“Here, I’ll fix that mouse!” cried Mr. Bobbsey. “Let it alone, Bert. I’ll drive it out!”
Mr. Bobbsey picked up a small open glass salt dish from the table, and was about to throw it at the mouse under the table.
“Don’t do that,” said his wife.
“Why not?” asked Mr. Bobbsey, holding the salt dish in readiness.
“Because you’ll spill the salt and it will have to be cleaned up.”
“I’ll get the mouse!” cried Freddie. “I’ll get him!”
He ran over to the goldfish tank in one corner of the room. On the table on which the tank rested was a tiny net of cloth on a handle and wire frame. Bert used the net to lift out the fish when he wanted to clean the tank, which he intended doing that day.
“I’ll catch the mouse under this!” cried Freddie, grabbing up the little net and trying to dive under the table. But the little fellow slipped, and knocked over a chair. It happened to fall on Flossie’s foot. Instantly the small Bobbsey girl set up a cry.
“Oh! Oh, Freddie Bobbsey! Now look what you did! My toenails is all broken! Oh! Oh!”
“Hush! Hush!” begged Mother Bobbsey, hugging Flossie.