Assistant (with resigned despair). You jest ’eard me say we ’ad no short muzzles, Mum.  If you don’t mind waiting ’ere an hour or two I’ll send a man to the factory in a taxi to bring back a fresh stock—­if they’ve got any, which I don’t guarantee.

The Customer with the Pekinese. But I saw some leather muzzles in the window; one of those would do beautifully.

Assistant. I shall ’ave great pleasure in selling you one, Mum, on’y Gover’ment says they’ve got to be wire.  ’Owever, it’s your risk, not mine.  Well, since you ask me, I think you ’ad better wait.

A Customer (carrying a large brown-and-white dog with lop ears and soulful eyes). I’ve been kept waiting here two hours, and I think it’s high time—­

Assistant. If you’ll bring ’im along to the back shop, Mum, I may have one left his size.

A Lady with a lovely complexion and an unlovely griffon (to her companion). So fussy and tiresome of the Government bringing in muzzles again after all these years!

Her Companion. Oh, I don’t know.  We’ve had a mysterious dog running about snapping in our district for days.

The Lady with the complexion. Ah, but this poor darling never snaps, and, besides, he hasn’t been used to muzzles in Belgium.  You needn’t mention it, but I got a friend of mine to smuggle him over for me—­such a dear boy, he’ll do anything I ask him to.

Assistant (after attempting to fit the soulful-eyed dog with a muzzle and narrowly escaping being bitten). There, that’s enough for me, Mum.  Jest take that dawg out at once, please.

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?