Visitor (from the West; anxious to be agreeable). Ha, a fine bird—magnificent!
Exhibitor. Bred 'im myself, Sir—he's a bit sleepy just now. (Apologetically). Wake up, ole chap! (Fowl half opens one eye, and closes it immediately on perceiving proprietor.) Knows me, yer see!
Visitor (with fatal rashness). A—a Brahma, isn't he?
[Wonders what made him say that, and tries to think what Brahmas are like—when they are not locks.
Exhibitor (in tone of pitying reproach). No, Sir—no.—Black Red Bantam, Sir!
Visitor (wishing he had remained vague). Oh—ah, just so—good evening.
A Cock (derisively). Crorky—rorky—roo!
At the Rabbit Pens.
Another Exhibitor (accompanied by Friend with Catalogue). I ain't come across my Buck yet. He took a prize, I heerd. (Stops at Cage.) Ah, this looks like him.... Third Prize, yer see—not so bad, eh? [Chuckles.
The Friend. Hold on a bit! (Refers to Catalogue.) "Number seven 'underd and two. Parton. Buck. Eight months." Your name ain't Parton.