THE BLUE ROOM
There was no heat about these little amenities, which made up—as understood by us—the art of polite conversation.
'I don't like society people,' put in Harold from the sofa, where he was sprawling at full length—a sight the daylight hours would have blushed to witness. 'There were some of 'em here this afternoon, when you two had gone off to the station. O, and I found a dead mouse on the lawn, and I wanted to skin it, but I wasn't sure I knew how, by myself; and they came out into the garden, and patted my head—I wish people wouldn't do that—and one of 'em asked me to pick her a flower. Don't know why she couldn't pick it herself; but I said, "All right, I will if you'll hold my mouse." But she screamed, and threw it away; and Augustus (the cat) got it, and ran away with it. I believe it was really his mouse all the time, 'cos he'd been looking about as if he had lost something, so I wasn't angry with him. But what did she want to throw away my mouse for?'
'You have to be careful with mice,' reflected
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