Three to two against the caster." "Ponies," said the Warwickshire Squire.
Rattle, rattle, rattle, rattle, clatter, NINE.

Clap, clap, clap, clap, ELEVEN.

Clutter, clutter, clutter, clutter: "Seven it is," says the Warwickshire Squire.

"That makes eight hundred, Count." "One throw for two hundred," said the Count.

"But stop! Cat, give us some more punch." Mrs.Cat came forward; she looked a little pale, and her hand trembled somewhat.