Anthea wrapped the embroidered, woolly sofa-blanket round Jane and herself, while Robert and Cyril had a struggle, silent and brief, but fierce, for the larger share of the fur hearthrug.
"ROBERT AND CYRIL HAD A STRUGGLE FOR THE LARGER SHARE OF THE FUR HEARTHRUG."
"It is most truly awful," said Anthea. "And I am so tired. Let's let the cats loose."
"And the cow, perhaps?" said Cyril. "The police would find us at once. That cow would stand at the gate and mew—I mean moo—to come in. And so would the cats. No; I see quite well what we've got to do. We must put them in baskets and leave them on people's doorsteps, like orphan foundlings."
"We've got three baskets, counting mother's work one," said Jane, brightening.
"And there are nearly two hundred cats," said Anthea, "besides the cow, and it would have to be a different-sized basket for her. And then I don't know how you'd carry it, and you'd never find a doorstep big enough to put it on, except the church one, and——"
"Oh, well," said Cyril, "if you simply make difficulties——"
"I'm with you," said Robert. "Don't fuss about the cow, Panther. It's simply got to stay the night, and I'm sure I've read that the cow is a remunerating creature, and that means it will sit still and think for hours. The carpet can take it away in the morning. And as for baskets, we'll do them up in dusters or pillow-cases, or bath-towels. Come on, Squirrel. You girls can be out of it, if you like."
His tone was full of contempt, but Jane and Anthea were too tired and desperate to care; even being "out of it," which at other times they could not have borne, now seemed quite a comfort. They snuggled down in the sofa-blanket and Cyril threw the fur hearthrug over them.