'Why, only just now I saw a sardine-opener on the kitchen dresser,
quite distinctly; and everybody knows that means there are sardines
about somewhere in the neighbourhood. Rouse yourself! pull yourself
together, and come with me and forage.'
They went and foraged accordingly, hunting through every cupboard and
turning out every drawer. The result was not so very depressing after
all, though of course it might have been better; a tin of sardines--a
box of captain's biscuits, nearly full--and a German sausage encased
in silver paper.
'There's a banquet for you!' observed the Rat, as he arranged the
table. 'I know some animals who would give their ears to be sitting
down to supper with us to-night!'
'No bread!' groaned the Mole dolorously; 'no butter, no----'
'No pate de foie gras, no champagne!' continued the Rat, grinning.
'And that reminds me--what's that little door at the end of the
passage? Your cellar, of course! Every luxury in this house! Just
you wait a minute.'
He made for the cellar-door, and presently reappeared, somewhat dusty,
with a bottle of beer in each paw and another under each arm,
'Self-indulgent beggar you seem to be, Mole,' he observed.
Pages:
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121