“What ails you, friend?” asked Hokey Pokey; “and why do you weep, when you are surrounded by the most delightful things in the world?”
“Alas!” replied the confectioner. “That is just the cause of my trouble. The sweetmeats that I make are so good that their fame has spread far and wide, and the Rat King, hearing of them, has taken up his abode in my cellar. Every night he comes up and eats all the sweetmeats I have made the day before. There is no comfort in my life, and I am thinking of becoming a rope-maker and hanging myself with the first rope I make.”
“Why don’t you set a trap for him?” asked Hokey Pokey.
“I have set fifty-nine traps,” replied the confectioner, “but he is so strong that he breaks them all.”
“Poison him,” suggested Hokey Pokey.
“He dislikes poison,” said the confectioner, “and will not take it in any form.”
“In that case,” said Hokey Pokey, “leave him to me. Go away, and hide yourself for a few minutes, and all will be well.”
The confectioner retired behind a large screen, having first showed Hokey Pokey the hole of the Rat King, which was certainly a very large one. Hokey Pokey sat down by the hole, with his mallet in his hand, and said in a squeaking voice,—
“Ratly King! Kingly Rat!
Here your mate comes pit-a-pat.