As though his ears were magic the little boy looked up and grinned. His eyes looked naughty.
"Nobody's own little boy," he said. "Nobody's own little boy!" As though it was a song without any tune he began to sing it. "Nobody's—Nobody's own little boy!"
The Lady tried to stop him. He struck at her with his feet. It made a hurt on her arm. He snatched Tiger Lily by the collar and started for the door.
"Going to find Cook and get a bone!" he said. He said it like a boast. He slammed the door behind him. It made a rude noise. He came running back and looked a little sorry, but mostly bashful. He pointed at Tiger Lily. "What—What's HE afraid of?" he said.
"Noises," I explained.
"Noises?" cried the little boy. He cried it with a sort of a hoot. It sounded scornful.
"Oh pshaw!" he said. "There isn't a noise in the world that I'm afraid of! Not thunder! Not guns! Not ANYTHING! Noises are my friends! In the night I take torpedoes and crack 'em on the hearth just to hear them sputter! I've got three tin pans tied on a string! I've got a pop-gun!"
He ran back to the table to get the gun. It was a nice gun. It was painted bright blue. It looked loud.
When Tiger Lily saw it he dove under the bed. It was hard to get him out. The little boy looked very astonished.
"It's gun-bangs—specially—that Tiger Lily is afraid of," I explained.