“Just whistlin’ dear. Whistlin’ an ol’ ditty.”
“Well stop. You can’t whistle with them ‘orrible front teeth anyway. Leave it to the owls.”
“‘Ere Mabel, let me rub your shoulders.”
“I’m not in the mood.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Like you care. You’re only looking out fer yerself.”
“Why would you think that?”
“I ‘eard from the farmer’s wife you been givin’ ‘er first pick of the eggs.”
“Oh no my darlin’. Only one lady gets first pick of the eggs, an’ that’s you.”
“Oh really? Well how comes I gets no speckled ones no more?”
“The ‘ens is temprimental.”
“That’s it? They’s holding in the spotty ones is they?”
“Oh my love, don’t be like that. Alright, she does get to choose ’em now an’ then. An’ yes she does so ‘appen to be partial to a speckled egg.”
“Even though you knows it’s them as makes the best cakes?”
“Me an’ ‘er, we gets on well now an’ all. Wouldn’t want to make her angry like.”
“Can’t you just tell ‘er the ‘ens is temprimental?”
“She’d never believe that.”
“Course not, she’d be a bloody fool. An’ what’s this I ‘eard about you selling off our ‘ens to them no good cats?”
“I was just about to mention that. Only two…”
“And whose chickens are they?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t ‘ave to sell ’em, if you don’t want me to.”
“Don’t be ridickerlus Victor. You already did!”
“Well the cats were starvin’. If you’d’a seen ’em…”
“Rubbish. They don’t live fifty feet from the fishmonger. Filthy liars, them cats.”
“I ‘ave been feeling badly about it Mabel, really I ‘ave.”
“I don’t want to ‘ear it Victor. I don’t know how much more of your antics I can take. Is this ‘ow all foxes behave?”
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