_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. _The Colonel_ (_wrathfully to his Rabbit, which will do nothing but run round and round him_). Stop that, will you, you little fool. Do you want to trip me up! Of all the dashed nonsense I ever--! _Mrs. Bangs_. My! Colonel, you do seem to have got hold of a pretty insubordinate kind of a Rabbit, too! _The Colonel_ (_looking round_). Well, you aren't getting much pace out of your Tortoise either, if it comes to that! _Mrs. Bangs_. He puts in most of his time in stoppages for rest and refreshment. 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.