Ellis took a hand: "Their religion is all right, so far as it goes—but they mix it up with their dyspepsia too much to suit me!"
As his wife turned rebuking eyes upon him he pursued doggedly: "Not that their dyspepsia and religion are always mixed; they have their dyspepsia seven days in the week!"
She joined in their laughter over Ellis' exaggerated defense, then turned again to her brother.
"What are you going to do with that nasty thing you shot, Dick?"
"Nasty?" broke in Ellis in quick alarm. "You didn't shoot a skunk, did you?"
She ignored her husband and persisted: "Tell me why you shot that fox, Dick. You have been out hunting nearly every day for two weeks and have shot nothing else, so I know you have a reason."
"I'm not going to help eat it!" Ellis broke in. "I've heard they are stringy—and a bit smelly."
"Ellis, will you stop being ridiculous? Dick, why have you hunted that fox so long?"
Ellis had seen that Terry was not to be pumped, that this was another of his queer quests. He tried again to shunt Susan away.
"Maybe it was a personal matter between him and the fox, Sue."