Gurr-r-gurr-r-r-gurr.
‘There you are, Ginger—don’t! The master’ll hear us. Oh, my hair!... You’ve broken my comb. You mustn’t kiss me. Oh, Mr Thomson!... ‘Oo’d a’ thought it?’
Gurr-r-gurr-r-r-gurr.
‘You’re a dear old thing!’
‘And you’re a giddy boy.... You mustn’t.... If the master sees me sittin’ on your knee, there’ll be trouble.... Ah, don’t!’
Gurr-r-gurr-r-r.
And the record ended, just in time, for Ginger let fly and kicked it to the other end of the room.
‘Tie him up! Tie him up!’ ordered the president.
It was a tough job, but we managed to get his feet tied, then stood him up before the ‘beak.’
‘Carry on, Mr Brown,’ commanded Nobby.