"Say, what in time is Spunk, do you suppose ?" "Dog, maybe," suggested William.
"Well, whatever he is, you will kindly keep Spunk down-stairs," said Cyril with decision.

"The boy, I suppose I shall have to endure; but the dog--!" "Hm-m; well, judging by his name," murmured Bertram, apologetically, "it may be just possible that Spunk won't be easily controlled.

But maybe he isn't a dog, anyhow.

He--er--sounds something like a parrot to me." Cyril rose to his feet abruptly.

He had eaten almost no dinner.
"Very well," he said coldly.