I said I should be incapable of any such outrage as a dog's home. "Hybrids are never sent to dogs' homes."
"Hybrid, eh? He does look a rum'un."
"They're frightfully infectious," I told him. "Rich Mixed is a hybrid between an old Billy-goat and a she-bear."
"Impossible!"
"We thought so. Billy-goat was such a very respectable dog."
"Oh, I see, a dog."
"Troop dog at Battleford."
"But, if a she-bear—"
"She was the bear in the hymn, and her name was Gladly. You must remember Gladly the cross-eyed bear in the hymn. That's why my dog has such an appalling squint. Of course, though, that's only when he's cross. Besides, he eats bats, and so contracts bad habits."
"Fine day," said Rams, in his most freezing manner.