“You’re jabbering yourself now,” said Erebus unpleasantly.
Ruffling his fair hair in the agony of composition, the Terror continued: “‘The quantity of kittens that are drowned is horrible’—that ought to fetch her; kittens are so much nicer than cats—‘and I have been thinking’—Oughtn’t you to put in some stops?”
“I’m putting in stops—lots,” said Erebus contemptuously.
“‘I have been thinking—that if you wanted to have a cats’ home here’—What’s the right word for ‘running a thing,’ Wiggins?”
Wiggins frowned deeply; a number of his freckles seemed to run into one another.
“There is a word ‘overseer’—slaves have them,” he said cautiously.
The Terror sought that word painfully in the dictionary, spelled it out, and continued: “‘I could overseer it for you. I have got my eye on a building which would suit us tremendously well. But these things cost money, and it would not be any use starting with less than thirty pounds’—
“Thirty pounds! My goodness!” cried Erebus; and her eyes opened wide.
“We may as well go the whole hog,” said the Terror philosophically. “Go on: ‘Or else just as the cats get to be happy and feel it was a real home—’ What’s the word for ‘bust up,’ Wiggins?”
“Burst up,” said Wiggins without hesitation.