"Call the bet off, Abe."
"You think the ole man's a blasteratious ijiot, sonny? Well, well!
maybe. Let him stand at that till nex' meeting."
In three months the meeting was called, and due notice served on Mr Abe
Pike and his goat. It was a full house that met in the drowsy afternoon
in the big shed on Mr Hockey's farm, and the discussion turned at once
on the disposal of Abe's money--the general opinion being that it should
be given back.
"I object," said Si Amos, who had brought with him a huge and hideous
half-breed between a boar-hound and a mongrel. "That ole man's been
throwing slurs on this club, and it's my opinion he ought to pay for it.
Anyhow, I'll `psa' my dog on to his goat."
Last of all, Abe Pike himself entered the shed, wearing an expression of
profound despondency.
"Anyone got a pipe of tobacco?" he said, looking around gloomily.
There was no tobacco hospitably forthcoming, everyone being too
disgusted at the thought that all the fun was off.
Abe leant wearily against the wall. "Time was," he said, "when a man
would hand you his tobacco bag as he said `Good-morning.' There's a
natural meanness in pizening animiles, and it's jes' oozing out of yer."
"Where's your goat, you old humbug?"
"Gentlemen, I'm very sorry, but that goat's woke up with a most awful
temper, and I jes' drop in t' ask you _voetsack_ all the dogs outer the
place 'fore I bring him in."
"Yah!" said Si Amos; "I knew he'd back down. It was part of the bet
that dogs was to be brought."
"That's so," said Mr Hockey.
"You won't turn out your dogs?"
"No sir! But this yer dog'll eat your goat, and I give you fair
warning!" said Si, stirring the big mongrel with his toe.
Abe looked round, gave me a wink, and went out.
When he reappeared he was leading one of the biggest goats--a great blue
"Kapater," with a long beard, massive horns, and a boss of leather and
brass over his forehead.
"Well I'm jiggered!" said one member, getting behind the table.
Someone--I don't know who the rash individual was--said "psa," and the
big mongrel stood up, showing his teeth and growling in his throat.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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