He took a horrified step forward.
There were two favourite kittens of his, shivering, miserable,
up to their necks in a lather of soapy water; and Flibberty-Gibbet,
the beautiful little fox terrier he had just bought for his wife,
chained to a post, also wet, miserable, and woebegone, also
undergoing the cleansing process, and being scrubbed and
swilled till his very reason was tottering.
"They'se SO clean and nicey--no horrid ole fleas 'n them now.
AREN't you glad? You can let Flibberty go on your bed now, and
Kitsy Blackeye is---"
Poor Baby never finished her speech. She had a confused idea of
hearing a little "swear-word" from her father, of being shaken in
a most ungentle fashion and put outside the stable, while the
unfortunate animals were dried and treated with great consideration.
But the worst was yet to come, and the results were so exceedingly
bad that the young Woolcots determined never again to assume virtues
that they had not.
Bunty, of course, desired to help the cause as strongly as the
others, and to that end his first action was to go into his
bedroom and perform startling ablutions with his face, neck, and
hands. Then he took his soap-shiny countenance and red, much
bescrubbed hands downstairs, and sunned himself under his
father's very nose, hoping to attract favourable comment.
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