"Go on, then—go on. We'll talk afterwards."
"Right. Now you try not to laugh, souls, and I wager I'll make you giggle like a lot of zanies," promised Jack.
Then he licked his hands, went down upon them, and scrambled along upon all fours.
"Good for you, Jack! Well done! You'm funnier than anything that's gone afore!" cried Joe Voysey.
"So you be, for certain," added Mrs. Hacker.
"For all the world like my bob-tailed sheep-dog," declared Mr. Waite.
"Now I be going to sit up on my hams and scratch myself," explained Mr. Head; "then off I go again and have a sniff at Father Christmas. Then you ought to give me a plum pudding, Mr. Baskerville, and I balance it 'pon my nose."
"Well thought on!" declared Nathan. "So I will. 'Twill make the folk die of laughing to see you."
"Come on to the battle," said Dennis.
"Must be a sort of wraslin' fight," continued Head, "because the Bear's got nought but his paws. Then, I thought, when I'd throwed St. George a fair back heel, he'd get up and draw his shining sword and stab me in the guts. Then I'd roar and roar, till the place fairly echoed round, and then I'd die in frightful agony."