"Pooh!" he said. "The thing's gone past."
Then he settled down comfortably in a dust bath.
Soon, however, one of the well-groomed pigeons lolling on the veranda of their pole-top club house, condescended to inform the rabble below that the Unpleasantness had not really gone, and would be visible again in a few moments, even to them.
"But of course," added the pigeon, smoothing an unruly quill, "what goes on in the underworld is of small interest to us."
"But, of course," added the pigeon, "what goes on in the underworld is of small interest to us."
Eustace was shocked at the callousness of High Society.
"I just wish they'd had to grub for a living!" he said indignantly, and then resumed his task of spreading the alarm.