And Jane could not make up her mind
to lisp and 'talk baby', even to a burglar. And while she
hesitated he softly opened the nursery door and went in.
Jane followed--just in time to see him sit down flat on the floor,
scattering cats as a stone thrown into a pool splashes water.
She closed the door softly and stood there, still wondering whether
she COULD bring herself to say, 'What's 'oo doing here, Mithter
Wobber?' and whether any other kind of talk would do.
Then she heard the burglar draw a long breath, and he spoke.
'It's a judgement,' he said, 'so help me bob if it ain't. Oh,
'ere's a thing to 'appen to a chap! Makes it come 'ome to you,
don't it neither? Cats an' cats an' cats. There couldn't be all
them cats. Let alone the cow. If she ain't the moral of the old
man's Daisy. She's a dream out of when I was a lad--I don't mind
'er so much. 'Ere, Daisy, Daisy?'
The cow turned and looked at him.
'SHE'S all right,' he went on. 'Sort of company, too. Though them
above knows how she got into this downstairs parlour. But them
cats--oh, take 'em away, take 'em away! I'll chuck the 'ole
show--Oh, take 'em away.'
'Burglar,' said Jane, close behind him, and he started
convulsively, and turned on her a blank face, whose pale lips
trembled.
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