The animals, gave it a sympathetic audience.
'What's up, Duck?' said the rabbit.
'The duck says', translated Gaspode, 'that it's like a migratory thing. Just the same feelin' as a migration, he says.'
'Yeah? I didn't have far to come,' the rabbit volunteered. 'We lived on the dunes anyway.' It sighed. 'For three happy years and four miserable days,' it added.
A thought struck Victor. 'So you'd know about the old man on the beach?' he said.
'Oh, him. Yeah. Him. He was always coming up here.'
'What sort of person was he?' said Victor.
'Listen, buster, up to four days ago I had a vocabulary consisting of two verbs and one noun. What do you think I thought he was? All I know is, he didn't bother us. We probably thought he was a rock on legs, or something.'
Victor thought about the book in his pocket. Chanting and lighting fires. What sort of person did that?
'I don't know what's going on,' he said. 'I'd like to find out. Look, haven't you got names? I feel awkward, talking to people without names.'
'Only me,' said Gaspode. 'Bein' a dog. I'm named after the famous Gaspode, you know.'
'A kid called me Puss once,' said the cat doubtfully.
'I thought you had names in your own language,' said Victor. 'You know, like “Mighty Paws” or - or “Speedy Hunter”. Or something.'
He smiled encouragingly.
The others gave him a long blank stare.
'He reads books,' explained Gaspode. 'See, the thing is,' he added, scratching himself vigorously, 'animals don't normally bother with names. I mean, we know who we are.'
'Mind you, I like “Speedy Hunter”,' said the mouse.
'I was thinking that's more a cat's name,' said Victor, starting to sweat. 'Mice have friendly little names, like - like Squeak.'
'Squeak?' said the mouse, coldly.
The rabbit grinned.
'And, and I always thought rabbits were called Flopsy. Or Mr Thumpy,' Victor gabbled.
The rabbit stopped grinning and twitched its ears.
'Now look, pal-' it began.
'Y'know,' said Gaspode cheerfully, in an attempt to revive the conversation, 'I heard there's this legend where the first two people in the world named all the animals. Makes you fink, don't it.'
Victor pulled out the book to cover his embarrassment. Chanting and lighting fires. Three times a day.
'This old man-' he began.
'What's so important about him?' said the rabbit. 'He just used to come up on to the hill and make noises a couple of times every day. You could set your . . . your,' it hesitated. 'It was always the same times. Many times a day.'
'Three times. Three performances. Like a sort of theatre?' said Victor, running his finger down the page.
'We can't count up to three,' said the rabbit sourly. 'It goes one . . . many. Many times.' He glared at Victor. 'Mr Thumpy,' it said, in withering tones.
'And people from other places brought him fish,' said Victor. 'There's no-one else living near here. They must have come from miles away. People sailed miles just to bring him fish. It's as though he didn't want to eat fish out of the bay here. And it's teeming with them. When I went swimming I saw lobsters you wouldn't believe.'