“Pray,” asked I, “are you in the habit of supplying your larder from Exeter ‘Change, or do you breed lions here like poultry?”
“Sir,” answered the grim waiter, never relaxing into a smile, “we have lions brought us from the country every day.”
“What do you pay for them?” said I.
“About three and sixpence a-piece, Sir.”
“Humph!—market in Africa overstocked,” thought I.
“Pray, how do you dress an animal of that description?”
“Roast and stuff him, Sir, and serve him up with currant jelly.”
“What! like a hare?”
“It is a hare, Sir.”
“What!”