Here Mr. Fox blew his nose, which action caused his cunning eyes to sparkle more brightly. Then, having returned the handkerchief to his pocket, “Mr. Goodman,” he observed, “of course you are aware that it takes powder to shoot robins. Now, how much, sir, do you allow for this bird?”
Mr. Goodman smiled; then, after writing something on a slip of paper, held it up before him.
“Humph!” ejaculated Mr. Fox. “That sum may do—it may. But you must know, sir, that this legislature is not like the last one. This legislature”—here Mr. Fox himself smiled—“is affected with a rare complaint, which we gentlemen of the lobby facetiously call ‘Ten-Commandment fever’; and the weaker a man is with this complaint, the more it takes to operate on him.”
“Then make it this.” And Mr. Goodman held up another slip with other figures marked on it.
“Well, yes, I guess that’ll cure the worst case,” said Mr. Fox, grinning.
“Good!” exclaimed Daisy’s father. “Then, sir, let us dismiss the subject and talk about something else—about a bill introduced by the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, of which society I am president. It relates to chasing foxes.”
“And this bill you don’t want killed?” said Mr. Fox.
“Precisely.”
“Well, sir, how much are you willing to spend for that purpose?”
Again Mr. Goodman held up a piece of paper.