“Bother the door! Did it wake mother? No? That’s right;” and he squatted down between the little ones while Bobus seated himself at the table with a book.
“Well! what colour shall our ponies be?” began Jock, in an attempt at a whisper.
“Oh! shall we have ponies?” cried the little ones.
“Zebras if we like,” said Jock. “We’ll have a team.”
“Can’t,” growled Bobus.
“Why not? They can be bought!”
“Not tamed. They’ve tried it at the Jardin d’Acclimatisation.”
“Oh, that was only Frenchmen. A zebra is too jolly to let himself be tamed by a Frenchman. I’ll break one in myself and go out with the hounds upon him.”
“Jack-ass on striped-ass—or off him,” muttered Bobus.
“Oh! don’t, Jock,” implored Babie, “you’ll get thrown.”