Owner of the dog (which, having gained its point, affects an air of innocent detachment). I shall do nothing of the kind. It was the brutal way you took hold of her. The gentlest creature! Why, I've had her three years!
Assistant. I don't care if you've 'ad her a century. They're all angels as come 'ere; but I ain't going to 'ave my thumb bit by no angels, so will you kindly walk out?
Owner. Without a muzzle? Never!
Assistant. Then I shall 'ave to call in a constable to make you. I'm not bound to sell you nothing.
Owner (with spirit). Call a constable then! I don't care. Here I stay till I get that muzzle.
Assistant (giving up his idea of calling a constable). Then I should advise you to take a chair, Mum, as we don't close till seven.
Owner (retreating with dignity). All I can say is that I call it perfectly disgraceful. I shall certainly report your conduct; and I only hope you won't sell a single other muzzle to-day!
Assistant. If I didn't I could bear up. (To a lady with an elderly Blenheim) If it's a muzzle, Mum—
The Owner of the Blenheim. That's just what I want to know. Must he have a muzzle? You see, he's got no teeth, so he couldn't possibly bite anyone—now, could he?
Assistant. I dunno, Mum. You take 'im to see the Board of Agriculture. They'll give you an opinion on 'im. (To Staff Officer who approaches) Sorry, Sir, but our stock of muzzles—