sighed Tucker hopelessly, as he took a break from his labors in the kitchen quarter of the drainpipe. “I act absurd, I feel absurd.” He glanced into a piece of broken mirror propped against one wall. “I look absurd—I’m absurd!” It was very little consolation, but he popped a sliver of ham in his mouth. Stealing tidbits in advance is allowed to a cook, and Tucker felt he deserved a treat. It’s a very good thing that he and Harry had had their almost-fight two days before, because if they hadn’t, the mouse would certainly have been spoiling for it tonight. When Harry had said that Miss Catherine would permit an interview, what he hadn’t let on, right away, was that she had added, in a petulant voice, that she “certainly would not allow the animal in Horatio’s apartment.” She would come down to Bryant Park herself. And Harry had also failed to tell Tucker, until he thought the mouse could take it, that he had been so impressed by Miss Catherine’s offer, well, he’d asked her to stop by the drainpipe on her way down, for a bite to eat.
