The Amazing Maurice and His Educated Rodents Read Online Free PDF Page A

battered black top hats of their profession. They each carried a pole over one shoulder, from which dangled a variety of traps.
    From the other shoulder hung a big bag, the kind you really wouldn’t want to look inside. And each man had a terrier on a string. They were skinny, argumentative dogs, and they growled at Maurice when they were dragged past.
    The line cheered as the men approached, and clapped when they both reached into their bagsand held up a couple of handfuls of what looked, to Maurice, like black string.
    â€œTwo hundred today!” shouted one of the rat catchers.
    One of the terriers lunged at Maurice, tugging frantically on its string. The cat didn’t move. Probably only the stupid-looking kid heard him say, in a low voice, “Heel, fleabag! Bad dog!”
    The terrier’s face screwed up in the horribly worried expression of a dog trying to have two thoughts at the same time. It knew cats shouldn’t talk, and this cat had just talked. This posed a terrible problem. The dog sat down awkwardly and whined.
    Maurice washed himself. It was a deadly insult.
    The rat catcher, annoyed at such a cowardly performance from his dog, jerked it away.
    And dropped a few of the black strings.
    â€œRat tails!” said the kid. “They really must have a problem here!”
    â€œA bigger one than you think,” said Maurice, staring at the bunch of tails. “Just pick those up when no one’s looking, will you?”
    The kid waited until people weren’t looking toward them, and reached down. Just as his fingers touched the tangle of tails, a large, shiny black boot trod heavily on it.
    â€œNow, you don’t want to go touching them, young sir,” said a voice above him. “You can get plague, you know, from rats. It makes your legs explode.”
    It was one of the rat catchers. He gave the kid a big grin, but it was not a humorous one. It smelled of beer.
    â€œThat’s right, young sir, and then your brains come down your nose,” said the other rat catcher, coming up behind the kid. “You wouldn’t dare use your hanky, young sir, if you got the plague.”
    â€œMy associate has as usual put his finger right on it, young sir,” said the first rat catcher, breathing more beer into the kid’s face.
    â€œWhich is more than you’d be able to do, young sir,” said Rat Catcher 2, “because when you get the plague your fingers go all—”
    â€œ Your legs haven’t exploded,” said the kid. Maurice groaned. It was never a good idea to be rude to a smell of beer. But the rat catchers were at the stage when, against all the odds, they thought they were funny.
    â€œAh, well said, young sir, but that’s because lesson one at the Guild of Rat Catchers’ school is not letting your legs explode,” said Rat Catcher 1.
    â€œWhich is a good thing ’cos the second lesson is upstairs,” said Rat Catcher 2. “Oh, I am a one, aren’t I, young sir?”
    The other rat catcher picked up the bundle of black strings, and his smile faded as he stared at the kid. “Ain’t seen you before, kid,” he said. “And my advice to you is keep your nose clean and don’t say nothing to nobody about nothing. Not a word. Understand?”
    The kid opened his mouth and then shut it hurriedly. The rat catcher grinned his awful grin again.
    â€œAh. You catch on quick, young sir,” he said. “Perhaps we’ll see you around, eh?”
    â€œI bet you’d like to be a rat catcher when you grow up, eh, young sir?” said Rat Catcher 2, patting the kid too heavily on the back.
    The kid nodded. It seemed the best thing to do. Rat Catcher 1 leaned down until his red, pockmarked nose was an inch away from the kid’s face.
    â€œ If you grow up, young sir,” he said.
    The rat catchers walked away, dragging their dogs with them. One of the terriers kept looking back at