"Oh, you infernal bird!" murmured the master, lighting his candle
with one hand and fondling the pups with the other. "There, there,
puppies, run away!" he added, rolling the ecstatic pups into a sort
of dog divan, where they curled themselves down at last and subsided
with squirms and wriggles, gurgling affection.

Gethryn lighted a lamp and then a cigarette. Then, blowing out the
candle, he sat down with a sigh. His eyes fell on the parrot. It
annoyed him that the parrot should immediately turn over and look at
him upside down. It also annoyed him that "Satan," an evil-looking
raven, was evidently preparing to descend from his perch and worry
"Mrs Gummidge."

"Mrs Gummidge" was the name Clifford had given to a large sad-eyed
white tabby who now lay dozing upon a panther skin.

"Satan!" said Gethryn. The bird checked his sinister preparations
and eyed his master. "Don't," said the young man.

Satan weighed his chances and came to the conclusion that he could
swoop down, nip Mrs Gummidge, and get back to his bust of Pallas
without being caught. He tried it, but his master was too quick for
him, and foiled, he lay sullenly in Gethryn's hands, his two long
claws projecting helplessly between the brown fists of his master.

"Oh, you fiend!" muttered Rex, taking him toward a wicker basket,
which he hated. "Solitary confinement for you, my boy."

"Double, double, toil and trouble," croaked the parrot.