A fat Washington mouse guided George to the mousehole in the conference room. George looked inside and sniffed the smoky air distastefully.
There were seven men seated at a long table, with a glass of water in front of each. This was a liquid that even George knew was hardly designed to lubricate the way to a quick agreement.
"Bomb them, I say," the General cried, smashing his fist down on the table. "Hit them hard with atomic weapons. Hit them now, before they have a chance to strike first."
"But that's one of our best plants," a civilian from the A.E.C. protested. "We don't want to blow it up, not for a few paltry mice."
"Couldn't we send them to Alaska?" the man from Alaskan Affairs asked timidly, wondering what he was doing there.
"How about traps?" the man from Fish and Wildlife said. "We have some honeys."
"But that's just it!" George said in a loud voice, and they all turned to look at him. "My wife would like that trap by our front door removed. She's afraid that it might hurt the children."
"Who are you?" the man from Immigration & Naturalization demanded sharply.
"I'm George," George said. "It's my house that has the trap in front of it."
"What are you doing here?" the man from the F.B.I. demanded. "Spying on a closed meeting!"