"Yes," assented a neighbor; "the lion is the awfulest kind of a creature, which is why they call him the king of beasts. In Brazil and Italy, where they run wild, they're worse than—than—than a—that is—than a steam b'iler explosion."
"We must organize," added the constable, compressing his thin lips; "self-protection demands it."
"I think we had better call on the Governor to bring out the military, and to keep up the hunt until he is exterminated."
"No need of calling on the military, so long as the civil law is sufficient," insisted Archie. "A half-dozen of us, well armed, will be able to smoke him out."
"Will you j'ine?" asked one of the neighbors.
The constable cleared his throat before saying:
"I've some important business on my hands that'll keep me pretty busy for a few days. If you will wait till that is over, it will give me pleasure—ahem!—to j'ine you."
"By that time there won't be any of us left to j'ine," said the neighbor with a contemptuous sniff. "It looks very much, Archie, as though you were trying to get out of it."
The constable grew red in the face at the general smile this caused, and said, in his most impressive manner: