His ears went back and he showed sharp teeth
in no uncertain manner.
"Better let him alone," advised Rupert. "He doesn't seem to be the kind
you can cuddle."
"So I see." Ricky arose to her feet with an offended air. "One would
think that I resembled the more repulsive members of my race."
"In the meantime," Rupert again sought the cupboard, "let's eat."
Half an hour later, fed and well content (even Satan, as the Ralestones
had named their visitor because of his temperament, having condescended
to accept some of the better-done bits of bacon), they sat about the
table staring at the dishes. Now it is a very well-known fact that
dishes do _not_ obligingly leap from a table into a pan of well-soaped
water, slosh themselves around a few times, and jump out to do a spot of
brisk rubbing down. But how nice it would be if they did, thought Val.
"The dishes--" began Ricky in a faint sort of way.
"Must be done. We gather that. How utterly nasty bacon grease looks when
it's congealed." Her younger brother surveyed the platter before him
with mournful interest.
"And the question before the house is, I presume, who's going to wash
them?" Rupert grinned. "This seems to be as good a time as any to put
some sort of a working plan in force. There is a certain amount of
so-called housework which has to be done. And there are three of us to
do it. It's up to us to apportion it fairly.
Pages:
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30