“No. He dun’t like ’em. But I’m tryin’ to teach him to like ’em. I let ’em loose and let him look at ’em with me holdin’ on to him.”
“Yes, go on doing that,” said Mr. Brown encouragingly. “Accidents sometimes happen.”
That night William obeyed the letter of the law by keeping the rats in a box on his bedroom window-sill.
The household was roused in the early hours of the morning by piercing screams from Ethel’s room. The more adventurous of the pair—named Rufus—had escaped from the box and descended to Ethel’s room by way of the creeper. Ethel awoke suddenly to find it seated on her pillow softly pawing her hair. The household, in their various sleeping attire, flocked to her room at the screams. Ethel was hysterical. They fed her on hot tea and biscuits to steady her nerves. “It was horrible!” she said. “It was pulling at my hair. It just sat there with its pink nose and long tail. It was perfectly horrible!”
MR. BROWN IN LARGE PYJAMAS LOOKED FIERCELY DOWN AT WILLIAM IN SMALL PYJAMAS.
“Where is the wretched animal?” said Mr. Brown looking round with murder in his eyes.
“I’ve got it, Father,” piped up William’s small voice at the back of the crowd. “Ethel di’n’t understand. It was playin’ with her. It di’n’t mean to frighten her. It——”
“I told you not to keep them in the house.”
Mr. Brown in large pyjamas looked fiercely down at William in small pyjamas with the cause of all the tumult clasped lovingly to his breast. Ethel, in bed, continued to gasp weakly in the intervals of drinking tea.