But Ace was having such a fine time jumping upon Pinky, who was vainly trying to get his feet under him again, that he neither saw the rats nor heard the commands. It was only when Jonesie reached down and delivered a sounding slap on his brown spot that Ace awoke to the fact that possibly he had made a mistake. By that time the rats were gone from sight. Jeers and laughter emanated from the audience. Pinky, arising, red of face and annoyed, was confronted by an indignant Jonesie.
“You old fool, you!” cried Jonesie. “Why didn’t you pay attention? Didn’t I tell you they were coming?”
“Well, didn’t you see your fool dog knocked me over?” inquired Pinky wrathfully. “Why didn’t you keep them in for a second?”
“How could I keep them in when I’d opened the door? If you can’t do your share of this decently, why, say so!”
“Quit your jawing,” advised Steve, “and catch the rats. It won’t be any fun now, though, because we won’t be able to see him kill ’em.”
“Kill ’em!” jeered Pill. “That pup couldn’t kill a straw hat! If I was you, Jonesie, I’d put him in the closet. If a rat got at him he might get hurt.”
“Is that so?” responded Jonesie heatedly. “You’ll get hurt if you give me any more of your lip! Which—which way did they go, fellows?”
The replies were confusing. Every member of the audience insisted on a different locality as harboring the rats. Jonesie looked disgusted.
“Seems to me you fellows might have watched them and seen which way they went,” he said. “Got an umbrella, Steve?”
By moving the table slightly young Fletcher, who was the smallest there, was able to slide through into the closet. After that the hunt began. Jonesie used the umbrella, and the rest of the audience armed themselves with whatever they could find: tennis rackets, hockey sticks, even a ruler. Under chairs, table, bureau the weapons were poked and flourished. Ace, recovering from the shock of chastisement, lent eager assistance. The noise became deafening. Once one of the rats appeared for a brief moment on top the bureau, left it just ahead of a racket hurriedly aimed by Pigeon, landed on the mantelpiece and disappeared again behind the Morris chair. The only fatality was a photograph frame. Out came the Morris chair, there was a squeal and the rat whisked behind the bureau. Out came the bureau then, Ace barking frantically and wagging his stumpy tail in a veritable paroxysm of delight. This was a real game! Confusion reigned supreme. All thought of secrecy had flown. The excitement of the chase gripped them all. Shouts and cheers rent the air, Ace yelped and barked shrilly, sticks banged at chair legs, furniture was whisked about on grumbling casters and ten excited patrons of sport pursued the prey with relentless vigor and enthusiasm. The waste basket spread its varied contents across the floor, and even the pictures on the walls became imbued with the contagion and danced themselves askew.