They did accounts. They added up sums and sums, and sums.
"Samuel Whiskers has run up a bill as long as his tail; he has had an ounce and three-quarters of snuff since October."
"What is seven pounds of butter at 1/3, and a stick of sealing wax and four matches?"
"Send in all the bills again to everybody 'with compts,'" replied Ginger.
After a time they heard a noise in the shop, as if something had been pushed in at the door. They came out of the back parlour. There was an envelope lying on the counter, and a policeman writing in a note-book!
Pickles nearly had a fit, he barked and he barked and made little rushes.
"Bite him, Pickles! bite him!" spluttered Ginger behind a sugar-barrel, "he's only a German doll!"
The policeman went on writing in his notebook; twice he put his pencil in his mouth, and once he dipped it in the treacle.