The
only thing we could find was a molehill, so we delved our way into
that. We are residing in it now, Albert Edward, Maurice and I. We have
called it "_Mon Repos_," and stuck up a notice saying we are inside,
otherwise visitors would walk over it and miss us.
The chief drawback to "_Mon Repos_" is Maurice. Maurice is the
proprietor by priority, a mole by nature. Our advent has more or less
driven him into the hinterland of his home and he is most unpleasant
about it. He sits in the basement and sulks by day, issuing at night
to scrabble about among our boots, falling over things and keeping us
awake. If we say "Boo! Shoo!" or any harsh word to him he doubles
up the backstairs to the attic and kicks earth over our faces at
three-minute intervals all night.
Albert Edward says he is annoyed about the rent, but I call that
absurd. Maurice is perfectly aware that there is a war on, and to
demand rent from soldiers who are defending his molehill with their
lives is the most ridiculous proposition I ever heard of. As I said
before, the situation is most unpleasant, but I don't see what we can
do about it, for digging out Maurice means digging down "_Mon Repos_,"
and there's no sense in that. Albert Edward had a theory that the
mole is a carnivorous animal, so he smeared a worm with carbolic
tooth-paste and left it lying about.
Pages:
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47