“Don’t be a silly little idiot,” said the Sand-fairy in trembling but affectionate tones, “but find out how much money you’ve got between you, and do exactly what I tell you.”
Cyril, pointing a stiff and unmeaning finger at the white rat, so as to pretend that its charms alone employed his tongue, explained matters to the others, while the Psammead hunched itself, and bunched itself, and did its very best to make itself look uninteresting.
Then the four children filed into the shop.
“How much do you want for that white rat?” asked Cyril.
“Eightpence,” was the answer.
“And the guinea-pigs?”
“Eighteenpence to five bob, according to the breed.”
“And the lizards?”
“Ninepence each.”
“And toads?”