Enter Toby.
Punch.—Good doggy! I knew you’d come to help your master. Poor little Toby! (Rubs his head against the dog’s face.) Ain’t you fond of your master? (Toby snaps.) Oh, my nose! Now, be a good dog, and you shall have a pail of water and a broomstick for supper. (Toby snaps again.) Be quiet, sir, or I’ll knock your brains out! (Toby barks, and Punch attempts to strike him, but at the same instant Joey rises again.)
Joey.—Hullo! Why, that’s my dog Toby. Toby, old fellow, how are you? (Toby barks.)
Punch.—He isn’t your dog.
Joey.—Yes, he is!
Punch.—No, he isn’t!
Joey.—He is, I tell you! A fortnight ago I lost him.
Punch.—And a fortnight ago I found him.
Joey.—We’ll soon settle which of us the dog belongs to, Mr. Punch. We’ll fight for him. (Ducks down and comes up with a stick.) Now don’t you begin till I say “Time.” (Punch knocks Joey down.) Mr. Punch, that wasn’t fair.
Punch.—Why, you said “Time.”