The jig was up

Suddenly Jacques sprang up and danced a little jig. “I’m getting married in the morning! Ding, dong, the bells are gonna chime!” he sang breezily. But soon he sat down, his dejection impossible to ignore, and the mood became sombre again, all present grimly certain that actually they were going to be tortured to death and that the only sound the bells would make would be a slow, funereal toll.

Double take

He stood and chatted with her as she casually chopped out a line and rolled up a twenty. As she bent down to get it up her beak, he lifted a leg and guffed right at her, knowing that she wouldn’t refrain from sniffing – several times, indeed – and thus, albeit inadvertently, would dutifully hoof up all the feculent gas of which his disastrous colon was so keen to be rid.