'What ails ye both?' asked the Phoenix, and it added tartly that
story-telling was quite impossible if people would come
interrupting like that.
'Oh, do shut up, for any sake!' said Cyril, sinking into a chair.
Robert smoothed the ruffled golden feathers, adding kindly--
'Squirrel doesn't mean to be a beast. It's only that the MOST
AWFUL thing has happened, and stories don't seem to matter so much.
Don't be cross. You won't be when you've heard what's happened.'
'Well, what HAS happened?' said the bird, still rather crossly; and
Anthea and Jane paused with long needles poised in air, and long
needlefuls of Scotch heather-mixture fingering wool drooping from
them.
'The most awful thing you can possibly think of,' said Cyril.
'That nice chap--our own burglar--the police have got him, on
suspicion of stolen cats. That's what his brother's missis told
me.'
'Oh, begin at the beginning!' cried Anthea impatiently.
'Well, then, we went out, and down by where the undertaker's is,
with the china flowers in the window--you know. There was a crowd,
and of course we went to have a squint. And it was two bobbies and
our burglar between them, and he was being dragged along; and he
said, "I tell you them cats was GIVE me. I got 'em in exchange for
me milking a cow in a basement parlour up Camden Town way.
Pages:
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204