“Can’t; he’s bagged. Have a cat?”
“No, I don’t like cats—can’t I write about a dog too?”
“That would be rot. Haven’t you got the whole of Noah’s Ark to pick from—lions, tigers, ants, hippopotamuses, cobra de capellos?”
“How much?” asked D’Arcy. “Are they good to eat?”
“Uncommon good. Will you take cobra de capellos?”
“Ah right,” said D’Arcy; “I don’t mind.”
“I shall take pigs,” said Ashby.
“There you are,” said Wally; “there’s lots left. You have cows, kid—”
“No—if you won’t let me have the dog—”
“Dog in the Wheatfield. Joke!—laugh, you chaps,” interjected D’Arcy.