Now, Whitehead was so hungry that she would have made short work of this
tempting prey if the rat had not opened its mouth and, to her amazement,
begun to talk in good cat dialect.

"Pray, good puss, not so fast with your sharp teeth! Kindly be careful
with your claws! Don't you know it is the custom now to put prisoners on
their honour? I will promise not to run away."

"Pooh! what honour has a rat?"

"Most of us haven't much, I grant you, but my family was brought up
under the roof of Confucius, and there we picked up so many crumbs of
wisdom that we are exceptions to the rule. If you will spare me, I will
obey you for life, in fact, will be your humble slave." Then, with a
quick jerk, freeing itself, "See, I am loose now, but honour holds me as
if I were tied, and so I make no further attempt to get away."

"Much good it would do you," purred Whitehead, her fur crackling
noisily, and her mouth watering for a taste of rat steak. "However,
I am quite willing to put you to the test. First, answer a few polite
questions and I will see if you're a truthful fellow. What kind of food
is your master eating now, that you should be so round and plump when
I am thin and scrawny?"

"Oh, we have been in luck lately, I can tell you. Master and mistress
feed on the fat of the land, and of course we hangers-on get the
crumbs."

"But this is a poor tumble-down house. How can they afford such eating?"