“No!” cried the children with alarm. “Are they?”
“If ever you find them becoming forked,” said the gentleman in solemn tones, “let me know.”
With which he departed, gravely shaking his head.
In the afternoon the children attacked him again. “Do tell us what’s the matter with our tongues.”
“You were snapping and squabbling just as usual this morning,” said the hot-tempered gentleman.
“Well, we forgot,” said Polly. “We don’t mean anything, you know. But never mind that now, please. Tell us about our tongues. What is going to happen to them?”
“I’m very much afraid,” said the hot-tempered gentleman, in solemn measured tones, “that you are both of you—fast—going—to—the—”
“Dogs?” suggested Harry, who was learned in cant expressions.
“Dogs!” said the hot-tempered gentleman, driving his hands through his hair. “Bless your life, no! Nothing half so pleasant! (That is, unless all dogs were like Snap, which mercifully they are not.) No, my sad fear is, that you are both of you—rapidly—going—to the Snap-Dragons!”
And not another word would the hot-tempered gentleman say on the subject.