want to get rid of two. Zoo is getting too crowded with all kinds
of animals and I don't need so many dongola goats. I will sell
you two for fifty dollars. Apiece. What do you want them for?
Your affectionate cousin, Dennis Toole, Zoo keeper. PS. Crates
extra."


"Casey," said Mike to his friend the saloon keeper when he
received this communication, "'tis just as I told ye--dongolas is
goats. I have been corrispondin' with wan of th' celibrated
animal men regardin' th' dongola water goat, an' I have me eye on
two of thim this very minute. But 'twill be ixpinsive, Casey,
mighty ixpinsive. Th' dongola water goat is a rare birrd, Casey.
They have become extinct in th' lakes of Ireland, an' what few of
thim is left in th' worrld is held at outrajeous prices. In th'
letter I have from th' animal man, Casey, he wants two hundred
dollars apiece for each dongola water goat, an' 'twill be no easy
thing for him t' git thim."

"Hasn't he thim in his shop, Mike?" asked Casey.

"He has not, Casey," said the little alderman. "He has no place
for thim. Cages he has, an' globes for goldfish, an' birrd cages,
but th' size of th' shop l'aves no room for an aquarium, Casey.
He has no tank for the preservation of water goats.
Hippopotamuses an' alligators an' crocodiles an' dongola water
goats an' sea lions he does not keep in stock, Casey, but sinds
out an' catches thim whin ordered. He writes that his agints has
their eyes on two fine dongolas, an' he has tiligraphed thim t'
catch thim."