ugh thinking
of something else altogether. Presently he rises slightly on his feet
and looks a little--very little--more attentively at the worm. "Oh,
yes," he is saying--"luncheon, of course. Whenever you like, you know."
And he becomes placid again, as though interested in the general
conversation. After a little he suddenly straightens his hind legs and
bends down over the worm, like a man saying, "Ah, and what have we got
here now? Oh, worm--_ver au naturel_--capital, capital!" After this
there is nothing to do but to eat, and this the toad does without the
smallest delay. For leisurely indifference, followed by a business-like
grab, nothing can beat a toad. Almost before the cover is lifted,
figuratively speaking, the worm's head and tail are wriggling, like a
lively moustache, out of the sides of the toad's mouth. The head and
tail he gently pats in with his hands, and there is no longer any worm;
after which the toad smiles affably and comfortably, possibly meditating
a liqueur. I have an especial regard for the giant toad in one of the
cases against the inner wall of the reptile-house lobby. There is a
pimpliness of countenance and a comfortable capaciousness of waistcoat
about him that always make me wonder what he has done with his
churchwarden and pewter. He has a serene, confidential,
well-old-pal-how-are-you way of regarding Tyrrell, his keeper. Of late
(for some few months, that is) the giant toad has been turning something
over in his mind, as one may perceive from his cogitative demeanour. He
is thinking, I am convinced, of the new Goliath Beetle. The Goliath
Beetle, he is thinking, would make rather a fit supper for the Giant
Toad. This because he has never seen the beetle. His mind might be set
at rest by an introduction to Goliath, but the acquaintanceship would do
no good to the beetle's morals. At present Goliath is a most exemplary
vegetarian and tea-drinker, but evil communications with that pimply,
dissipated toad would wreck his principles.

[Illustration: "THINK I COULD MANAGE THAT BEETLE, TYRRELL?"]
[Illustration: EVIL COMMUNICATIONS.]

Why one should speak of the Adorned Ceratophrys when the thing might
just as well be called the Barking Frog, I don't know. Let us compromise
and call him the Adorned C., in the manner of Mr. Wemmick. I respect the
Adorned C. almost as much as if he were a toad instead of a frog, but
chiefly I admire his mouth. A crocodile has a very respectable
mouth--when i