The round red face of Billy Beck flushed redder with rage and disappointment, and he howled:
“Gimme my kitty! Mother says she won’t ’ave ’im about the ’ouse, an’ I could drown ’im.”
“You won’t have him,” said Erebus.
Billy Beck and his little brothers, robbed of their simple joy, burst into blubbering roar of “It’s ourn! It ain’t yourn! It’s ourn!”
“It isn’t! A kitten isn’t any one’s to drown!” cried Erebus.
The Terror gazed at Erebus and Billy Beck with judicial eyes, the cold personification of human justice. Erebus edged away from him ready to fly, should human justice intervene actively. The Terror put his hand in his pocket and fumbled. He drew out a penny, and looked at it earnestly. He was weighing the respective merits of justice and bull’s-eyes.
“Here’s a penny for your kitten. You can buy bull’s-eyes with it,” he said with a sigh, and held out the coin.
A sudden greed sparkled in Billy Beck’s tearful eyes. “’E’s worth more’n a penny—a kitty like ’im!” he blubbered.
“Not to drown. It’s all you’ll get,” said the Terror curtly. He tossed the penny to Billy’s feet, turned on his heel and went back across the common away from the village. Some of the brightness faded out of the faces of Erebus and Wiggins.
“I wouldn’t have given him a penny. He was only going to drown the kitten,” said Erebus in a grudging tone.