And as I watched him, an idea entered my brain which tickled me so, that I had hard work to keep from laughing aloud, and being noticed.
The idea came as he glanced at me, and moved the rabbit to the corner nearest to him—the absurd-looking object being carefully covered over, as if he was afraid I should begin joking him again about its unfinished state.
All at once, moved by the impulse which had set me laughing, I leaned over and stretched out my hand toward the corner where he had placed the rabbit.
“What are you going to do?” he cried excitedly, and he caught my wrist.
“Only going to take out bunny, and see how he’s getting on.”
“No, no, don’t.”
“Why not?” I cried merrily.
“Because—because I don’t want it touched.”
“But I can improve it so.”
“No, no: be quiet. Oh, I say, Frank, pray don’t touch it.”