“If I’d had small shot in one of the barrels. They’d have just gone through, and peppered his hide nicely. I say, Joe, his clothes wouldn’t have stopped the shot corns.”
“No,” said Emson, smiling; “his clothes wouldn’t have stopped them.”
“Hooray-y-y-y!” shouted Dyke again, and the two lion cubs looked over the packing-case in which they were confined, wonderingly.
“Look at him! A regular half laugh. We shall have the whole laugh soon. But there, I mustn’t stop, wasting time here.”
“Yes; stay a little longer, little un. I want to talk to you,” said Emson.
“About my being such a nice, good boy—so brave and so noodley? No, you don’t. I’m off!”
“No, no; I will not say a word about that. I want to talk to you.”
“But the ostriches want feeding.”
“They must wait,” said Emson sadly. “They’ve made us wait for profit. Look here, little un; sit down.”
“Well, if you want it. But, honour bright: no buttering me.”