So I tied my hair up in a handkerchief, put on a nightgown to protect my dress, and laid down comfortably on the hearthrug with my head up the chimney. At intervals I waved a bit of liver at the kitten and said in my most persuasive manner, 'Littlekittycatpoorpussycometomissusdidums.' This seemed to entertain the kitten very much as it responded by rubbing its back violently against the chimney and incidentally dislodging a good deal of soot over me, while it sniffed ecstatically at the liver.
'Goodness,' said Ross, bursting like a cyclone into the room, 'what a sight you look; is that kitten still there? Mr Williams is downstairs. Are you giving that little beast meat, Meg; how many times have I warned you that it's illegal to give rations to rodents.'
'It isn't a rodent,' I said, sitting up in the fireplace, 'and it's not rations either, it's offal.'
A frozen look of horror slowly overspread my brother's open countenance.
'Offal,' he queried, 'could it possibly have been offal you said?'
'Yes,' and I began to get little creeps down my spine as I did as a child when I'd been naughty, 'it's offal, edible offal.'
'The word "edible" does not excuse the word offal.'
'They call it that in the Times,' I said meekly.
'There are many things in the Times which it is better not to repeat in polite society, Margaret.'
'I don't call your society polite, far from it,' I rejoined. 'What does Mr Williams want?'