"I see."
"I wish I could," sighed the Padre, taking off his spectacles. "Ah! That's better. Well, young man, and how is your temporal body? Well, I hope?"
"It's having its watch below."
"I mislaid mine"—the Padre seemed to be very unhappy about it—"down in the southern desert. The eagles had it. Poor things! It was mere skin and bone, not enough food for a mouse. And yet I sat on a rock and watched them squabbling over it. Poor dears! I can't think how they manage to get a meal."
"Ahem!" There came an affected cough, "Ahem!" outside the doorway. "Ahem!" A colossal head appeared, like that of a crocodile, looked in, and filled the door place. A red rag of a tongue lolled out on the starboard side, while the port eye was cocked up, meekly appealing to the Padre.
"May I come in?"
"No!" said the Padre. "Go, Julia, and practice deportment, or catch mice."
"He called me Julia!" This with both eyes to heaven. Then the creature wriggled in a few feet farther, and holding one paw bashfully to her mouth, "Ahem! ahem! Deportment is so fatiguing, and as to mice, you know they are so small. Oh!" Her snuff blew Storm against the wall, and then she sniffed. "Ah! Do you know, I think I could sit up and take a little boy." She smacked her lips. "Come here, little boy! Come to its Julia, then."
"If she swallers this good little bo-hoy," said Storm, deriding her, "I'll wager my sheath knife makes tripe of her blanked guts."
"G-o-o-od 'ittle b-o-oy, then ... Goo-oo——"