“But that isn’t half of it. They went from my room to the kitchen, and what do you think they did there?”
“Surely they didn’t find much there.”
“Well, they lit a fire and cooked breakfast. Then they went to the cellar and tapped my wine.”
“And no one heard them?”
“Not a soul.”
“Go on.”
“Then they rigged themselves out in my clothes and put their own old duds in the clothes press. But the worst is yet to come, and for iridescent audacity, it breaks the record.”
“Proceed.”
“Last week I bought a bulldog, whose sole duty it is to watch the premises. This morning I found him shut up in the coalhouse, with a heavy rubber band around his jaws, and a tag tied to his tail. The tag reads as follows:
“‘We didn’t take yer purp, ’cos we thought mebbe as how he wos raised a pet, an’ you might be fond of him.’”