"Speaking of brains," said Charley oracularly, "there's nothing like 'em for getting on in the world."
"Well, they haven't done much for this calf," said Pearl.
"Ah, but he hasn't got 'em, that's the p'int. He's now a brainless calf wherever he is."
"And you're a brainless fool," interrupted his wife. "Drink your tea, for goodness sake, and give us your room. We need it more than your company."
Charley took a swig of his tea and then proceeded with dignity:
"Talk of brains. I had a buck rabbit that had brains to fit him to be on the town council. Anyone who knew him would co-operate this statement. I vallied him at five guineas. Not a penny less. Him and me was like brothers though I was summat older, being more what you might call Early Victorian in my idears."
Old Davy came into the kitchen and sat down heavily on a bench in a corner.
"What's up, Davy?" inquired Pearl.
"Someone has played me a dirty trick," said the old man. "You know the three geraniums I keep in my room. They set on the window-sill and I keep them soaked all winter. They looked kinder sickly but I liked them. Now some dirty skunk has emptied the pots on to the middle of my bed. You never seen such a litter—mud and slop and roots and broken plants. Annie's mad as a hornet because she's got to clean it. If I only knew who it was—"
"Speakin' of litters," observed Charley, "the finest litter my buck rabbit ever got—"
"Darn your rabbits!" shouted Davy. "What do I care for your rabbits? I'm tellin' about my geraniums!"
With a sudden weak and yet fierce gesture Mrs. Bye
