped Constance.
And even Mr. Povey nearly lost his nerve. “That’s more than I want to give,” said he timidly.
“But look at her!” Boon persisted, roughly snatching up the more expensive animal, and displaying her cannibal teeth.
Mr. Povey shook his head. Constance glanced away.
“That’s not quite the sort of dog I want,” said Mr. Povey.
“Fox-terrier?”
“Yes, that’s more like,” Mr. Povey agreed eagerly.
“What’ll ye run to?”