Mr. Plumley Duff (plaintively, to Miss CYNTHIA CHAFFERS).  I shouldn’t have minded any other animal—­but to be paired off with a Goose!

Miss Chaffers (consolingly).  You’re better off than I am, at all events—­I’ve got a Puppy!

Mr. Duff.  Have you? (After a pause—­sentimentally.) Happy Puppy!

Miss C. He’ll be anything but a happy Puppy if he doesn’t win.

Mr. Duff.  Oh, but he’s sure to.  I know I would, if I was your Puppy!

Miss C. I’m not so sure of that.  Don’t they lodge objections, or something, for boring?

Mr. Fanshawe.  Can anybody inform me whether I’m expected to go and catch my Peacock?  Because I’ll be hanged if—­

The Curate.  Oh, Miss STELLA, it’s all right—­Mr. GATLING thinks that it would be better if he undertook the Monkey himself; so we’ve arranged to—­

Miss Stella.  Oh, nonsense, DICK!  I can’t have you taking advantage of Mr. HEADNOTE’s good-nature like that.  What’s the use of drawing lots at all if you don’t keep to them?  Of course Mr. HEADNOTE will keep the Monkey.

    [The unfortunate Curate accepts his lot with Christian
    resignation.

Dick.  Well, that’s settled—­but I say, STELLA, where’s my Mutton’s moorings—­and what’s to be the course?

Stella.  The course is straight up the Avenue from the Lodge to the House, and I’ve told them to get all the beasts down there ready for us; so we’d better go at once.

THE START.

The Competitors.  STELLA, my dear, mustn’t Miss GRISSELL tell her kitten not to claw my Tortoise’s head every time he pokes his poor nose out?  It isn’t fair, and it’s damping all his enthusiasm!...  Now, Colonel KEMPTON, it isn’t the Puppy’s fault—­you know your Rabbit began it!...  Hi, STELLA, hold on a bit, my Mutton wants to lie down.  Mayn’t I kick it up!...  DUFF, old chap, your Goose is dragging her anchor again, back her engines a bit, or there’ll be a foul....  Miss STELLA, I—­I really don’t think this Monkey is quite well—­his teeth are chattering in such a very....  All right, padre, only his nasty temper—­jerk the beggar’s chain.  More than that!

Chorus of Spectators at Lodge Gates.  My word, I wonder what next the gentry’ll be up to, I dew.  Ain’t Miss STELLA orderin’ of ’en about!  Now she’s started ’en.  They ain’t not allowed to go ’ittin of ’en—­got to go just wheeriver the animiles want.  Lor, the guse is takin his genlm’n in among the treeses!  Well, if iver I did!  That theer tartus gits along, don’t he?  Passon don’t seem com’fable along o’ that monkey.  I’ll back the young sailor gent—­keeps that sheep wunnerful stiddy, he do.  There’s the hold peacock puttin’ on a bust now.  Well, well, these be fine doin’s for ’Auberk ’All, and no mistake.  Make old Sir HALBERD stare if he was ’ere, &c., &c.