'But you can't take it home like that,' Cyril said, 'we shall
have a crowd after us,' and indeed two errand boys and a
policeman had already collected.

'I can't give you nothink only a paper-bag, like what we put the
tortoises in,' said the man grudgingly.

So the whole party went into the shop, and the shopman's eyes
nearly came out of his head when, having given Anthea the largest
paper-bag he could find, he saw her hold it open, and the
Psammead carefully creep into it. 'Well!' he said, 'if that there
don't beat cockfighting! But p'raps you've met the brute afore.'

'Yes,' said Cyril affably, 'he's an old friend of ours.'

'If I'd a known that,' the man rejoined, 'you shouldn't a had him
under twice the money. 'Owever,' he added, as the children
disappeared, 'I ain't done so bad, seeing as I only give five bob
for the beast. But then there's the bites to take into account!'

The children trembling in agitation and excitement, carried home
the Psammead, trembling in its paper-bag.

When they got it home, Anthea nursed it, and stroked it, and
would have cried over it, if she hadn't remembered how it hated
to be wet.

When it recovered enough to speak, it said--