KIKI-THE-DEMURE and TOBY-DOG begin to feel uncomfortably conscious of the coming storm, which is yet but a slate-blue plinth thickly painted at the bottom of the dull blue sky-wall.
TOBY-DOG (restlessly lying first on one side, then on the other)
No use! I can't be comfortable. What does this heat mean anyway? I must be sick. It began at breakfast; I didn't like the meat and sniffed disdainfully at my dog-biscuit. Something awful is going to happen. I haven't done anything wrong that I know of—my conscience is clear—and yet, I'm suffering. There lies my chum, shivering and unable to sleep. I know by his quick breathing that he feels just as I do.... I say, Cat?
KIKI-THE-DEMURE, (irritably, in a low tone)
Be quiet!
TOBY-DOG
What? You're listening to some noise?
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
No! Heavens, no! Don't mention noise. The mere sound of your voice makes the skin on my back go in waves like the sea.
TOBY-DOG (frightened)