“Good heavens!” cried Maggie. “What’s happened now? Has the old cat got in there again?”
She sprang to the door and flung it open. Out rolled Bouncer Bigelow covered from head to heels with buttermilk, a panful of which he had upset and brought down upon his head.
“Land of wonders!” gurgled Maggie, aghast. “What was you doin’ in there?”
“I was just looking for something to eat,” spluttered Bouncer feebly. “I was starving to death, Maggie.”
Officer McGee promptly pounced on Bigelow.
“Ye spallpane!” he cried. “Ye thafe of the worruld, it’s a burglar ye are! Oi place ye under arrist. Not a worrud, ye villain! Oi’ll take yez to the station house. Ye can talk to the sargint.”
Bigelow appealed to Maggie.
“If you let him pinch me,” said he, “I’ll tell Mrs. Watson what’s going on here in her kitchen night after night.”
Maggie grasped Patrick by the arm.
“It’s nothing, only one of the stujents that rooms in the house,” she explained. “Do let him go.”