“Oh, yes, sir. Of course, sir,” said the cook.
“Do you know any one else who’d buy pheasants?” he said.
“Well, there’s Mr. Carrington’s cook,” said the cook slowly. “She has the management of the housekeeping money like I do. I think she might buy pheasants from you. Mr. Carrington’s very partial to game.”
“Right,” said the Terror. “And thank you for telling me.”
He rode straight to the house of Mr. Carrington, and broached the matter to his cook, to whom he had already sold rabbits. He made a direct offer to her of two pheasants a week at two and threepence each. After a vain attempt to beat him down to two shillings, she accepted it.
He rode home in a pleasant glow of triumph: the snares which caught rabbits would catch pheasants. At first he was for catching those pheasants by himself. Snaring rabbits was a harmless enterprise; snaring pheasants was poaching; and poaching was not a girl’s work. Then he came to the conclusion that he would need the help of Erebus and must tell her.
When he revealed to her this vision of a new Eldorado, she said: “But where are you going to get pheasants from?”
“Woods,” said the Terror, embracing the horizon in a sweeping gesture.
Erebus looked round the horizon with greedy eyes; they sparkled fiercely.
“The only thing is, we don’t know nearly enough about snaring pheasants. And I don’t like to ask Tom Cobb: he might talk about it; and that wouldn’t do at all,” said the Terror.