"Don't mind that, sir: it's only a slow-worm. It hain't
got no fangs, so I gives it the run o' the room, for it keeps the
bettles down. You must not mind my bein' just a little short wi'
you at first, for I'm guyed at by the children, and there's many
a one just comes down this lane to knock me up. What was it that
Mr. Sherlock Holmes wanted, sir?"
"He wanted a dog of yours."
"Ah! that would be Toby."
"Yes, Toby was the name."
"Toby lives at No. 7 on the left here." He moved slowly forward
with his candle among the queer animal family which he had
gathered round him. In the uncertain, shadowy light I could see
dimly that there were glancing, glimmering eyes peeping down at
us from every cranny and corner. Even the rafters above our
heads were lined by solemn fowls, who lazily shifted their weight
from one leg to the other as our voices disturbed their slumbers.
Toby proved to an ugly, long-haired, lop-eared creature, half
spaniel and half lurcher, brown-and-white in color, with a very
clumsy waddling gait. It accepted after some hesitation a lump
of sugar which the old naturalist handed to me, and, having thus
sealed an alliance, it followed me to the cab, and made no
difficulties about accompanying me.
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