Oh! what a night we are having!
Lock the door, and let us rid ourselves of this intolerable smell
of the perfume peculiar to the musk-rat and to the house of the
trimmers of beards. If you'll excuse me, I will go to bed. I am
worn out.'
It was Cyril who wrote the paper that told the carpet to take away
the rats and bring milk, because there seemed to be no doubt in any
breast that, however Persian cats may be, they must like milk.
'Let's hope it won't be musk-milk,' said Anthea, in gloom, as she
pinned the paper face-downwards on the carpet. 'Is there such a
thing as a musk-cow?' she added anxiously, as the carpet shrivelled
and vanished. 'I do hope not. Perhaps really it WOULD have been
wiser to let the carpet take the cats away. It's getting quite
late, and we can't keep them all night.'
'Oh, can't we?' was the bitter rejoinder of Robert, who had been
fastening the side door. 'You might have consulted me,' he went
on. 'I'm not such an idiot as some people.'
'Why, whatever--'
'Don't you see? We've jolly well GOT to keep the cats all
night--oh, get down, you furry beasts!--because we've had three
wishes out of the old carpet now, and we can't get any more till
to-morrow.'
The liveliness of Persian mews alone prevented the occurrence of a
dismal silence.
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