"Killing rats was I? Well, Pitt, are you a sporting man? Do you want to see a dawg as CAN kill a rat? If you do, come down with me to Tom Corduroy's, in Castle Street Mews, and I'll show you such a bull-terrier as--Pooh! gammon," cried James, bursting out laughing at his own absurdity--"YOU don't care about a dawg or rat; it's all nonsense. I'm blest if I think you know the difference between a dog and a duck."
"No; by the way," Pitt continued with increased blandness, "it was about blood you were talking, and the personal advantages which people derive from patrician birth. Here's the fresh bottle."

"Killing rats was I? Well, Pitt, are you a sporting man? Do you want to see a dawg as can kill a rat? Then come down with me to Castle Street Mews, and I'll show you such a bull-terrier - Pooh!" cried James, laughing at his own absurdity. "You don't care. I'm blest if you know the difference between a dawg and a duck."
"No. You were talking about blood," Pitt continued with increased blandness. "Here's the fresh bottle."
