"Well?"
"There are rats," he whispered hoarsely; "there are rats in the study."
"Did you go in?" I asked.
"No, you know we're forbidden to go in, but I smelt them quite plainly. I can't smell them at all here," he said regretfully. "What a nose you have got, after all, Chappie!"
"What are you going to do, Kerry?" I asked.
"Why, nothing," he said; "we mustn't go in the study."
"Oh," I said, "rules weren't made for great occasions like this; it's your business to kill rats wherever they are."
And that misguided wire-haired person went up. He got them out of the cage, and killed them.
The next morning, when the master came down, he thrashed Kerry within an inch of his life. He knows I don't touch rats; and, besides, I was so unwell that nobody could have suspected me. And I explained to Kerry that, good as my nose is, I couldn't possibly tell by the smell that the rats were white, and, therefore, sacred. It was not worth while to mention that I had seen them before.
Kerry looks up to me now as a dog with a nose, and I am much happier than formerly. But Kerry is not nearly so keen on rats now. I thought somehow he wouldn't be.