[They mount the steps eagerly.
INSIDE.
Joe's Wife (with a vague sense of being defrauded). I thart thee'rd ha' bin moor smell, wi' so many on 'em!
Joe. They doan't git naw toime for it, I reckon, allus on the rord as they be.
The Lecturer. Illow me to request yar kind hattention for a moment. (Stand back there, you boys, and don't beyave in such a silly manner!) We har now arrived at the Haswail, or Sloth Bear, described by Buffon as 'aving 'abits which make it a burden to itself. (Severely.) The Haswail. In the hajoinin' cage observe the Loocorricks, the hony hanimal to oom fear is habsolootly hunknown. When hattacked by the Lion, he places his 'ed between his fore-legs, and in that position awaits the honset of his would-be destroyer.
Joe's Wife. I thart it wur th' hostridge as hacted that away.
Joe. Ostridges ain't gotten they long twisted harns as iver I heard on.
His Wife (stopping before another den). Oh, my blessed! 'Ere be a queer-lookin' critter, do 'ee look at 'en, Joe. What'll he be now?
Joe. How do 'ee suppose as I be gooin' to tell 'ee the name of 'en? He'll likely be a sart of a 'arse. [Dubiously.
His Wife. They've a let' en git wunnerful ontidy fur sure. 'Ere, Mister (to Stranger) can you tell us the name of that theer hanimal?