At that moment, the janitor came in and the supervisor looked up, annoyed. He was a fat man, with stubble on his cheek, and he walked with a waddle.
"There's a mouse in room 112 who doesn't want a trap by his front door," the janitor said simply.
"You're crazy," the supervisor said.
The janitor shrugged. "What should I tell him?" he asked.
"Tell him to come up here and speak to me himself," the supervisor said, feeling very clever.
"I'm right here," George cried, stepping out of the mousehole and neatly side-stepping the mousetrap beside it.
"There he is now," the janitor said, pointing.
"My God!" whispered the supervisor, who'd had some education. "A hallucination."
"No, a mouse," the old janitor corrected.
"My wife wants the trap removed," George patiently explained. "She's worried the children might blunder into it."