owner, for greater glory, chose to assume, though as a matter of fact it
was more than likely had permission been asked to keep the beast it
would have been accorded, for St. Renny had its reputation as the great
naturalists' school to keep up. Half the glamour surrounding the savage
pet would have vanished, however, and the secret was jealously guarded,
the badger himself, by his unconquerable stench, being the only person
likely to give it away. Luckily the hutch was not directly over the
dormitory, but right at the angle of the roof, where a low window, kept
always open by Killigrew, allowed the worst of the smell to be wafted
away. The increasing size of the badger and its consequent fierceness
were likely to make its ultimate retention impossible; even now, a mere
ball of striped fluff, it bit savagely whenever it was handled.

Badgers, which are often erroneously supposed to be nearly extinct in
England, swarm over Cornwall, so that Killigrew's specimen did not enjoy
any special distinction as a rarity, save in its capacity as a "pet."
They are, however, very difficult to catch, being strong and cunning and
armed with terrific teeth and claws, and Killigrew was passionately
attached to his unyielding prisoner, not so much for its own sake as for
what it represented for him--outlawry, romance, the touch of the wild
which glorified life. Not on the first day was Ishmael accounted
worthy, or even safe, as a repository for this secret, but when
Killigrew did show it him, Ishmael rose in importance through his
intimate knowledge of badgers and their ways.

"Wouldn't _He_ let you keep it if _He_ knew?" asked Ishmael, when,
finger and thumb round its neck and another finger firmly gripping under
a forepaw, he had held and admired the spitting animal.

"Rather not. We're not allowed to _keep_ anything, though they make us