“There’ll be no rat-killings in this study,” said Sparrow decisively. “You fellows can jolly well go somewhere else.”
Sparrow Bowles was Jonesie’s roommate and naturally had some rights.
“It wouldn’t do, anyway,” responded Jonesie, addressing Pinky, who was perched in dangerous proximity to the ink-well on the study table. “If we let the rats out here Sparrow’d eat ’em himself.”
“Is that so?” demanded Sparrow angrily. “Anyway, I’ll bet I’d catch more of them than that mongrel pup of yours!”
“Mongrel nothing!” exclaimed Pinky indignantly, up in arms at once. “You haven’t seen Ace.”
“Besides,” said Jonesie sweetly, “the mere fact—if it is a fact, Sparrow,—that you’re better bred than the other dog doesn’t mean that you can catch more rats. Now, does it?”
“Oh, chase yourself!” growled Sparrow inelegantly.
“Anyway, we’d better have it somewhere else,” said Jonesie, winking at Pinky as he returned to the original subject. “I tell you what! Let’s have it at Steve’s!”
“Sure thing!” agreed Pinky. “Steve’ll be tickled to death. And Mrs. Sharp doesn’t mind how much rough-house her fellows make. Let’s go and tell him about it.”
“Where you going to get your rats?” asked Sparrow, who was deeply interested in the project in spite of his attitude.