"They are so soft and pussy," said Jane.
"And valuable," said Anthea, hastily. "We can sell them for lots and
lots of money."
"Why not send the carpet to get food for them?" suggested the Phoenix,
and its golden voice became harsh and cracked with the effort it had to
make to be heard above the increasing fierceness of the Persian mews.
So it was written that the carpet should bring food for one hundred and
ninety-nine Persian cats, and the paper was pinned to the carpet as
before.
The carpet seemed to gather itself together, and the cats dropped off it
as rain-drops do from your mackintosh when you shake it. And the carpet
disappeared.
Unless you have had one hundred and ninety-nine well-nourished Persian
cats in one small room, all hungry, and all saying so in unmistakable
mews, you can form but a poor idea of the noise that now deafened the
children and the Phoenix.
The cats mewed and mewed and mewed, and twisted their Persian forms in
and out and unfolded their Persian tails, and the children and the
Phoenix huddled together by the door.
The Phoenix, Robert noticed suddenly, was trembling.
"So many cats," it said, "and they might not know I was the Phoenix.
These accidents happen so quickly. It quite unmans me."
This was a danger of which the children had not thought.
"Creep in," cried Robert, opening his jacket. And the Phoenix crept
in--only just in time, for green eyes had glared, pink noses had
sniffed, white whiskers had twitched, and as Robert buttoned his coat he
disappeared to the waist in a wave of eager grey Persian fur. And on the
instant the good carpet slapped itself down on the floor. And it was
covered with rats--three hundred and ninety-eight of them, I
believe--two for each cat.
"How horrible!" cried Anthea. "Oh, take them away!"
"Take yourself away," said the Phoenix, "and me."
"I wish we'd never had a carpet," said Anthea, in tears.
They hustled and crowded out of the door, and shut it and locked it.
Cyril, with great presence of mind, lit a candle and turned off the gas
at the main. "The rats'll have a better chance in the dark," he said.
The mewing had ceased. Everyone listened in breathless silence. We all
know that cats eat rats--it is one of the first things we read in our
nice little reading books; but all those cats eating all those rats--it
wouldn't bear thinking of.
[Illustration: "HE DISAPPEARED TO THE WAIST IN A WAVE OF EAGER GREY
PERSIAN FUR."]
Suddenly Robert sniffed, in the silence of the dark kitchen where the
only candle was burning all on one side, because of the draught.
"What a funny scent!" he said.
And as he spoke a lantern flashed its light through the window of the
kitchen, a face peered in, and a voice said:--
"What's all this row about? You let me in."
It was the voice of the police!
Robert tip-toed to the window and spoke through the pane that was a
little cracked.
"What do you mean?" he said. "There's no row. You listen; everything's
as quiet as quiet."
And indeed it was.
The strange sweet scent grew stronger, and the Phoenix put out its
beak.
The policeman hesitated.
"They're _musk_ rats," said the Phoenix. "I suppose some cats eat
them--but never Persian ones. What a mistake for a well-informed carpet
to make! Oh, what a night we're having!"
"Do go away," said Robert, nervously, to the policeman. "We're just
going to bed--that's our bedroom candle--there isn't any row.
Everything's as quiet as a mouse."
A wild chorus of mews drowned his words, and with the mews were mingled
the shrieks of the musk rats. What had happened? Had the cats tasted
them before deciding that they disliked the flavour?
"I'm a-comin' in," said the policeman. "You've got a cat shut up there."
"A cat!" said Cyril. "Oh, my only aunt! _A_ cat!"
"Come in, then," said Robert. "It's your own look-out. I advise you not.
Wait a shake, and I'll undo the side door."
He undid the side door, and the policeman, very cautiously, came in.
And there, in the kitchen, by the light of one candle, with the mewing
and the screaming going on like a dozen steam sirens, twenty waiting
motor-cars, and half a hundred squeaking pumps, four agitated voices
shouted to the policeman four mixed or wholly different explanations of
the very mixed events of the evening.
Did you ever try to explain the simplest thing to a policeman?
_Curiosities._
Copyright, 1904, by George Newnes, Ltd.
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