I'm beginning to believe that old fable's a fraud.
Anyway, it's my opinion this Tortoise isn't going to beat any
hare--unless it's a jugged one.
_Dick Gatling_ (_in front, as his Sheep halts to crop the turf in
a leisurely manner_). We've not pulled up--only lying-to to take in
supplies. We're going ahead directly. There, what did I tell you! Now
she's tacking!
_The Curate_ (_in the rear_). Poo' little Jacko, then--there, there,
quietly now! Miss STELLA, what does it mean when it gibbers like that?
(_Sotto voce._) I wonder, if I let go the chain--
_Mr. Duff_ (_hauling his Goose towards Miss CHAFFERS_). It's no
use--_I_ can't keep this beast from bolting off the course!
_Miss C._ Do keep it away from my Puppy, at all events. I _know_ it
will peck him, and he's perfectly happy licking my shoe--he's found
out there's sugar-candy in the varnish.
_Mr. Duff_ (_solemnly_). Yes, but I _say_, you know--that's all very
well, but it's not making him _race_, is it? Now I _am_ getting some
running out of my Goose.
_Miss C.
Pages:
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28