"William, I wish something could be done about your hair. It never looks tidy!"
His father said:
"That reminds me, William, you'd better go and weed your garden. It's in a disgraceful state."
William went slowly to the door.
"Mr. Romford's going to give me a Persian cat for a Christmas present," Ethel went on to her mother.
William stopped.
"Wot about Jumble?" he said, indignantly. "Wot about Jumble with an ole cat about the place? Wot about my rats? How d'you think they'll like an ole cat about the place? My rats 've got as much right to live 's an ole cat, you'd think, wun't you? My rats an' poor ole Jumble came here first, I think—I think they did, considering that the ole cat hasn't come yet. You'd think that Jumble an' the poor old rats deserved a bit of peace...."
"Go and give your hair a good brushing, William," said his mother.
"Take every one of those weeds up. You can't have touched it for weeks," said his father.
"You aren't the only person in the world who can keep animals," said Ethel.