The E. L. Bee-yutifully! Fluffy, come and show how nicely you can sit up!
Fluff (to himself). Show off for this fellow? Who pretends he's got rats—and hasn't! Not if I know it!
[He rolls over on his back with a well-assumed air of idiotcy.
The E. L. (delighted). There, that's the attitude I told you of. But perhaps it would come out rather too leggy?
Mr. Stip. It is—ah—open to that objection, certainly, Madam. Perhaps we had better take him on a chair sitting up. (Fluff is, with infinite trouble, prevailed upon to mount an arm-chair, from which he growls savagely whenever Mr. Stippler approaches.) You will probably be more successful with him than I, Madam.
The E. L. I could make him sit up in a moment, if I had any of his biscuits with me. But I forgot to bring them.
Mr. Stip. There is a confectionah next door. We could send out a lad for some biscuits. About how much would you requiah—a quartah of a pound? He goes to the speaking tube.
The E. L. He won't eat all those; he's a most abstemious dog. But they must be sweet, tell them. (Delay. Arrival of the biscuits. The Elderly Lady holds one up, and Fluff leaps, barking frantically, until he succeeds in snatching it; a man[oe]uvre which he repeats with each successive biscuit.) Do you know, I'm afraid he really mustn't have any more—biscuits always excite him so. Suppose you take him lying on the chair, much as he is now? (Mr. Stippler attempts to place the dog's paws, and is snapped at.) Oh, do be careful!
Mr. Stip. (heroically). Oh, it's of no consequence, Madam. I am—ah—accustomed to it.
The E. L. Oh, yes; but he isn't, you know; so please be very gentle with him! And could you get him a little water first? I'm sure he's thirsty. (Mr. Stippler brings water in a developing dish, which Fluff empties promptly.) Now he'll be as good——!