“I’ve come up to judge the dog show,” said he.
“Oh, is there a dog show?” said the old lady, upon a note of interest she seldom achieved. “When is it?”
“A week a’ Toosday,” said the owner of the hat.
We apologize to our readers, but if you belong to the highest branch of the peerage you have no need to be the slave of grammar.
“If I send Ponto,” said the old lady, “will you guarantee him a prize?”
“First prize,” said her old friend.
“Look at him well so that you will know him again. Burden, let the Dook look at Ponto.”
“I’ve seen him so often,” said George Betterton plaintively, as that overfed quadruped leered at him biliously. “He’s a ducky little dog.”
“Don’t forget that American creature that Towcaster married has the effrontery to have one just like him. If you confuse him with hers I shall not forgive you.”
“Better tie a piece o’ bloo ribbon round his tail,” said George.