And they are real
cats--and they want real milk--and--Didn't you say the cow was
like somebody's Daisy that you used to know?'
'Wish I may die if she ain't the very spit of her,' replied the
man.
'Well, then,' said Jane--and a thrill of joyful pride ran through
her--'perhaps you know how to milk cows?'
'Perhaps I does,' was the burglar's cautious rejoinder.
'Then,' said Jane, 'if you will ONLY milk ours--you don't know how
we shall always love you.'
The burglar replied that loving was all very well.
'If those cats only had a good long, wet, thirsty drink of milk,'
Jane went on with eager persuasion, 'they'd lie down and go to
sleep as likely as not, and then the police won't come back. But
if they go on mewing like this he will, and then I don't know
what'll become of us, or you either.'
This argument seemed to decide the criminal. Jane fetched the
wash-bowl from the sink, and he spat on his hands and prepared to
milk the cow. At this instant boots were heard on the stairs.
'It's all up,' said the man, desperately, 'this 'ere's a plant.
'ERE'S the police.' He made as if to open the window and leap from
it.
'It's all right, I tell you,' whispered Jane, in anguish. 'I'll
say you're a friend of mine, or the good clergyman called in, or my
uncle, or ANYTHIING--only do, do, do milk the cow.
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