t peck you. That's what I'll do, John."

He was breathing heavily now. "Do you get me, John? Would you like a
live chicken?"

"Yeff."

The crunching resumed for a minute then stopped. Neff remembered,
there had been only a dozen or so grains of wheat left. John would
still be hungry. The thought of a chicken should do it. If not, he
could threaten him.

Neff waited. Relax! There was all night to work this out.

Finally, he felt something at his ankles. "That's the boy, John. Up
here and down my arms. They're behind me. Get the rope off my hands
first. Come on boy."

It was John, all right. Neff could feel the little claws coming up his
left leg.

"Come on, hurry up, John. Tell you what. I'll bring you a nice, fat
female, just like yourself. A live one. You can live in the cage
togeth----John, don't stop there!"

The claws had paused near his knee and were clinging to the
blood-soaked cloth.

"No, no, John! Don't! I'll stick you with the fork. I'll stick
you--I'll kill you! John, we got to get out of here or we'll both die.
Die, do you hear! We'll suffocate! Don't do that. Stop. Stop or
I'll--"

Neff's threats beat hard into the rat's brain, and now as the slanting
incisors tore at the cloth and chewed the luscious, blood-smothered,
hot meat, Neff's screams sent tremors through the skinny, voracious
body, and the tail tucked down. The words made John nervous, but it
was dark. And there was food, such wonderful food, so much food!

They were harsh words, terrible, screaming words: but words are words
and food is food, and after all--

John was only a rat.

THE END

* * * * *

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