“‘Bronx Zoo. Right!’ says her paw, and cries on his No. 22 secretary to send it aff wi’ the parcel post at yince.
“‘That minds me,’ he says, ‘there’s a cryin’ heed for hairy-heided lions all over Europe and the United States. The moral and educative influence o’ the common or bald-heided lion is of no account. Noo that maist o’ the kirks has twa organs apiece, and there’s a leebrary in every clachan in the country, I must think o’ some ither wye o’ gettin’ rid o’ this cursed wealth. It was rale’ cute o’ you, Maggie, to think o’t; I’ll pay half the price o’ a hairy-heided lion for every toon in the country wi’ a population o’ over five hundred that can mak’ up the ither half by public subscription.’
“And then the wee lassie says she canna tak’ her parridge.
“‘Whit for no’?’ he asks her, anxious-like. ‘Are they no guid?’
“‘Oh, they’re maybe guid enough,’ she says, ‘but I wad raither hae toffie.’
“‘Toffie. Right!’ says her paw, and orders up the chef to mak’ toffie in a hurry.
“‘Whit’s he gaun to mak’ it wi’?’ asks the wee yin.
“‘Oh, jist in the ordinar’ wye—wi’ butter and sugar,’ says her paw.
“‘That’s jist common toffie,’ says the wee lassie; ‘I want some ither kind.’
“‘As shair’s death, Maggie,’ he says, ‘there’s only the ae wye o’ makin’ toffie.’